Josè had no reply to make. His thought was busy with the phenomenon before him: a child of man, but one who, like Israel of old, saw God and heard His voice at every turn of her daily walk. Untutored in the ways of men, without trace of sophistication or cant, unblemished as she moved among the soiled vessels about her, shining with celestial radiance in this unknown, moldering town so far from the world's beaten paths. The door opened softly and Rosendo entered, preceded by a cheery greeting. _"Hombre!_" he exclaimed, surveying the priest, "but you mend fast! You have eaten all the broth! But I told the good wife that the little Carmen would be better than medicine for you, and that you must have her just as soon as you should awake." Josè's eyes dilated with astonishment. Absorbed in the child, he had consumed almost his entire breakfast. "He is well, padre Rosendo, he is well!" cried the girl, bounding up and down and dancing about the tall form of her foster-father. Then, darting to Josè, she seized his hand and cried, "Now to see my garden! And Cucumbra! And--!" "Quiet, child!" commanded Rosendo, taking her by the arm. "The good _Cura_ is ill, and must rest for several days yet." "No, padre Rosendo, he is well--all well! Aren't you, Padre?" appealing to Josè, and again urging him forth. The rapidity of the conversation and the animation of the beautiful child caused complete forgetfulness of self, and, together with the restorative effect of the wholesome food, acted upon the priest like a magical tonic. Weak though he was, he clung to her hand and, struggling out of the bed, stood uncertainly upon the floor. Instantly Rosendo's arm was about him. "Don't try it, Padre," the latter urged anxiously. "The heat will be too much for you. Another day or two of rest will make you right." But the priest, heedless of the admonition, suffered himself to be led by the child; and together they passed slowly out into the living room, through the kitchen, and thence into the diminutive rose garden, the pride of the little Carmen. Doña Maria, wife of Rosendo, was bending over the primitive fireplace, busy with her matutinal duties, having just dusted the ashes from a corn _arepa_ which she had prepared for her consort's simple luncheon. She was a woman well into the autumn of life; but her form possessed something of the elegance of the Spanish dames of the colonial period; her countenance bore an expression of benevolence, which emanated from a gentle and affectionate heart; and her manner combined both dignity and suavity. She greeted the priest tenderly, and expressed mingled surprise and joy that he felt able to leave his bed so soon. But as her eyes caught Rosendo's meaning glance, and then turned to the child, they seemed to indicate a full comprehension of the situation.