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 Jose 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 you
pretended 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--upon
Don 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