Carmen reflected long, while Jose, with ebbing hope, waited. "Padre dear," she finally said, "then you have not yet worked out your problem--have you?"

No, he knew that. And he was now attempting to solve it by flight.

"I mean, Padre, you have not worked it out in G.o.d's way. For if you had, no one would be hurt, and there could not be any disgrace, or unhappiness--could there?"

"But, _chiquita_," he cried in despair, "nothing but excommunication can release me! And I long ago ceased to look for that. You do not understand--you are young! What can I do?" His tortured soul pleaded in agony.

"Why, Padre dear, you can work it out, all out, in G.o.d's way."

"But--must I remain here--can I let you go alone with the Americans--?"

"Yes, you can, if it is right," she answered gently.

"Carmen!" he cried, straining her in his arms. "If you go with the Americans, I shall, I must, go too!"

"Not unless it is right, Padre," she insisted. "If it is right, nothing can keep you from going. But, unless it is G.o.d's way--well, you can not solve your problem by running away from it."

"But--child--to remain here means--G.o.d above! you don't realize what it may mean to us both!"

The girl relapsed into silence. Jose began to feel that they were drifting hopelessly, abysmally apart. Desperation seized him.

"Carmen!" he cried miserably. "I have been cheated and thwarted all my wretched life! I can endure it no longer! I can not, would not, hold you here, if the way opens for you to go! But--I can not remain here without you--and live!"

"That is not true, Padre," replied the girl, slowly shaking her head.

"No human being is necessary to any one's happiness. And progress always comes first. You are trying to 'acquire that mind which was in Christ.' If you are really progressing, why, you will surely be happy.

But you must work it all out G.o.d's way."

"His way!" he retorted bitterly. "And that--"

"You must be honest, Padre, honest with Him and with everybody. If you can no longer be a priest--if you are not one, and never have been one--you must be honest with the Church and with yourself. You must see and reflect only Truth. Why do you not write to the Bishop and tell him all about it? You say you have been protecting me. But leave me to G.o.d. You must--Padre, you _must_--be honest! Write to your mother--write to the Bishop. Tell them both how you feel. Then leave it all with G.o.d. Do not run away. Throw yourself upon Him. But--oh, Padre dear, you must trust Him, and you must--you _must_--know that He is good, that He is infinite, and that there is no evil! Otherwise, the good can not be externalized. If you did that, your problem would be quickly solved."

She rose and took his hand. "Padre dear," she continued, "G.o.d is life--there is no death. G.o.d is eternal--there is no age. G.o.d is all good--there is no poverty, no lack, no loss. G.o.d is infinite, and He is mind--there is no inability to see the right and to do it. G.o.d is my mind, my spirit, my soul, my all. I have nothing to fear. Human mental concepts are not real. You, yourself, say so. I am not afraid of them. I look at G.o.d constantly, and strive always to see only Him.

But He is just as much to you as He is to me. You can not outline how things will work out; but you can know that they can only work out in the right way. You _must_ work as G.o.d directs. Only by so doing can you solve your problem. I try always to work that way. And I have always worked for you that way. I have always thought the time would come when you and I would live and work together--always. But I have not insisted on it. I have not said that it _had_ to be. If it works out that way, I know I would be very happy. But, even if it does not, I shall know that I can not be deprived of any good, for the good G.o.d is everywhere, and He is love, and He has given me all happiness. And now we must leave everything to Him, while we work, work, work to see Him only everywhere."

She would talk no more. Suffering himself to be led by her, they crossed the shales to the dust-laden road and made their way silently through the burning heat into the village.

At the door of the parish house stood Rosendo. His face was grave, but his manner calm. "Padre," he announced, "it is arranged."

Jose's knees shook under him as he followed the old man into the house. Reed, Harris, and Don Jorge sat about the table, on which were strewn papers covered with figures and sketches. The priest sat down dumbly and drew Carmen to him. Harris fell to devouring the girl with his bulging eyes. Reed at once plunged into the topic under consideration.

"I have been saying," he began, addressing the priest, "that I can accept the proposal made by Don Rosendo, but with some amendments. Mr.

Harris and I are under contract with the Molino Company to report upon their properties along the Boque river. I am informed by Don Rosendo that he is acquainted with these alleged mines, and knows them to be worthless. Be that as it may, I am obliged to examine them. But I will agree to take this girl to New York, under the protection of my wife, upon the consideration that when I reach my home city I be allowed to form a company to take over this mine, returning to the girl a fifty-one per cent interest in the stock, one half of which she agrees in writing to deliver to me immediately upon its issuance. Being under contract, I can not accept it now. The balance of the stock must be sold for development purposes. I further agree to place the girl in a boarding school of the first quality in the States, and to bear all expenses of her maintenance until such time as she is either self-supporting, or one or several of you may come to her, or effect her return to Colombia. Now, according to Ariza's sketches, we may proceed up the Boque river to its headwaters--how far did you say, friend?"

"Some hundred and fifty miles from Simiti, senor," replied Rosendo.

"And then," resumed Reed, "we can cut across country from the sources of the Boque, following what is known as Rosario creek, down to the river Tigui, striking the latter somewhere near the ancient point known as La Colorado."

