consecrated and dedicated to God, just in the dawn of power and promise
for the glory of the Mother Church, to be taken from his side? And at
the word of a self-convicted man of sin--a man whose tardy repentance
was not yet absolved by the Holy Church. Never! never! Father Pedro
dwelt upon the stranger's rejection of the ministrations of the Church
with a pitiable satisfaction; had he accepted it, he would have had a
sacred claim upon Father Pedro's sympathy and confidence. Yet he rose
again, uneasily and with irregular steps returned to the corridor,
passing the door of the familiar little cell beside his own. The window,
the table, and even the scant toilette utensils were filled with the
flowers of yesterday, some of them withered and dry; the white gown of
the little chorister was hanging emptily against the wall. Father Pedro
started and trembled; it seemed as if the spiritual life of the child
had slipped away with its garments.

In that slight chill, which even in the hottest days in California
always invests any shadow cast in that white sunlight, Father Pedro
shivered in the corridor. Passing again into the garden, he followed
in fancy the wayfaring figure of Francisco, saw the child arrive at
the rancho of Don Juan, and with the fateful blindness of all dreamers
projected a picture most unlike the reality. He followed the pilgrims
even to San Jose, and saw the child deliver the missive which gave
the secret of her sex and condition to the Father Superior. That the
authority at San Jose might dissent with the Padre of San Carmel,
or decline to carry out his designs, did not occur to the one-idea'd
priest. Like all solitary people, isolated from passing events, he made
no allowances for occurrences outside of his routine. Yet at this moment
a sudden thought whitened his yellow cheek. What if the Father Superior
deemed it necessary to impart the secret to Francisco? Would the child
recoil at the deception, and, perhaps, cease to love him? It was the