fice.

Next day Father Antonio was calmer. To my trembling inquiries he said
something consolatory as to the blessed relief of tears. When not
praying fervently in the mortuary chamber, he could be seen pacing the
gallery in a severe aloofness of meditation. In the evening he took
me by the arm, and, without a word, led me up a narrow and winding
staircase. He pushed a small door, and we stepped out on a flat part of
the roof, flooded in moonlight.

The points of land dark with the shadows of trees and broken ground
clasped the waters of the bay, with a body of shining white mists in
the centre; and, beyond, the vast level of the open sea, touched with
glitter, appeared infinitely sombre under the luminous sky.

We stood back from the parapet, and Father Antonio threw out a thick arm
at the splendid trail of the moon upon the dark water.

"This is the only way," he said.

He had a warm heart under his black robe, a simple and courageous
comprehension of life, this priest who was very much of a man; a certain
grandeur of resolution when it was a matter of what he regarded as his
principal office.

"This is the way," he repeated.

Never before had I been struck so much by the gloom, the vastness,
the emptiness of the open sea, as on that moonlight night. And Father
Antonio's deep voice went on:

"My son, since God has made use of the nobility of your heart to save
that sinner from an unshriven death------"

He paused to mutter, "Inscrutable! inscrutable!" to himself, sighed, and
then:

"Let us rejoice," he continued, with a completely unconcealed
resignation, "that you have been the chosen instrument to afford him an
opportunity to repent."

His tone changed suddenly.

"He will never repent," he said with great force. "He has sold his
soul and body to the devil, like those magicians of old of whom we have
records."

He clicked his tongue with compunction, and regretted his want of
charity. It was proper for me, however, as a man having to deal with a
world of wickedness and error, to act as though I did not believe in his
repentance.

"The hardness of the human heart is incredible; I have seen the most
appalling examples." And the priest meditated. "He is not a common
criminal, however," he added profoundly.

It was true. He was a man of illusions, ministering to passions
that uplifted him above the fear of consequences, Young as I was, I
understood that, too. There was no safety for us in Cuba while