The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-10-20

which crowded abont them, and none so jealous as the elders of the family in their support of the educational chances which had been denied their youth. Rafael, the younger brother of the man now the head of the fam- fly, had been the flower of the flock. He had been sent to the little village school and had proved himself pos sessed of the pent-up thirst for knowl- edge of untutored generations. Who watched his progress more proudly than Father Neal, who had always held that, stored up in the stolid remnant of this once dominant race, were the germs of new and splendid intellectual expansion2 Who but Father Neal had seconded the young fellows ambition to complete course of study at the state university, and so directed his course of study that it should insure him 8 practical success in life? Rafael Santos had graduated with honor, and had gone up to the mines to take responsible position, for which his long and thorough train- ing had fitted him. There, overtaken by low malarial fever, he had lain on hospital cot and seen a deadlier enemy approaching; long, hungry, tongues of flame which licked the walls and roof, and every moment crept nearer to where he lay, sick and help less. He had been rescued unhurt but when, at length, he came back to life and health, there was 8 cloud on his brain, and his will power seemed destroyed. Three years had passed, and he remained 8 stupid, living mechanism, 8 fesh- and blood mani- kin, who ate, and slept, and moved at the bidding of those about him, but who was incapable of an independent action or intelligent thought; a man whose individuality was obliterated, and who was only known as an appendage of the household to which he belonged. He was but twenty four. Possibly fifty years more of this brute existence lay before him. Father Neal shuddered at the thought.
 Worldly as the priest was, and given to fieshly pleasures, he was not so much of materialist as to believe that human soul and bright human intellect could have been swept out of existence during 8 short siege of illness and few moments fright. He had, at first, cherished the hope that, restored to his old home and its familiar surroundings, Rafael would slowly come back to himself, as a child wakes to intelligence under a mothers cherishing care. Disap- pointed in this, he had been patiently awaiting some inevitable crisis, when the sleeping brain should regain its empire over the body. To him, the great, docile fellow was no stupid idiot, no mindless toy" of nature's fashion, ing; but the grest dark eyes spoke of a dormant intellect, the sluggish body was instinct with slumbering energy. The priest, studying him, felt the im- potent rage of one who grapples with mysteries beyond his ken.
 "Rafael," he said, "do you remember Felicia?"
 The priest had motive for asking this question, motive born that morning, in the performance of his priestly functions, in the solemn shadows of the little mission church. Father Neal was not so bad a Catholic that he would betray the condolences of the confessional, but he was too good Christian not to turn the knowledge thus gained to practical use in fighting the affairs of the little community.
 If he had expected to surprise his nearer into any betrayal of emotion, or to arouse him to reflection, he was disappointed.
 "Felicia2" repeated Rafael, duly. "I don't know. Ya-as."
 Since the stroke that Rafael had re- ceived, 1t was noticeable that, on the few occasions that he indulged in speech, he relapsed into the vernacular of the ignorant class among whom he lived. This characteristic, coupled with his dull, indifferent tone, might we'll have discouraged less resolute man than Father N6al.
 "Felicia," he repeated slowly "Fe- licia, the girl you were to marry some day. Do you know what has become of Felicia, Rafael3 Listen to what say. She is behind the walls of the old convent. On Easter Sunday Easter Sunday, mark l-she will take the veil"
 1 The priest pointed his whip at the old convent on the hill beyond them as he spoke. Rafael>s eyes traveled mechanically in that direction, and he smiled with a child's pleased, un- meaning smile at the golden rays o1 the setting sun, reflected back from the windows likea thousand shattered javelins.
 "Remember what I say. insisted Father Neal, impressively Con Easter Sunday, if nothing happens before Felicia will be forever lost to you and T 4