And yet, sometimes, prayer and fasting gave relief—relief that almost grew to ecstacy. He dreamed that other visions might one day come—visions of glory, not of terror. Sinful as he was, such grace might be given him—and on some blessed day the white wings of angels might suddenly descend, and sweep away the demon host that pursued and tortured him. Fray Fernando now stood at a place where two ways met. One of two destinies awaited him: either to become a saint, after Rome’s most approved pattern, or—to become insane. III. St. Joseph’s Tooth. “Light for the forest child! An outcast though he be From the haunts where the sun of his childhood smiled, And the country of the free. Pour the hope of heaven o’er his desert wild; For what home on earth hath he?” SIGOURNEY. Soon after daybreak next morning, Fray Fernando repaired to the little church—which was only a hut, larger and loftier than the rest, and adorned with a bell. He was in the habit of leaving the door open day and night; so he passed in without any delay, and walked quickly to the rough wooden box which he had caused to be erected by way of a confessional. But on attempting to enter it, he stumbled over something that lay beneath. In a moment, the Indian boy noticed on the preceding night sprang up and stood before him, with frame quivering, and cheek crimsoned beneath its olive hue. There was an evident struggle in the child’s mind. Should he turn and flee, or should he dare to stay, and cast himself on the mercy of the tall dark man in gray? Fray Fernando ended his hesitation. He did not know his language, it is true, but he knew a much more ancient language, that of nature. At least, he had known it once, and had not quite forgotten it. He drew the child towards him, and sought to reassure him by gentle and caressing gestures, patting his shoulder and stroking his long glossy black hair. And he had well-nigh succeeded in soothing him, when suddenly the boy’s expression changed to one of intense and irrepressible terror; and he tried with all his might to break away from the monk. Don Ramon’s figure darkened the doorway. “Good morning, padre!” said the soldier of fortune. “Santa Maria! what wind has blown that unlucky boy here? No doubt he has been trying to run away again. Little plague! But it shall be kill or cure with him this time.” The monk had thrown his arm round the boy’s waist, partly to hold him fast, partly to keep him safe. And after a moment the child ceased to struggle, either because that grasp was so strong, or more probably because it was so gentle. But a thought flashed through Fray Fernando’s mind, giving instant birth to a purpose. “The boy has placed himself, though unconsciously, under the protection of Holy Church, and it shall not fail him.” He said aloud, “But what can you want with such a child, señor? He is too young to be worth much to you.”