its low brow and
grizzled locks, waved snake-like on the man's long neck. His tall
form, in its black cassock, bent over the lad like a spectre. His
slender arms, of uncanny length, waved constantly before him; and the
long, bony fingers seemed to reach into the boy's very soul and choke
the springs of life at their origin. His reasoning took the form of
suggestion, bearing the indisputable stamp of authority. Again, the
boy, confused and uncertain, bowed before years and worldly
experience, and returned to his solitude and the companionship of his
books and his writing.

"Occupy till I come," the patient Master had tenderly said. From
earliest boyhood Jose had heard this clarion call within his soul. And
striving, delving, plodding, he had sought to obey--struggling toward
the distant gleam, toward the realization of something better and
nearer the Master's thought than the childish creeds of his
fellow-men--something warmer, more vital than the pulseless decrees of
ecumenical councils--something to solve men's daily problems here on
earth--something to heal their diseases of body and soul, and lift
them into that realm of spiritual thinking where material pleasures,
sensations, and possessions no longer form the single aim and
existence of mankind, and life becomes what in reality it is, eternal
ecstasy! The Christ had promised! And Jose would occupy and wait in
faith until, with joy inexpressible, he should behold the shining form
of the Master at the door of his opened tomb.

"With Your Eminence's permission I will accompany the boy back to
Rome," the secretary said one day, shortly before Jose's return to the
seminary. "I will consult with the Rector, and suggest that certain
and special tutelage be given the lad. Let them bring their powers of
reasoning and argument to bear upon him, to the end that his thinking
may be directed into proper channels before it is too late. _Hombre!_"
he muttered, as with head bent and hands clasped behind his back he
slowly paced before the Archbishop. "To think that he is a Rincon! And
yet, but sixteen--a babe--a mere babe!"

CHAPTER 7

It must have been, necessarily, a very complex set of causes that
could lay hold on a boy so really gifted as Jose de Rincon and,
against his instincts and, on the part of those responsible for the
deed, with the certain knowledge of his disinclination, urge him into
the priesthood of a religious institution with which congenitally he