The priest observed her look, and bent his ear down closer.

"You did not know my father?" she whispered, while a dark look
gathered in her eyes.

"Your father, child! Why, your father died when you were ten years
old. What can your father (Heaven rest his soul in paradise!) have
to do with this present perversity of yours?"

"You did not know him, padre; you did not know that mother's illness
was caused by him alone."

"And how?"

"By his ill-treatment of her; he beat her and trampled upon her. I
well remember the nights when he came home in his fits of frenzy.
She never said a word, and did everything he bade her. Yet he would
beat her so, my heart felt ready to break. I used to cover up my
head and pretend to be asleep, but I cried all night. And then, when
he saw her lying on the floor, quite suddenly he would change, and
lift her up and kiss her, till she screamed and said he smothered
her. Mother forbade me ever to say a word of this; but it wore her
out. And in all these long years since father died, she has never
been able to get well again. And if she should soon die--which God
forbid!--I know who it was that killed her."

The little curato's head wagged slowly to and fro; he seemed
uncertain how far to acquiesce in the young girl's reasons. At
length he said: "Forgive him, as your mother has forgiven! And turn
your thoughts from such distressing pictures, Laurella; there may be