taking.

"How can I help loving her?" he said, in response to some remark made to
him. "Saw you ever any one so beautiful as she? I could pray to her as I
do to the Holy Virgin, for I think she is as good. She is una beata, is
she not?"

And those who heard what he said were of one mind on this point, and the
title thus given to Apolinaria by the man who loved her, was, ere long,
the one by which she became known to all - La Beata[1].

But before Pedro had entirely recovered from his illness, he realized
the nature of his fondness for Apolinaria. Dismayed and perplexed, he
knew not what to do, for, to tell his love for her seemed to his simple
eyes an impertinence. That he should dare to love one so immeasurably
above him one in whom earthly love was merged in her love for God and
her fellowmen! No, he must go back to his old life at the presidio, just
as soon as he was able, and leave her with his love unsaid.

But love sometimes is stronger than will, and so it proved in Pedro's
case. He determined to leave the mission the next day, without a word to
any one, and this last evening he had wandered out into the olive
orchard near the church. It was the close of a hot summer day, toward
the end of June; the sun was just set in the glowing western sky, and
all nature seemed to take a breath of relief in the cool evening air.
Pedro had been there only a few moments when Apolinaria appeared,
approaching from the river beyond the orchard, where she had been to see
some of her patients. Pedro, undecided whether to stay quiet and risk a
last meeting with her, or, as prudence whispered, to flee, hesitated too
long, and she was close to him before he awoke from his indecision; She