"Give me the fan, Captain Carroll," she said, with a soft and
caressing smile. "Thank you." She took it, and, breaking it
through the middle between her gloved hands, tossed it into the
highway. "You are right--it smells of the fonda--and the road.
Thank you, again. You are so thoughtful for me, Captain Carroll,"
she murmured, raising her eyes gently to his, and then suddenly
withdrawing them with a half sigh. "But I am keeping you all. Go
on."

The carriage rolled away and Guest returned from the hedge to the
middle of the road. San Jose lay in the opposite direction from
the disappearing cavalcade; but, on leaving the fonda, he had
determined to lead his inquisitors astray by doubling and making a
circuit of the hostelry through the fields hidden in the tall
grain. This he did, securely passing them within sound of their
voices, and was soon well on his way again. He avoided the
highway, and, striking a trail through the meadows, diverged to the
right, where the low towers and brown walls of a ruined mission
church rose above the plain. This would enable him to escape any
direct pursuit on the high road, besides, from its slight
elevation, giving him a more extended view of the plain. As he
neared it, he was surprised to see that, although it was partly
dismantled, and the roof had fallen in the central aisle, a part of
it was still used as a chapel, and a light was burning behind a
narrow opening, partly window and partly shrine. He was almost
upon it, when the figure of a man who had been kneeling beneath,
with his back towards him, rose, crossed himself devoutly, and
stood upright. Before he could turn, Guest disappeared round the
angle of the wall, and the tall erect figure of the solitary
worshiper passed on without heeding him.