Josè often studied her features while she bent over her work. He spent hours, too, poring over the little locket which had been found among her mother's few effects. The portrait of the man was dim and soiled. Josè wondered if the poor woman's kisses and tears had blurred it. The people of Badillo said she had died with it pressed to her lips. But its condition rendered futile all speculation in regard to its original. That of the mother, however, was still fresh and clear. Josè conjectured that she must have been either wholly Spanish, or one of the more refined and cultured women of Colombia. And she had doubtless been very young and beautiful when the portrait was made. With what dark tragedy was that little locket associated? Would it ever yield its secret? But Carmen's brown curls and light skin--whence came they? Were they wholly Latin? Josè had grave doubts. And her keen mind, and deep religious instinct? Who knew? He could only be sure that they had come from a source far, far above her present lowly environment. With that much he must for the present be content. * * * * * Another month unfolded its length in quiet days, and Rosendo again returned. Not ill this time, nor even much exhausted. Nor did the little leathern pouch contain more than a few _pesos_ in gold dust. But determination was written grim and trenchant upon his black face as he strode into the parish house and extended his great hand to the priest. "I have only come for more supplies, Padre," he said. "I have some three _pesos_ worth of gold. Most of this I got around Culata, near Don Felipe's quartz vein, the Andandodias. _Caramba_, what veins in those hills! If we had money to build a mill, and knew how to catch the gold, we would not need to wash the river sands that have been gone over again and again for hundreds of years!" But Josè's thoughts were of the Alcalde. He determined to send for him at once, while Rosendo was removing the soil of travel. Don Mario came and estimated the weight of the gold by his hand. Then he coolly remarked: "_Bien, Señor Padre_, I will send Rosendo to my _hacienda_ to-morrow to cut cane and make _panela_." "And how is that, Don Mario?" inquired Josè. The Alcalde began to bluster. "He owes me thirty _pesos oro_, less this, if you wish me to keep it. I see no likelihood that he can ever repay me. And so he must now work out his debt." "How long will that take him, _amigo_?" "_Quien sabe?_ _Señor Padre_," the Alcalde replied, his eyes narrowing.