He no longer attended the services of the Holy Church, but crept away at such times to some solitary spot, where he spent the interval in silent meditation.

The firelight played upon the low beams and rafters, but left the bowed figure of Salvatierra in darkness.

Sitting thus, he felt a small hand touch his arm, and looking down, saw the figure of Paquita, his little Indian pupil, at his knee.

"Ah, littlest of all," said the Commander, with something of his old tenderness, lingering over the endearing diminutives of his native speech--"sweet one, what doest thou here?
Art thou not afraid of him whom everyone shuns and fears ?" "No," said the little Indian, readily, "not in the dark.

I hear your voice--the old voice; I feel your touch--the old touch; but I see not your eye, Senor Commandante.