Then the necessity of appealing to her in prayer seized upon him, and
with fervent warmth he besought her to surround with her gracious
protection the young life which owed its existence to him.

He did not think of the child's mother. Was he still angry with her?

Did she seem to him unworthy of being commended to the protection of the
Queen of Heaven? Barbara was now no more to him than a cracked bell, and
the child which she expected to give him, no matter to what high' honours
he raised it, would bear a stain that nothing could efface, and this
stain would be called "his mother."

No deviation from the resolve which he had expressed to the physician was
possible. The child could not be permitted to grow up amid Barbara's
surroundings. To prevent this she must submit to part from her son or
her daughter, and to take the veil. In the convent she could remember
the happiness which had once raised her to its loftiest height. She
could and must atone for her sin and his by prayers and pious exercises.
To return to the low estate whence he had raised her must appear
disgraceful to herself. How could one who had once dined at the table
of the gods still relish the fare of mortals? Even now it seemed
inconceivable to him that she could oppose his will. Yet if she did, he
would withdraw his aid. He no longer loved her. In this hour she was
little more to him than the modest casket to which was confided a jewel
of inestimable value, an object of anxiety and care. The determination
which he had confided to his physician was as immovable as everything
which he had maturely considered. Don Luis Quijada should provide for
its execution.