Something makes me
believe that you are not like other priests I have known. And I have
seen that you already love the little Carmen. No, she is not my child.
One day, about eight years ago, a steamer on its way down the river
touched at Badillo to put off a young woman, who was so sick that the
captain feared she would die on board. He knew nothing of her, except
that she had embarked at Honda and was bound for Barranquilla. He
hoped that by leaving her in the care of the good people of Badillo
something might be done. The boat went its way; and the next morning
the woman died, shortly after her babe was born. They buried her back
of the village, and Escolastico's woman took the child. They tried to
learn the history of the mother; but, though the captain of the boat
made many inquiries, he could only find that she had come from Bogota
the day before the boat left Honda, and that she was then very sick.
Some weeks afterward Escolastico happened to come to Simiti, and told
me the story. He complained that his family was already large, and
that his woman found the care of the babe a burden. I love children,
Padre, and it seemed to me that I could find a place for the little
one, and I told him I would fetch her. And so a few days later I
brought her to Simiti. But before leaving Badillo I fixed a wooden
cross over the mother's grave and wrote on it in pencil the name
'_Dolores_,' for that was the name in the little gold locket which we
found in her valise. There were some clothes, better than the average,
and the locket. In the locket were two small pictures, one of a young
man, with the name '_Guillermo_' written beneath it, and one of the
woman, with '_Dolores_' under it. That was all. Captain Julio took the
locket to Honda when he made inquiries there; but brought it back
again, saying that nobody recognized the faces. I named the babe
Carmen, and have brought her up as my own child. She--Padre, I adore
her!"

Jose listened in breathless silence.

"But we sometimes think," said Rosendo, resuming his dramatic
narrative, "that it was all a miracle, perhaps a dream; that it was
the angels who left the babe on the river bank, for she herself is not
of the earth."

"Tell me, Rosendo, just what you mean," said Jose reverently, laying
his hand gently upon the older man's arm.

Rosendo shook his head slowly. "Talk with her, Padre, and you will
see. I cannot explain. Only, she is not like us. She is like--"

His voice d