Jose had begun to see that discord was the result of unrighteousness, false thought. He began to understand why it was that Jesus always linked disease with sin. His own paradoxical career had furnished ample proof of that. Yet his numberless tribulations were not due solely to his own wrong thinking, but likewise to the wrong thought of others with respect to him, thought which he knew not how to neutralize. And the channels for this false, malicious, carnal thought had been his beloved parents, his uncle, the Archbishop, his tutors, and, in fact, all with whom he had been a.s.sociated until he came to Simiti. There he had found Carmen. And there the false thought had met a check, a reversal. The evil had begun to destroy itself. And he was slowly awaking to find nothing but good.
The night hours flitted through the heavy gloom like spectral acolytes. Rosendo sank into a deep sleep. The steady roll of the frogs in the lake at length died away. A flush stole timidly across the eastern sky.
"Padre dear, he will not die."
It was Carmen"s voice that awoke the slumbering priest. The child stood at his side, and her little hand clasped his. Rosendo slept.
His chest rose and fell with the rhythmic breathing. Jose looked down upon him. A great lump came into his throat, and his voice trembled as he spoke.
"You are right, _chiquita_. Go, call your madre Maria now, and I will go home to rest."
CHAPTER 13
That day Rosendo left his bed. Two days later he again set out for Guamoco.
"There _is_ gold there, and I must, I _will_ find it!" he repeatedly exclaimed as he pushed his preparations.
The courage of the man was magnificent. On its rebound it carried him over the protest of Dona Maria and the gloomy forebodings of his fellow-townsmen, and launched him again on the desolate trail.
But Jose had uttered no protest. He moved about wrapped in undefinable awe. For he believed he had seen Rosendo lifted from the bed of death.
And no one might tell him that it was not by the same power that long ago had raised the dead man of Nain. Carmen had not spoken of the incident again; and something laid a restraint upon Jose"s lips.
The eyes of the Alcalde bulged with astonishment when Rosendo entered his store that morning in quest of further supplies.
"_Caramba!_ Go back to your bed, _compadre_!" he exclaimed, bounding from his chair. "You are walking in your delirium!"
"_Na, amigo_," replied Rosendo with a smile, "the fever has left me.
And now I must have another month"s supplies, for I go back to Guamoco as soon as my legs tremble less."
_"Caramba! caramba!"_
The Alcalde acted as if he were in the presence of a ghost. But at length becoming convinced that Rosendo was there on matters of business, and in his right mind, he checked further expression of wonder and, with a shrug of his fat shoulders, a.s.sumed his wonted air of a man of large affairs.
"I can allow you five _pesos oro_ on account of the gold which the _Cura_ brought me yesterday," he said severely. "But that leaves you still owing ten _pesos_ for your first supplies; and thirty if I give you what you ask for now. If you cannot pay this amount when you return, you will have to work it out for me."
His little eyes grew steely and cold. Rosendo well knew what the threat implied. But he did not falter.
"_Bien, compadre_," he quietly replied, "it will be as you say."
Late that afternoon Juan returned from Bodega Central with a half ounce of quinine. He had made the trip with astonishing celerity, and had arrived at the riverine town just as a large steamer was docking.
The purser supplied him with the drug, and he immediately started on his return.
The Alcalde set out to deliver the drug to Rosendo; but not finding him at home, looked in at the parish house. Jose and Carmen were deep in their studies.
"A thousand pardons, _Senor Padre_, but I have the medicine you ordered for Rosendo," placing the small package upon the table.
"You may set it down against me, Don Mario," said Jose.
"No!" exclaimed the Alcalde, "this must not be charged to the parish!"
"I said to me, _amigo_," replied the priest firmly.
"It is the same thing, Padre!" blurted the petty merchant.
The priest"s anger began to rise, but he restrained it. "Padre Diego is no longer here, you must remember," he said quietly.
"But the parish pays your debts; and it would not pay the full value of this and Juan"s trip," was the coa.r.s.e retort.
"Very well, then, Don Mario," answered Jose. "You may charge it to Rosendo. But tell me first how much you will place against him for it."
The Alcalde reflected a moment. "The quinine will be five _pesos oro_, and Juan"s trip three additional. Is it not worth it?" he demanded, bl.u.s.tering before Jose"s steady gaze. "If Rosendo had been really sick it would have saved his life!"
"Then you do not believe he was dangerously ill?" asked Jose with some curiosity.
"He couldn"t have been really sick and be around to-day--could he?"
the Alcalde demanded.
The priest glanced at Carmen. She met the look with a smile.
"No," he said slowly, "not _really_ sick." Then he quickly added:
"If you charge Rosendo eight _pesos_ for that bit of quinine, Don Mario, you and I are no longer working together, for I do not take base advantage of any man"s necessities."
The Alcalde became confused. He was going too far. "_Na, Senor Padre_," he said hastily, with a sheepish grin. "I will leave the quinine with you, and do you settle the account with Juan." With which he beat a disordered retreat.
Jose was thankful that, for a few months, at least, he would have a powerful hold on this man through his rapacity. What would happen when the Alcalde at length learned that Rosendo was not searching for Don Ignacio"s lost mine, he did not care to conjecture. That matter was in other hands than his, and he was glad to leave it there. He asked now only to see each single step as he progressed.
"Did Don Mario say that stuff would cure padre Rosendo?" asked Carmen, pointing to the quinine.
"Yes, _chiquita_."
"Why did he say so, Padre?"
"Because he really believed it, _carita_."
"But what is it, Padre--and how can it cure sick people?"
"It is the bark of a certain tree, little one, that people take as medicine. It is a sort of poison which people take to counteract another poison. A great school of medicine is founded upon that principle, Carmen," he added. And then he fell to wondering if it really was a principle, after all. If so, it was evil overcoming evil.
But would the world believe that both he and Rosendo had been cured by--what? Faith? True prayer? By the operation of a great, almost unknown principle? Or would it scoff at such an idea?
But what cared he for that? He saw himself and Rosendo restored, and that was enough. He turned to the child. "They think the quinine cures fever, little one," he resumed.
"And does it?" The little face wore an anxious look as she put the question.
"They think it does, _chiquita_," replied the priest, wondering what he should say.