arms. Hanging above this image was a wooden cross, upon it the painted figure of Jesus crucified.

Under this cross and under this image kneeled the old man. His worn black robe had fallen from him, revealing undergarments coarse and still more worn. His face was very thin and deeply marked by suffering. As he kneeled, clasping his brazen crucifix, his black sunken eyes fixed upon the image before him, he prayed.

"O, holy Mother of God, have pity upon this feeble child of thine! Precious heart of Mary, be my salvation!"

Suddenly, there was a voice at his door, a child's voice, calling, "Abre, Tio, abre!" (Open, Uncle, open!) A light crept into those dull eyes. The old man arose, moved slowly across the floor, and withdrew the bolt from the door. There sprang into the room a handsome boy of about twelve years of age, straight and lithe, with the step of a soldier and with eyes flashing and black.

"Santisima Virgen! How you do love this dark corner! Come out into the garden, Tio mio, into the sunlight and among the flowers!"

The old man looked fondly into the eyes of the boy and said:

"My beautiful, the Virgin smiled when thou wast born! Sunshine, birds and flow.

ers were made for thee! But not for me! I soon must leave them all, but ere I go I must find peace, peace for my soul!"

"And wilt thou find it here?" interrupted the boy, looking about him.

The old man only replied by drawing the boy toward him. Then he led him to the little iron bedstead, where together they sat a moment in silence.

"Uncle," began the boy, "there is a stranger in our town, a white man, from the great country north of us. As he walks our streets he carries papers and little books. We met him this morning, Juan and I. He held out a little paper to me, and I reached to take it, but Juan drew me back, and told me not to touch it. The stranger did not speak. He only looked at me and smiled, and there was kindness in his smile and in his face. But Juan hurried me on and told me that the holy father said that whoever should talk to this stranger, or should take aught from him, would be cut off from the Holy Church and his soul forever lost. For this stranger, Juan said, is one of those 'Protestantes' lately come into our town."

The old man had been listening, but at the word "Protestante" he raised his head, and with horror in his voice, exclaimed, Ay Dios mio! And have those accursed

heretics found our beautiful little city? Have they come here to lead away our young and our innocent ones? But surely the Holy Church will not permit! Thou, my boy, avoid them, for they are the devil, and they lie in wait to destroy both soul and body!"

The boy did not reply. The old man paused and seemed lost in thought. At length the boy arose, threw his arms around his uncle's neck, saying, "Juan is waiting for me in the court, and I must be going. Then, adios, till to-morrow!"

"My boy, my beautiful boy!" murmured the old man, as the boy disappeared. "The Holy Virgin and the Saints protect him! Save him from the clutches of those devils!"

The old monk was too well wrought up to return to his knees. He could only walk his floor. But at length he went to the little iron-grated window, the only place, save the door, where the sun and air could enter. There he stood, looking into the courtyard, and over the wall, into the street beyond. But he saw not what his eye rested upon. He saw not the sinking sun was touching with gold the distant hilltops, the cathedral spires and even the old adobe walls about him, before leaving them in darkness. He saw nothing

and knew naught but his boy, and that he was in danger.

At last, as the gold was fading from sky and mountain tops, the old man turned, drew his cloak about him, passed through his door out into the yard. He seated himself on a low bench which stood against the high adobe wall surrounding the building. As he sat there, again lost in thought, we leave him a moment to repeat the story of his life.

Spain had taken possession of Mexico, and for three hundred years her people had been under the yoke of the Church of Rome. Among those who had crossed the seas from old Castile to seek the silver and the gold of the new country was the highborn family of Calistro. More than one generation had made their homes in the Capital City of Mexico, and had ever given freely to the Church their silver and their gold, their sons and their daughters.

Ignacio Calistro was the first to break the family circle, and he, with his young bride, crossed the vast tablelands, the high mountains, and came into the new and western lands of Mexico.

Their son, Leonardo, was dedicated, from infancy, to the priesthood. Submissive by nature, his childhood and youth were easily molded by instructors of the Holy Church.

But not so his beautiful Sister Feliciana, a couple of years his senior. Her high spirit chafed under the confinement of "Sisters' Schools," and for her family's sake she was privileged, as no other pupil, to go and come largely at will.

When Feliciana was only 18 years of age she attracted the admiration of the handsome and brave Colonel Valentino, who had been sent with troops from the City of Mexico to protect the newer towns of the west from the devastations of mountain brigands and lawless tribes of Indians. The Church was wise enough to see a great gain for herself in the marriage of one of her favorite daughters to the popular young "Independente" and soldier, for the country had been passing through years of struggle, that terrible struggle between Church and State when the State, under its noble leader Juarez, had come off vic torious.

Some years later, upon the death of the parents, the Calistro estates were left in larger part to the Church, the son and daughter receiving smaller shares. Leonardo, now a young man, a little over 20 years of age, had learned perfectly the first great commandment of the Church of Rome -submission. It was only to be expected,