his hand, and how he strained his eyes after them; forgetful of Ybarra, who had insulted the padre, remembering only Terrazzas, his friend! At last the horsemen disappeared as they had come, over the hill on the King's Highway. Slowly and sadly the boy made his way back to the Mission. Terrazzas had come and gone. He might never pass that way again, but in the heart of Miguel he had left his mark behind him.

CHAPTER VI

The Heart of Miguel

FTER the departure of Terrazzas the

A

days passed very slowly for Miguel.

He was not so light-hearted as he had been, and he did not laugh so often. Padre Vicente saw this, and he was troubled.

"Are you tired of staying with the old padre now that the good lieutenant is gone, Miguelito?" he asked one day, as the two sat on the long seat in the courtyard.

Miguel turned reproachful eyes upon the priest.

"You know that I love you more than any one else in all the world," he cried fervently. Then, throwing his arms around the man's neck, he kissed him with a love that was not to be doubted.

But Padre Vicente was not to be satisfied. With an anxious light in his eyes, he watched the changing expressions on Miguel's face, and asked himself if he had been entirely wise in letting the boy be with the soldier so much. But always he clung to the conviction that God had chosen Miguel to be the help of the Church in New Spain, and through the Church,

the protection of the helpless people of the land. Surely God would not allow His chosen one to be moved. Meanwhile, Miguel was thinking thoughts he did not dare to tell the padre, and, boy that he was, a struggle was going on in his soul.

Then, on a warm night in late July, there came to pass a strange thing. For some unexplained reason, perhaps because the moonlight streaming into his window was so bright, Miguel wakened suddenly to see a man kneeling at the foot of his bed. The man's face was lifted to the light of the window, and Miguel could see that it was Padre Vicente. Fascinated by the expression on the face he knew so well, the boy could not stir, and lay as if in a trance. The white glory of the moon slanted through the recessed window, and gleamed palely on the sculptured Christ in the hands of the kneeling man. At first his words were inaudible; then they grew plainer, and Miguel understood what he was saying.

"Keep the people of Thine heritage, O Lord, and let them not be scattered," prayed Padre Vicente, his strong face pale in the white moonlight.

That prayer Miguel knew of old. He had heard it on the lips of the padre many times; and it is to be doubted if it would have made a

very great impression upon him now if it had not been for what followed. The padre went on, innocent of any hearer save the One to Whom he addressed his petition.

"Send Thy Spirit upon the one I have dedicated to Thee," he whispered, “and grant that he shall keep my people safe from harm." Then an expression of agonized pleading passed across his face. "Take the boy for Thy service, and let not the heart of Thy servant be broken in his old age," he prayed fervently. Then he dropped his head in his hands and was silent.

Miguel lay motionless as a statue, but his heart was beating so that he could scarcely breathe. Never before had he heard the padre pray like that. Always when Miguel had heard his petitions, they had been for other people, for the Church, but never for himself. But now he prayed that his heart might not be broken in his old age. And what was it that was going to break the padre's heart? It was that Miguel should not enter the service of Holy Church. With a shiver the boy realized that. Padre Vicente had never told him that his heart would break if he did not choose to become a priest. He had said that the saints had chosen him, that the Church needed him, but he had never said anything more personal

than that he himself would be very happy to see Miguel a priest. But this was a different matter to break the padre's heart! The call of the King's Highway might lure Miguel from the service of all the Churches in Christendom; but never, never could it persuade him to break the heart of Padre Vicente-Padre Vicente, the mạn he loved as no other boy had ever loved any other man, with a passion amounting almost to worship! No, it could never make him do that! The boy was so strongly moved, that he was afraid that he would cry out and disturb the man who still knelt at the foot of the bed, his face buried in his hands.

But, long after the priest had risen and walked softly from the room, Miguel lay without moving a muscle, his face set in strange lines. Then suddenly he fell to sobbing, and after a time cried himself to sleep.

Very early in the morning Miguel woke, and dressing hurriedly, went out to find Padre Vicente. The priest was not in his room, bụt perhaps he was in the garden. Miguel would see. Hastening along the corridor, he entered the garden, when Padre Vicente, coming out of the sacristy, saw him. It was very early. The Angelus had not yet rung, and the priest looked surprised to see the boy there so soon. "Good morning, Miguel!" he exclaimed.