and received with dull ears the ecclesiastical order which removed him still farther from the world and doomed him to a living burial in the crumbling town of Simití, in the wilderness of forgotten Guamocó. CHAPTER 13 "At last, you come!" The querulous tones of the aged Bishop eddied the brooding silence within the Cathedral. Without waiting for a reply he turned again to his table and took up a paper containing a list of names. "You wait until midday," he continued testily; "but you give me time to reflect and decide. The parish of Simití has long been vacant. I have assigned you to it. The Honda touches at Calamar to-morrow, going up-river. You will take it." "Simití! Father--!" "_Bien_; and would you dispute this too!" quavered the ill-humored Bishop. "But--Simití--you surely cannot mean--!" The Bishop turned sharply around. "I mean that after what I learn from Rome I will not keep you here to teach your heresies in our University! I mean that after what I hear this morning of your evil practices I will not allow you to spend another day in Cartagena!" The angry ecclesiastic brought his bony fist hard against the table to emphasize the remark. "_Madre de Dios!_" he resumed, after some moments of nursing his choleric feelings. "Would you debate further! The Holy Father for some unexplained reason inflicts a madman upon me! And I, innocent of what you are, obey his instructions and place you in the University--with what result? You have the effrontery--the madness--to lecture to your classes on the heresies of Rome!" "But--" "And as if that were not burden enough for these old shoulders, I must learn that I have taken a serpent to my bosom--but that you are still sane enough to propagate heresies--to plot revolution with the Radicals--and--shame consume you!--to wantonly ruin the fair daughters of our diocese! But, do you see now why I send you where you can do less evil than here in Cartagena?" The priest slowly petrified under the tirade. "The fault is not mine if I must act without instruction from Rome," the Bishop went on petulantly. "Twice have I warned you against your teachings--but I did not suspect then, for only yesterday did I learn that before coming to me you had been confined in a monastery--insane! But--_Hombre_! when you bring the blush of shame to my cheeks because of your godless practices--it is time to put you away without waiting for instruction!" Godless practices! Was the Bishop or the priest going mad? "Go now to your room," the Bishop added, turning again to his table. "You have little enough time to prepare for your journey. Wenceslas will give you letters to the Alcalde of Simití." Wenceslas! The priest's thought flew back over the events of the morning. Marcelena--Maria--the encounter below with--! _Dios!_ Could it be that Wenceslas had fastened upon him the stigma of his own crime? The priest found his tongue.