The rose garden consisted of a few square feet of black earth, bordered by bits of shale, and seemingly scarce able to furnish nourishment for the three or four little bushes. But, though small, these were blooming in profusion. "Padre Rosendo did this!" exclaimed the delighted girl. "Every night he brings water from _La Cienaga_ for them!" Rosendo smiled patronizingly upon the child; but Josè saw in the glance of his argus eyes a tenderness and depth of affection for her which bespoke nothing short of adoration. Carmen bent over the roses, fondling and kissing them, and addressing them endearing names. "She calls them God's kisses," whispered Rosendo to the priest. At that moment a low growl was heard. Josè turned quickly and confronted a gaunt dog, a wild breed, with eyes fixed upon the priest and white fangs showing menacingly beneath a curling lip. "Oh, Cucumbra!" cried the child, rushing to the beast and throwing her arms about its shaggy neck. "Haven't I told you to love everybody? And is that the way to show it? Now kiss the _Cura's_ hand, for he loves you." The brute sank at her feet. Then as she took the priest's hand and held it to the dog's mouth, he licked it with his rough tongue. The priest's brain was now awhirl. He stood gazing at the child as if fascinated. Through his jumbled thought there ran an insistent strain, "He that hath seen me hath seen the Father. The Father dwelleth in me and I in Him." He did not associate these words with the Nazarene now, but with the barefoot girl before him. Again within the farthest depths of his soul he heard the soft note of a vibrating chord--that chord which all the years of his unhappy life had hung mute, until here, in this moldering town, in the wilderness of forgotten Guamocó, the hand of Love had swept it. The sun stood at the zenith. The day was white-hot. Doña Maria summoned her little family to the midday repast. Rosendo brought a chair for Josè and placed it near the rose garden in the shade of the house, for, despite all protest, the priest had stubbornly refused to return to his bed. Left now to himself, his thought hovered about the child, and then drifted out across the incandescent shales to the beautiful lake beyond. The water lay like shimmering glass. In the distance the wooded slopes of the San Lucas mountains rose like green billows. Brooding silence spread over the scene. It was Nature's hour of _siesta_. In his own heart there was a great peace--and a strange expectancy. He seemed to be awaiting a revelation of things close at hand. In a way he felt that he had accomplished his purpose of coming to Simití to die, and that he was now awaiting the resurrection. The peaceful revery was interrupted by Rosendo. "Padre, if you will not return to your bed--" He regarded the priest dubiously. "No, Rosendo. I grow stronger every minute. But--where is Carmen?" "She must help her mother."