He drew a wry face between his smiles. "Then I fear my case is hopeless. I am far from being a true Spaniard.--Chita, a glass for Senor Robinson." The woman fetched and filled a glass while I drew my chair up to the marble-topped table-desk and scribbled a prescription. Father Rocus signed her to go out, and turned to me, still smiling, but with a sharpened glance. "So you have already followed my advice and come to mass," he said. "Your Reverence has a keen eye," I replied. "It seemed to me I kept close behind my pillar." "Men are not numerous at early mass. Brawny, six-foot _caballeros_ in European dress are not seen every week. Lastly, this one has blonde hair. A glimpse was enough and to spare. You talked with her?" "She has sent me to you." "Hum," he considered. "First of all, this Medina affair. Let him do the challenging. She says you do not fence. 'Twould be butchery for you to meet him with swords." "That is a small matter, padre. What I wish to know--" "Is whether you can conscientiously become a Christian," he put in. "No, padre. That is not the question. It is of no use for me to hedge. I know I cannot become what you call a Christian. My religious principles are too near those of our famous President, Thomas Jefferson." "Jefferson--that atheist!" he exclaimed, frowning. "Not so, padre," I insisted with much earnestness. "It is an injustice to term Mr. Jefferson an atheist." "And you?" he demanded. "Your Reverence, I differ from most men of the age in this: I am content to leave creeds and ceremonies to the theologians; to walk as upright a life as lies within my power; and to trust in the great Author of all to judge my deeds with the clemency of a father for his child." "You do not acknowledge God's vicar?" "I have not the faith which enables me to believe your dogmas. It is no use to argue, padre. I am already sufficiently informed to know that a man of my refractory mentality cannot accept many of the fundamentals of your faith,--and I will not make false pretence by complying with the outward form." Instead of flushing with anger, as I had expected, he looked grieved. It was apparent that my position was a bitter disappointment to him. For several minutes he sat gazing at the crucifix on the wall across, in sorrowful meditation, forgetful even of his wine. "Padre," I at last said. "I love her with a love that dwells much upon my own happiness, but more upon hers. I now know she loves me. Do you not think such love God's will?" He crossed himself. "God give me light! I am not among those who believe that the love of man and woman is of necessity an impure desire. God, not Satan, made Eve to be a companion unto Adam. Therefore true love is sacred in the eyes of God, and marriage a sacrament."