"nothing they say or sing is about the Holy Virgin or about the saints. It is only Jesus! Is it true?"

But the old man, still looking at the boy, only said, "I do not know."

The following day Rudolfo found his uncle scarce able to speak. The food which the faithful Juan had brought was refused. The old man would have no help.

The boy kneeled by his uncle's bedside. "I went again last night to hear the stranger. I do not care, though the priest forbid!" that same fearless look leaping into his eyes. "And there was another man there, one of our own people. He, too, read from the book. He, too, kneeled and prayed; but he held no crucifix and he called no name of virgin or saint. I waited again at the door till they both came. The man of our country took me by the hand and asked me my name. And when I told him I was the son of General Valentino he laughed and said, 'Of course, my boy; his eyes thou hast, and even his same proud hold of the head! I knew thy father, boy, and thy mother! And hast thou an And when I

Uncle Leonardo?' he asked. told him that thou wast sick, he said, 'Oh, take me to see him, boy!' Shall I bring him to see thee, and dost thou know him, Tio?"

The old man moved. "Yes," he said; then suddenly, "Oh, no, boy! it would not do. I am afraid!" he whispered.

"Uncle, you fear the priests here! But I am not afraid! I will bring him tonight, for I promised him I would. No one shall see us, so do not fear, Tio mio!"

Through the long hours lay the dying man, waiting. Life was very feeble, but his mind still active. Very quiet it was. in that little back room, but the sick man still could hear the voice of his boy. "There is no other name-there is no other name Jesus, let me to thy bosom fly."

Dusk was sifting over the town, men returning to their homes. But no one took special note of two figures, a man and a boy, as they moved silently along the narrow back lane, opened the back court gate, crossed the yard to the door of the "old crazy monk of Calistro."

Only the light of the moon shone through the little grated window. The incomer leaned low to look into the face of the dying man, for not even in the clear light of day would one have guessed that the thin, worn face upon the hard pillow was once the young man Leonardo.

The visitor spoke his name. The dying man heard the voice, raised his hand and whispered:

"Felipe! my old friend Felipe!" Then Felipe sat on the edge of the bed, the boy kneeled on the floor, and the dying man and the boy listened while Felipe talked. He spoke of the years that had passed when they were boys together. He told of the new and blessed life which had been his since he had found his Jesus; the story of the cross, so familiar to the dying monk, but never told like this; the sacrifice, so full and complete, that there was no longer need for penance, for intercedence of priest, saint or virgin.

Slowly and feebly the old man's eyes moved from the pictures of saints, dimly outlined on the walls, to the image of the Virgin, then rested upon the little wooden cross. "And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me!" softly repeated Felipe.

The pictures and the image seemed to fade from before the dying man. Only the cross was visible. And then, only him upon the cross, no longer crucified, but glorified, waiting, with welcome in his face, and saying, as Felipe repeated:

"Come unto me and I will give thee rest -rest!"

Long time talked Felipe, in low tones, the dying man and the boy still listening. At length Felipe said, "To-morrow I go

away. But we shall both meet again where we shall be at rest. I leave with you this little book, God's Word, the New Testament of his love. Your boy will read it to you when I am gone."

When the servant came the next morning, he saw the face of the old monk in perfect rest and peace. Rest and peace which his life of penance and of works never could have earned. Rest and peace which is the gift of God through his Son.

The little brazen crucifix had fallen to one side, but on his bosom, resting under those thin hands, lay Felipe's gift-the little New Testament.

Instinctively the servant Juan concealed the little book about his person, before calling help.

The Superior came for burial rites, the old monk's sister and her boy. The boy took with him the little crucifix as he had promised. There were few to mourn, and few to follow, to its resting place, the "old crazy monk of Calistro." But did it matter, if there was rejoicing in heaven?

CHAPTER III.

ELENA.

It was the beautiful month of May. Although in Western Mexico there are no severe frosts to strip the trees, still spring brings fresh green, and beautiful bloom. The houses of the well-to-do inclose an open court. Into this the rooms of the build

ings open. This courtyard is often filled with beautiful flowers, sometimes a playing fountain of water in the midst.

It was in such a garden that there walked, one bright morning in May, a siender young girl-graceful her every movement, and her black eyes, large, soft and dreamy. She paused a moment to touch the snow white "gardenia" and then to pluck a spray of the fragrant jasmine. As she stood a moment under the oleander, with its bright pink blossoms, the street door opened. There sounded a step down through the corridor, into the garden and to her side. It was Rudolfo, her near neighbor, and almost constant companion.

"Bienvenida Rufo! Dost thou remember that this is the month of our Holy Mother,