"The family name of Rincón," the Alcalde went on, "appears on the old records of Simití in many places, and it is said that Don Ignacio himself came here more than once. Perhaps you know, _Señor Padre_, that the Rincón family erected the church which stands in the _plaza_? And so it is quite appropriate that their son should officiate in it after all these centuries, is it not?" No, Josè had not known it. He could not have imagined such a thing. He knew little of his family's history. Of their former vast wealth he had a vague notion. But here in this land of romance and tragedy he seemed to be running upon their reliques everywhere. The conversation drifted to parish matters; and soon Rosendo urged their departure, as the sun was mounting high. Seated at the table for the midday lunch, Josè again became lost in contemplation of the child before him. Her fair face flushed under his searching gaze; but she returned a smile of confidence and sweet innocence that held him spellbound. Her great brown eyes were of infinite depth. They expressed a something that he had never seen before in human eyes. What manner of soul lay behind them? What was it that through them looked out into this world of evil? Childish innocence and purity, yes; but vastly more. Was it--God Himself? Josè started at his own thought. Through his meditations he heard Rosendo's voice. "Simití is very old, Padre. In the days of the Spaniards it was a large town, with many rich people. The Indians were all slaves then, and they worked in the mines up there," indicating the distant mountains. "Much gold was brought down here and shipped down the Magdalena, for the _caño_ was wider in those days, and it was not so hard to reach the river. This is the end of the Guamocó trail, which was called in those days the _Camino Real_." "You say the mines were very rich?" interrogated Josè; not that the question expressed a more than casual interest, but rather to keep Rosendo talking while he studied the child. But at this question Rosendo suddenly became less loquacious. Josè then felt that he was suspected of prying into matters which Rosendo did not wish to discuss with him, and so he pressed the topic no further. "How many people did Don Mario say the parish contained?" he asked by way of diverting the conversation. "About two hundred, Padre." "And it has been vacant long?" "Four years." "Four years since Padre Diego was here," commented Josè casually. It was an unfortunate remark. At the mention of the former priest's name Doña Maria hurriedly left the table. Rosendo's black face grew even darker, and took on a look of ineffable contempt. He did not reply. And the meal ended in silence.