seen her since her unhappy marriage, five years before. Recovering
himself, he asked her, coldly, why she was there. With sobs she told him
she had a small box which she would leave in the confessional for him.
On his asking what was in it, and what she wished him to do with it, she
said it was a small sum of money which he must take with him on his
journey, and always keep by him, and if, at any time, or when old age
overtook him, he were in want, to use it. "You are going far away," she
said. "I shall never see you, may never hear of you, again. I know a
priest's life is one of toil and hardship, especially in the new land,
and his salary very small. It is my own, JosŽ," she implored, "do not
refuse me. Take it, and think kindly of me, if you can." Touched by her
thought, he promised, and should he never need to use it, he would leave
it to the Church. Then, as she bowed her head, in broken accents, he
called down Heaven's richest blessing on his loved one. Weeping
bitterly, Dolores arose and left the confessional. As soon as he had
recovered from his agitation, JosŽ left his seat, and entering the side
of the confessional where Dolores had knelt, he saw an oblong parcel,
wrapped in dark paper, lying on the floor far back in the corner. He
took it up and carried it away with him. Not for many days after did he
have the calmness to open it. Inside the wrapper was the wooden box we
have already seen, on top of which lay a small, flat key. He unlocked
the box, and with eyes full of tears, saw the glittering rows of gold
coins, and the words traced by Dolores's pen.

But to-night Father Zalvidea decided to put the box in a safer place.
Going to the window, and drawing aside the curtain, he opened it.
Listening intently for a moment, and hearing nothing, he returned to the
table, lighted a small dark lantern, extinguished the candle, and taking
up the box after closing and locking it, he left the room, and walked
softly through the passage out into the patio.