ia in Cartagena, and of his previous incarceration in
the monastery of Palazzola. And Don Mario had confessed in his last
moments that Wenceslas had sought to work through him and Jose in the
hope that the location of the famous mine, La Libertad, might be
revealed. Don Mario had been instructed to get what he could out of
this scion of Rincon; and only his own greed and cupidity had caused
him to play fast and loose with both sides until, falling before the
allurements which Wenceslas held out, he had rushed madly into his own
destruction. Jose realized that so far he himself had proved extremely
useful to Wenceslas--but had his usefulness ended? At these thoughts
his soul momentarily suffused with the pride of the old and hectoring
Rincon stock and rose, instinct with revolt--but only to sink again in
helpless resignation, while the shadow of despair rolled in and
quenched his feeble determination.

Rosendo and Don Jorge placed the body in one of the vacant vaults and
filled the entrance with some loose bricks. Then they stood back
expectantly. It was now the priest's turn. He had a part to perform,
out there on the bleak hilltop in the ghostly light. But Jose remained
motionless and silent, his head sunk upon his breast.

Then Rosendo, waxing troubled, spoke in gentle admonition. "He would
expect it, you know, Padre."

Jose turned away from the lonely vault. Bitter tears coursed down his
cheeks, and his voice broke. He laid his head on Rosendo's stalwart
shoulder and wept aloud.

The sickly, greenish cast of the moonlight silhouetted the figures of
the three men in grotesque shapes against the cemetery wall and the
crumbling tombs. The morose call of a toucan floated weirdly upon the
heavy air. The faint wail of the frogs in the shallow waters below
rose like the despairing sighs of lost souls.

Rosendo wound his long arm about the sorrowing priest. Don Jorge's
muscles knotted, and a muttered imprecation rose from his tight lips.
Strangely had the shift and coil of the human mind thrown together
these three men, so different in character, yet standing now in united
protest against the misery which men heap upon their fellow-men in the
name of Christ. Jose, the apostate agent of Holy Church, his hands
bound, and his heart bursting with yearning toward his fellow-men;
Rosendo, simple-minded and faithful, chained to the Church by heredity
and association, yet ashamed of its abuses and lusts; Don Jorge,
fierce in h