“The abbe has been your sole teacher, I suppose?”

“Has been!  He is still.  He has even written books for me, and he is the author of some of the best I possess—­But don’t you think, monsieur, we had better descend to the valley?  The abbe will have finished his business by this time, and though he is the best man in the world he has the fault of kings; he does not like to wait.”

CHAPTER XXVIII.

I BID YOU STAY.

“You have been here a month, Monsieur Nigel, living in close intimacy with Angela and myself,” said the abbe, as we sat on the veranda sipping our morning coffee.  “You have mixed with our people, seen our country, and inspected the great azequia in its entire length.  Tell me, now, frankly, what do you think of us?”

“I never passed so happy a month in my life, and—­”

“I am glad to hear you say so, very glad.  My question, however, referred not to your feelings but your opinion.  I will repeat it:  What think you of Quipai and its institutions?”

“I know of but one institution in Quipai, and I admire it more than I can tell.”

“And that is?”

“Yourself, Monsieur l’Abbe.”

The abbe smiled as if the compliment pleased him, but the next moment his face took the “pale cast of thought,” and he remained silent for several minutes.

“I know what you mean,” he said at length, speaking slowly and rather sadly.  “You mean that I am Quipai, and that without me Quipai would be nowhere.”

“Exactly, Monsieur l’Abbe.  Quipai is a miracle; you are its creator, yet I doubt whether, as it now exists, it could long survive you.  But that is a contingency which we need not discuss; you have still many years of life before you.”

“I like a well-turned compliment, Monsieur Nigel, because in order to be acceptable it must possess both a modicum of truth and a soupcon of wit.  But flattery I detest, for it must needs be insincere.  A man of ninety cannot, in the nature of things, have many years of life before him.  What are even ten years to one who has already lived nearly a century?  This is a solemn moment for both of us, and I want to be sincere with you.  You were sincere just now when you said Quipai would perish with me.  And it will—­unless I can find a successor who will continue the work which I have begun.  My people are good and faithful, but they require a prescient and capable chief, and there is not one among them who is fitted either by nature or education to take the place of leader.  Will you be my successor, Monsieur Nigel?”

This was a startling proposal.  To stay in Quipai for a few weeks or even a few months might be very delightful.  But to settle for life in an Andean desert!  On the other hand, to leave Quipai were to lose Angela.