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.He returned in seven days, and in the midst of the plain there were three houses and a mill and many people.And why was it? Ah! Mother of God! one had picked up in the creek where he drank that much of gold;" and the muleteer tapped one of the silver coins that fringed his jacket sleeves in place of buttons."And they are washing the sands for gold there now," said Antonio, eagerly pointing to some men gathered round a machine like an enormous cradle."Let us hasten on."Father Pedro's momentary interest had passed.The words of his companions fell dull and meaningless upon his dreaming ears.He was conscious only that the child was more a stranger to him as an outcome of this hard, bustling life, than when he believed her borne to him over the mysterious sea.It perplexed his dazed, disturbed mind to think that if such an antagonistic element could exist within a dozen miles of the Mission, and he not know it, could not such an atmosphere have been around him, even in his monastic isolation, and he remain blind to it? Had he really lived in the world without knowing it? Had it been in his blood? Had it impelled him to—He shuddered and rode on.They were at the last slope of the zigzag descent to the shore, when he saw the figures of a man and woman moving slowly through a field of wild oats, not far from the trail.It seemed to his distorted fancy that the man was Cranch.The woman! His heart stopped beating.Ah! could it be? He had never seen her in her proper garb: would she look like that? Would she be as tall? He thought he bade José and Antonio go on slowly before with Sanchicha, and dismounted, walking slowly between the high stalks of grain lest he should disturb them.They evidently did not hear his approach, but were talking earnestly.It seemed to Father Pedro that they had taken each other's hands, and as he looked Cranch slipped his arm round her waist.With only a blind instinct of some dreadful sacrilege in this act, Father Pedro would have rushed forward, when the girl's voice struck his ear.He stopped, breathless.It was not Francisco, but Juanita, the little mestiza."But are you sure you are not pretending to love me now, as youpretended to think I was the muchacha you had run away with and lost?Are you sure it is not pity for the deceit you practiced upon me—uponDon Juan—upon poor Father Pedro?"It seemed as if Cranch had tried to answer with a kiss, for the girl drew suddenly away from him with a coquettish fling of the black braids, and whipped her little brown hands behind her."Well, look here," said Cranch, with the same easy, good-natured, practical directness which the priest remembered, and which would have passed for philosophy in a more thoughtful man, "put it squarely, then.In the first place, it was Don Juan and the alcalde who first suggested you might be the child.""But you have said you knew it was Francisco all the time," interruptedJuanita."I did; but when I found the priest would not assist me at first, and admit that the acolyte was a girl, I preferred to let him think I was deceived in giving a fortune to another, and leave it to his own conscience to permit it or frustrate it.I was right.I reckon it was pretty hard on the old man, at his time of life, and wrapped up as he was in the girl; but at the moment he came up to the scratch like a man.""And to save him you have deceived me? Thank you, Señor," said the girl with a mock curtsey."I reckon I preferred to have you for a wife than a daughter," said Cranch, "if that's what you mean.When you know me better, Juanita," he continued, gravely, "you'll know that I would never have let you believe I sought in you the one if I had not hoped to find in you the other.""Bueno! And when did you have that pretty hope?""When I first saw you.""And that was—two weeks ago.""A year ago, Juanita.When Francisco visited you at the rancho.I followed and saw you."Juanita looked at him a moment, and then suddenly darted at him, caught him by the lapels of his coat and shook him like a terrier."Are you sure that you did not love that Francisco? Speak!" (She shook him again.) "Swear that you did not follow her!""But—I did," said Cranch, laughing and shaking between the clenching of the little hands."Judas Iscariot! Swear you do not love her all this while.""But, Juanita!""Swear!"Cranch swore.Then to Father Pedro's intense astonishment she drew theAmerican's face towards her own by the ears and kissed him."But you might have loved her, and married a fortune," said Juanita, after a pause."Where would have been my reparation—my duty?" returned Cranch, with a laugh."Reparation enough for her to have had you," said Juanita, with that rapid disloyalty of one loving woman to another in an emergency.This provoked another kiss from Cranch, and then Juanita said demurely:"But we are far from the trail.Let us return, or we shall miss FatherPedro.Are you sure he will come?""A week ago he promised to be here to see the proofs to-day."The voices were growing fainter and fainter; they were returning to the trail.Father Pedro remained motionless.A week ago! Was it a week ago since—since what? And what had he been doing here? Listening! He! Father Pedro, listening like an idle peon to the confidences of two lovers.But they had talked of him, of his crime, and the man had pitied him.Why did he not speak? Why did he not call after them? He tried to raise his voice.It sank in his throat with a horrible choking sensation.The nearest heads of oats began to nod to him, he felt himself swaying backward and forward.He fell—heavily, down, down, down, from the summit of the mountain to the floor of the Mission chapel, and there he lay in the dark.* * * * *"He moves
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