Ferdinand Ramero turned upon the priest fiercely.

"Even the Church might go too far," he muttered, threateningly.

"It might, but it never has," the holy man agreed. Then turning to
Esmond Clarenden, he continued: "You must see that these charges do not
stand against you. Our Holy Church offers no protection, outside of
these four walls, to a traitor or a spy or even an unpatriotic
speculator seeking to profit by the needs of war. Nor could it sanction
giving the guardianship of a child to one who daringly imperils his own
life or the lives of children, nor can it sanction any rights of
guardianship unless due cause be given for granting them."

Ferdinand Ramero smiled as the priest concluded. He was a handsome man,
with the sort of compelling magnetism that gives controlling power to
its possessor. But because I knew my uncle so well in after years, I can
picture Esmond Clarenden as he stood that night before the young priest
in the little mud-walled church of Agua Fria. And I can picture the
tall, threatening man in the shadows beside him. But never have I held
an image of him showing a sign of fear.

"Father Josef, I am willing to make any explanation to you. As for this
man whom you call Ramero here--up in the States he bears another name
and I finished with him there six years ago--I have no time nor breath
to waste on him. Are these your demands?" my uncle asked.

"They are," Father Josef replied.

"Do I take away the little girl, Eloise, unmolested, if you are