"For what occurred yesterday. Surely you remember, uncle. I was a bit stubborn about giving up my Bible." My father looked down at her, surprised. "And now, you're perfectly willing that I keep it?" "Oh, yes, of course, for I did not at all understand. Teresa tells me that you had no Bible, and you see I didn't know that. And she said that after you had read it, you would of course be giving it back to me. I am so sorry that I appeared so selfish. Please, pardon me, won't you, uncle dear?" "I've already pardoned you, so don't worry about that. So you like to read your Bible?" "Oh, yes; indeed I do, uncle." "Well, perhaps some day I'll return it to you." It was not exactly a promise, but Paula was willing to content herself with that much. "Oh, thank you, thank you so much, uncle," said Paula as she embraced him. "And so you love me a little, do you? In spite of everything?" asked my father smiling, as he took hold of her chin and turned her face up toward his. "Oh, yes, indeed; you don't know how much!" "You do?" said my father. "Well, that certainly gives me great pleasure. I see that soon we shall come to understand one another, you and I. By the way, I noticed that in your Bible there were quite a number of dry flowers. If you would like them, I will return them to you immediately." "Oh, many thanks, uncle. I kept them there as remembrances of my father. I shall keep them in some book where I can look at them often--often!" "That's what I thought, my little daughter. I'll go and get your Bible, and you yourself shall take them out." But now Paula seemed to have a different idea. "No, I think that I prefer that they remain where they are," she said in an altered voice. "What's that you say?" exclaimed my father, astonished. "How is it that you have so suddenly changed your mind?" "Well, you see," explained Paula, trembling a bit, "they'd better remain where they are, for I love my Bible, and I've read it every day, and now if I saw it again, I'm afraid--I'm afraid--" and poor Paula's lip was trembling. "I understand, I understand," said my father. But on turning to go into Catalina's room, he hesitated with his hand on the latch of the door, and turning, he looked searchingly at Paula, as if he would know the secret of the innermost heart of this child, so loving, so angelic, and yet so absolutely natural. CHAPTER SEVEN CATALINA'S ILLNESS