"But, senor," interposed Rosendo, "remember that the headwaters of the Boque are practically unknown to-day. Many years ago, when I was a small lad, some liberated slaves worked along Rosario creek, which was then one day's journey on foot with packs from La Colorado. But that old trail has long since disappeared. Probably no one has been over it since."

"Very well," returned the practical Reed, "then we shall have to make our own trail across the divide to the Tigui. But once at La Colorado, you tell me there is an ancient trail that leads down to Llano, on the Nechi river?"

"Yes, to the mouth of the Amaceri. Llano was something of a town long ago. But river steamers that go up the Nechi as far as Zaragoza once a month, or less frequently, still touch there, I am told. And so you can get down the Cauca to Maganguey, where you can change to a Magdalena river boat for Calamar. Then by rail to Cartagena. The trail to Llano can not be more than fifty miles in length, and fairly open."

Harris, who had been studying the sketches, whistled softly. "Lord Harry!" he muttered, "nearly two hundred miles, and all by foot, over unspeakable jungle trails!"

Reed paid no attention to him. "Very well, then," he continued, "we had best set out as soon as possible. To you, friend Rosendo, I leave all arrangements regarding supplies and _cargadores_. I will furnish funds for the entire expedition, expecting to be reimbursed by La Libertad."

Carmen listened, with dilated eyes. As for Jose, his head swam.

Starting hurriedly after Rosendo, who rose immediately to inaugurate preparations, he drew him into the latter's house. "_Hombre_!" he cried, his whole frame tremulous with agitation, "do you know what you are doing? Do you--"

"_Na_, Padre," replied Rosendo gently, as he held up a restraining hand, "it is best. I want the _Americanos_ to take Carmen. She is not safe another day here. The soldiers left but yesterday. They may return any hour. At any moment an order might come for your arrest or mine. We must get her away at once. We can do no more for her here.

The struggle has been long, and I weary of it." He sat down in exhaustion and mopped his damp brow. "I weary of life, Padre. I would be through with it. I am old. This world can hold little more for me.

If I can but know that she is safe--_Bien_, that is all. From what we have learned, this country will soon be plunged again into war. I do not wish to live through another revolution. I have seen many. I seem to have fought all my life. And for what? What is La Libertad to me?

Nothing--less than nothing. I have not the funds to work it. I doubt if I could even hold it, were it known here that I had the t.i.tle to such a famous mine. But the _Americano_ can hold it. And he is honest, Padre. He will save Carmen's interest, and deal fairly with her.

_Bien_, let him place her in a school in the States. If you weather the oncoming revolution, then you may be able to send for her. _Quien sabe_?"

Jose controlled himself. "Rosendo," he said, "I will go with her."

The old man looked at him quizzically. "Do you mean, Padre, that you will leave the Church?"

Jose kept silent for some time. Then he spoke bitterly.

"Can I remain longer in Simiti, where the people have become divided--where they look upon me askance, as the cause of the trouble that has befallen them? Is not my usefulness here ended? War is at our door. What, think you, will it mean to Simiti? To us? And Wenceslas, what has he further in store for you and me? What he has for Carmen, we well know. And we seek by flight to save her. But the disappearance of Diego has not been explained. The trick which Anita played upon Morales to save Carmen must bring down increased wrath upon our heads, especially yours and mine. No, Rosendo, you and I must go, and go at once!"

"And Anita--?"

"We will pick her up in Cartagena. Don Jorge will accompany us.

I have certain information to give him that will enlist his services--information which, I think, will serve to introduce him to His Grace, and somewhat abruptly. But, come, Rosendo, do you and Dona Maria prepare for flight!"

"Maria and I? The States! Na, Padre, it is impossible! I will go with the _Americanos_ up the Boque and to La Libertad. Then I will return to Simiti--or to the _hacienda_ of Don Nicolas, if Maria wishes to remain there while I am in the hills. But--do you go, Padre--go and look after the girl. There is nothing further for you here. Yes, Padre, go--go!"

"But--ah, Rosendo, you will reconsider? The Americans will take us all for that mine!"

"I? No, Padre," said the old man firmly, but in a voice heavy with sadness. "Maria and I remain in Simiti. My work is done when I have seen the girl safely out of this unhappy country. I could not live in the States. And my days are few now, anyway. Let me end them here.

How, I care not."

Carmen came bounding in and flew into Rosendo's arms. "Padre Rosendo!"

she cried, aglow with animation, "we are all going to the States up north! I am going to take them my message! And I am going to school there! Oh, padre, isn't it beautiful!"

"Ah, _chiquita_," said Rosendo cheerily, straining her to him, "I guess we have decided to send you on ahead--a little ahead of us. Your old padre has some business he must attend to here before he leaves."

His eyes grew moist. Jose knew what his effort at cheerfulness was costing him.

"But, padre Rosendo, you will come--later? You promise? You must!" She looked into his eyes, pleading wistfully.

"Yes, little one, yes--of course. For where you are, there your old padre will always be--always--always!"

"And Padre Jose?" panted the girl under Rosendo's tight grasp as she turned her head toward the priest.

"He goes with us," a.s.sured Rosendo--"I think--at least as far as the coast. He will see Anita--and--" His voice broke, and he turned abruptly away.