"Nor can I, positively, my friend. But I do know that the little Carmen said I should not die. And she said the same of you when, as I would swear, you were in the fell clutches of the death angel himself." "Padre--" Rosendo's eyes were large, and his voice trembled in awesome whisper--"is she--the little Carmen--is she--an _hada_?" "A witch? _Hombre!_ No!" cried Josè, bursting into a laugh at the perturbed features of the older man. "No, _amigo_, she is not an _hada_! Let us say, rather, as you first expressed it to me, she is an angel--and let us appreciate her as such. "But," he continued, "I tell you in all seriousness, there are things that such as you and I, with our limited outlook, have never dreamed of; and that child seems to have penetrated the veil that hides spiritual things from the material vision of men like us. Let us wait, and if we value that '_something_' which she seems to possess and know how to use, let us cut off our right hands before we yield to the temptation to place any obstacle in the way of her development along the lines which she has chosen, or which some unseen Power has chosen for her. It is for you and me, Rosendo, to stand aside and watch, while we protect her, if haply we may be privileged some day to learn her secret in full. You and I are the unlearned, while she is filled with wisdom. The world would say otherwise, and would condemn us as fools. Thank God we are out of the world here in Simití!" He choked back the inrush of memories and brushed away a tear. "Rosendo," he concluded, "be advised. If Carmen told you not to think of sickness while in Guamocó, then follow her instructions. It is not the child, but a mighty Power that is speaking through her. Of that I have long been thoroughly convinced. And I am as thoroughly convinced that that same Power has appointed you and me her protectors and her followers. You and I have a mighty compact--" "_Hombre!_" interrupted Rosendo, clasping the priest's hand, "my life is hers--you know it--she has only to speak, and I obey! Is it not so?" "Assuredly, Rosendo," returned Josè. "And now a final word. Let us keep solely to ourselves what we have learned of her. Our plans are well formulated. Let us adhere to them in strict silence. I know not whither we are being led. But we are in the hands of that 'something' that speaks and works through her--and we are satisfied. Are we not?" They clasped hands again. The next morning Rosendo set his face once more toward the emerald hills of Guamocó. As the days passed, Josè became more silent and thoughtful. But it was a silence bred of wonder and reverence, as he dwelt upon the things that had been revealed to him. Who and what was this unusual child, so human, and yet so strangely removed from the world's plane of thought? A child who understood the language of the birds, and heard the grass grow--a child whom Torquemada would have burnt as a witch, and yet with whom he could not doubt the Christ dwelt.