"As I know my Credo, Luis."
"And you, Isabel?"
"Since I was a little one, as high as my father's knee.
Rachela taught it to me."
"And you, Lopez."
"That is sure, Luis."
"And I, too!" said Antonia, smiling. "Here is your mandolin.
Strike the chords, and we will all sing with you. My father will remember also." And the doctor smiled an assent, as the young man resigned Isabel's hand with a kiss, and swept the strings in that sweetness and power which flows invisibly, but none the less surely, from the heart to the instrument.
"It is to my blessed Lord and Redeemer, I sing," he said, bowing his head. Then he stood up and looked at his companions, and struck the key-note, when every one joined their voices with his in the wonderful little hymn:
So noble a Lord None serves in vain;
For the pay of my love Is my love's sweet pain.
In the place of caresses Thou givest me woes;
I kiss Thy hands, When I feel their blows.
For in Thy chastening, Is joy and peace;
O Master and Lord!
Let thy blows not cease.
I die with longing Thy face to see And sweet is the anguish Of death to me.
For, because Thou lovest me, Lover of mine!
Death can but make me Utterly Thine!
The doctor was the first to speak after the sweet triumph of the notes had died away. "Many a soul I have seen pass whispering those verses," he said; "men and women, and little children."
"The good Marcela in heaven has that for her joy," answered Luis.
Lopez rose while the holy influence still lingered. He kissed the hands of every one, and held the doctor's in his own until they reached the threshold. A more than usual farewell took place there, though there were only a few whispered words.
"Farewell, Lopez! I can trust you?"
"Unto death."
"If we never meet again?"
"Still it will be FAREWELL. Thou art in God's care."
Very slowly the doctor sauntered back to the parlor, like a man who has a heavy duty to, do and hardly knows how to begin it. "But I will tell Maria first," he whispered; and then he opened the door, and saw the Senora bidding her children good-night.
"What a happy time we have had!" she was saying. "I shall never forget it. Indeed, my dears, you see how satisfactory it is to be religious. When we talk of the saints and angels, they come round us to listen to what we say; accordingly, we are full of peace and pleasure. I know that because I heard Fray--I heard a very good man say so."
She smiled happily at her husband, as she took his arm, and twice, as they went slowly upstairs together, she lifted her face for his kiss. Her gentleness and affection made it hard for him to speak; but there were words to be said that could be no longer delayed; and when he had closed the room door, he took her hands in his, and looked into her face with eyes that told her all.
"You are going away, Roberto," she whispered.
"My love! Yes! To-night--this very hour I must go! Luis and Dare also. Do not weep. I entreat you! My heart is heavy, and your tears I cannot bear."
Then she answered, with a noble Composure: "I will give you smiles and kisses. My good Roberto, so true and kind! I will try to be worthy of you. Nay, but you must not weep--Roberto!"
It was true. Quite unconsciously the troubled husband and father was weeping. "I fear to leave you, dear Maria. All is so uncertain. I can only ask you two favors; if you will grant them, you will do all that can be done to send me away with hope. Will you promise me to have nothing to do whatever with Fray Ignatius; and to resist every attempt he may make to induce you to go into a religious house of any kind?"
"I promise you, Roberto. By my mother's cross, I promise you!"
"Again, dear Maria, if you should be in any danger, promise me that you will do as Antonia and Lopez Navarro think it wisest and best."
