agitated the mass as Father Pedro approached. He bent over the heap
and distinguished in its midst the glowing black eyes of Sanchicha,
the Indian centenarian of the Mission San Carmel. Only her eyes lived.
Helpless, boneless, and jelly-like, old age had overtaken her with a
mild form of deliquescence.

"Listen, Sanchicha," said the father, gravely. "It is important that
thou shouldst refresh thy memory for a moment. Look back fourteen years,
mother; it is but yesterday to thee. Thou dost remember the baby--a
little muchacha thou broughtest me then--fourteen years ago?"

The old woman's eyes became intelligent, and turned with a quick look
towards the open door of the church, and thence towards the choir.

The Padre made a motion of irritation. "No, no! Thou dost not
understand; thou dost not attend me. Knowest thou of any mark of
clothing, trinket, or amulet found upon the babe?"

The light of the old woman's eyes went out. She might have been dead.
Father Pedro waited a moment, and then laid his hand impatiently on her
shoulder.

"Dost thou mean there are none?"

A ray of light struggled back into her eyes.

"None."

"And thou hast kept back or put away no sign nor mark of her parentage?
Tell me, on this crucifix."