There had been no necessity for argument
or controversy; the worthy priest's skill in polemical warfare and
disputation had never been brought into play; the Comandante and Alcalde
were as punctiliously orthodox as himself, and the small traders and
artisans were hopelessly docile and submissive. The march of science,
which had been stopped by the local fogs of Todos Santos some fifty
years, had not disturbed the simple Aesculapius of the province with
heterodox theories: he still purged and bled like Sangrado, and met the
priest at the deathbed of his victims with a pious satisfaction that had
no trace of skeptical contention. In fact, the gentle Mission of Todos
Santos had hitherto presented no field for the good Father's exalted
ambition, nor the display of his powers as a zealot. And here was a
splendid opportunity.
The conversion of this dark, impulsive, hysterical stranger would be a
gain to the fold, and a triumph worthy of his steel. More than that, if
he had judged correctly of this young man's mind and temperament, they
seemed to contain those elements of courage and sacrificial devotion
that indicated the missionary priesthood. With such a subaltern, what
might not he, Father Esteban, accomplish! Looking further into the
future, what a glorious successor might be left to his unfinished work
on Todos Santos!
Buried in these reflections, Padre Esteban sauntered leisurely up
the garden, that gradually ascended the slight elevation on which the
greater part of the pueblo was built.
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