m our good friend, Mr. Ketchim, regarding this
young girl, that--ah--I should like exceedingly to see and talk with
her--if it might be--ah--"

"Madam Elwin will arrange that, I am sure," interposed Ketchim.
"Suppose," he suggested, addressing the lady, "we let him talk with
her, while I discuss with you our recently acquired mine in South
America, and the advisability of an investment with us."

"Certainly," acquiesced Madam Elwin, rising and pressing one of the
several buttons in the desk. "Bring Miss Carmen," she directed, to the
maid who answered the summons.

"Pardon me," interrupted Dr. Jurges; "but may I go to her? Ah--it
would doubtless be less embarrassing for the child."

"Miss Carmen was in the chapel a few moments ago," volunteered the
maid.

"Then take the doctor there," returned Madam Elwin, with a gesture of
dismissal.

At the head of the stairway the mingled sounds of a human voice and
the soft, trembling notes of an organ drifted through the long hall
and fell upon the ears of the clergyman.

"Miss Carmen," said the maid, answering his unspoken thought. "She
often comes up to the chapel and sings for hours at a time--alone. The
chapel is down there," pointing to the end of the hall.

"Then--ah--leave me," said the doctor. "I will proceed alone."

The maid turned willingly and went below, while the man tiptoed to
the chapel door. There he stopped and stood listening. The girl was
singing in Spanish, and he could not understand the words. But they
would have meant nothing to him then. It was the voice upon which
they were borne that held him. The song was a weird lament that had
come down to the children of Simiti from the hard days of the
_Conquistadores_. It voiced the untold wrongs of the Indian slaves;
its sad, unvarying minor echoed their smothered moans under the
cruel goad; on the plaintive melody of the repeated chorus their
piteous cries were carried to heaven's deaf ears; their dull despair
floated up on the wailing tones of the little organ, and then died
away, as died the hope of the innocent victims of Spanish lust.

The reverend doctor had never heard a song of that kind before. Nor
could he readily associate the voice, which again and again he could
not distinguish from the flute-like tones of the organ, with the
sordidness and grime of material, fleshly existence. He entered softly
and took a seat in the shadow of a pillar. The clear, sweet voice of
the young girl flowed over