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“‘At Santa Ysabel del Mar, where your feet would often pass.'” The priest repeated this final sentence aloud, without being aware of it.

“Those are the last words he ever spoke,” said the stranger, “except bidding me good-by.”

“You knew him well, then?”

“No; not until after he was hurt. I’m the man he quarreled with.”

The priest looked at the ship that would sail onward this afternoon.

Then a smile of great beauty passed over his face, and he addressed the strange. “I thank you. You will never know what you have done for me.”

“It is nothing,” answered the stranger, awkwardly. “He told me you set great store on a new organ.”

Padre Ignacio turned away from the ship and rode back through the gorge. When he had reached the shady place where once he had sat with Gaston Villere, he dismounted and again sat there, alone by the stream, for many hours. Long rides and outings had been lately so much his custom that no one thought twice of his absence; and when he resumed to the mission in the afternoon, the Indian took his mule, and he went to his seat in the garden. But it was with another look that he watched the sea; and presently the sail moved across the blue triangle, and soon it had rounded the headland.

With it departed Temptation for ever.

Gaston’s first coming was in the Padre’s mind; and, as the vespers bell began to ring in the cloistered silence, a fragment of Auber’s plaintive tune passed like a sigh across his memory.

[Musical score appears here]

For the repose of Gaston’s young, world-loving spirit, they sang all that he had taught them of Il Trovatore.

After this day, Felipe and all those who knew and loved the Padre best, saw serenity had returned to his features; but for some reason they began to watch those features with more care.

“Still,” they said, “he is not old.” And as the months went by they would repeat: “We shall have him yet for many years.”

Thus the season rolled round, bringing the time for the expected messages from the world. Padre Ignacio was wont to sit in his garden, waiting for the ship, as of old.

“As of old,” they said, cheerfully, who saw him. But Renunciation with Contentment they could not see; it was deep down in his silent and thanked heart.

One day Felipe went to call him from his garden seat, wondering why the ringing of the bell had not brought him to vespers. Breviary in lap, and hands folded upon it, the Padre sat among his flowers, looking at the sea. Out there amid the sapphire-blue, tranquil and white, gleamed the sails of the barkentine. It had brought him a new message, not from this world; and Padre Ignacio was slowly borne in from the garden, while the mission-bell tolled for the passing of a human soul.