“José, hush!” interposed the monk. Five minutes ago those two hearts had been very near, had almost met. But José’s words, blasphemous in the ears of Fray Fernando, broke down the bridge between them. “I can hear my countrymen reproached,” he said, “and I sorrowfully admit there is too much cause;—but I cannot hear my Faith blasphemed. Still,” he added, more gently, “I would fain believe your heart does not mean all your lips have said. Changed as you are, I can hardly think you have forgotten all the past—you whom I taught, watched over, tended in sickness. See, here is the holy emblem of our Faith.” He took the crucifix, with the rosary attached, from his girdle, and held it out to José. “Take it, my son; kiss it, in token of your penitence and your attachment to the Christian faith; and I will forgive your wild words and forget them.” José took the crucifix,—but held it at arm’s length. “Kiss it, my son,” said the monk. José did not move. “Kiss it,” Fray Fernando repeated more sternly. Unfortunately he added,—“as a sign that you renounce the vain idols of your race.” What! Was Ynty an idol—Ynty the glorious? What then was this bit of wood—not even gold or silver—to which the patre bade him do reverence. José’s anger was not often roused, but when roused, it was incontrollable. He made a step forward towards a steep cliff, near the edge of which he was standing. The crucifix swung and shook over the precipice in his extended hand. “Dare you?” cried the monk, springing forward to arrest him, horror-stricken at his profanity. “I dare!” the Indian answered, the wrongs of his race all crowding on his memory, and the cross seeming nothing, in that moment’s passion, save an emblem of the creed of the destroyer. “Behold!” The deed was done. His passion began to die away the moment it was indulged. And at the same time the last rays of the sun were dying from the sky. “Enough!” said Fray Fernando, and he spoke very coldly. The white man’s anger needs no loud words, no fierce gestures for its expression. “I was a fool to expect gratitude or love from an Indian. You never knew what either means, José. You have never loved me, and the love I gave to you I wasted. This is our last parting. Let me pass.” José moved aside at his command, and stood watching him, with a stupified air, until he was out of sight. Then he ran to the place whence the cliff could be descended with the least difficulty. Leaping and scrambling, and clinging now and then to a stray tuft of ychu, he soon reached the spot where lay the crucifix. He took it up, and placed it carefully in the little bag by his side. From this spot he could see the valley, winding far beneath. He stood gazing until the short twilight was past, and the rapidly increasing darkness hid it from his view. Then he threw himself on the ground, and gave way to a passionate burst of weeping. For the patre had parted with him in fierce anger, telling him he had never loved him.