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'I was interrupted in my confession by a sound of deep sobs, and rising my eyes, Oh God, what were my sensations, when in the features of the holy father I discovered Angelo! His image faded like a vision from my sight, and I sunk at his feet. On recovering I found myself on my matrass, attended by a sister, who I discovered by her conversation had no suspicion of the occasion of my disorder. Indisposition confined me to my bed for several days; when I recovered, I saw Angelo no more, and could almost have doubted my senses, and believed that an illusion had crossed my sight, till one day I found in my cell a written paper. I distinguished at the first glance the handwriting of Angelo, that well-known hand which had so often awakened me to other emotions. I trembled at the sight; my beating heart acknowledged the beloved characters; a cold tremor shook my frame, and half breathless I seized the paper. But recollecting myself, I paused—I hesitated: duty at length yielded to the strong temptation, and I read the lines! Oh! those lines prompted by despair, and bathed in my tears! every word they offered gave a new pang to my heart, and swelled its anguish almost beyond endurance. I learned that Angelo, severely wounded in a foreign engagement, had been left for dead upon the field; that his life was saved by the humanity of a common soldier of the enemy, who perceiving signs of existence, conveyed him to a house. Assistance was soon procured, but his wounds exhibited the most alarming symptoms. During several months he languished between life and death, till at length his youth and constitution surmounted the conflict, and he returned to Naples. Here he saw my brother, whose distress and astonishment at beholding him occasioned a relation of past circumstances, and of the vows I had taken in consequence of the report of his death. It is unnecessary to mention the immediate effect of this narration; the final one exhibited a very singular proof of his attachment and despair;—he devoted himself to a monastic life, and chose this abbey for the place of his residence, because it contained the object most dear to his affections. His letter informed me that he had purposely avoided discovering himself, endeavouring to be contented with the opportunities which occurred of silently observing me, till chance had occasioned the foregoing interview.—But that since its effects had been so mutually painful, he would relieve me from the apprehension of a similar distress, by assuring me, that I should see him no more. He was faithful to his promise; from that day I have never seen him, and am even ignorant whether he yet inhabits this asylum; the efforts of religious fortitude, and the just fear of exciting curiosity, having withheld me from enquiry. But the moment of our last interview has been equally fatal to my peace and to my health, and I trust I shall, ere very long, be released from the agonizing ineffectual struggles occasioned by the consciousness of sacred vows imperfectly performed, and by earthly affections not wholly subdued.',

That night, in accordance with his plan to try to get as much as he could of the general atmosphere of the situation, Bob decided to go down to the lower camp. On the highest ground were the mechanics’ houses, and from them, sloping to the river bank, were the bunk houses and shacks of the Mexican laborers. At one side, a little apart, was the camp of the Indians who, aside from the Mexicans, were practically the only laborers to be had in that section of the country. Of course, they were far less in number than the Mexicans. The street on which the motion picture theatre and the stores were located, was well lighted by the power plant and had been dubbed “Broadway.”,

To urge on them Beauty's example.,

“A whole heap. It seems that the talk was in town that the lid was going to blow off down at the border and that if they could get the Greasers riled up on the dam, the trouble would not be laid to them but simply on the general[170] bad blood between the Mexicans and Americans. Wesley and Harper were so enthusiastic they wanted to blow up the spillway and the mixing plant. Even in their enthusiasm they realized that the portion of the dam already built would be more than a job for dynamite.”

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“Yes,” said Johnny Blossom.,

“Well, John,” said Mother, “is anything the matter?”,

CHAPTER V JERRY’S STORY,

Indeed, they wouldn’t go into the water! Oh, the horrid little goat!