the hour.

Don Jose did not even look at his daughter, but
his face was ten years older than in the morning.
He had begun dimly to appreciate that she was suf-
fering, and in a manner vastly different from the
passionate resentment he had seen her display when
the contents of a box from Mexico disappointed her,
or she was denied a visit to Monterey. That his
best-loved child should suffer tore his own heart,
but he merely cursed Rezanov and resolved to do
his best to persuade the Governor to yield to his
other demands, that California might be rid of him
the sooner.

Father Abella was walking down the long outer
corridor of the Mission reading his breviary, and
praying he might not be diverted from righteousness
by the comforting touch of his new habit, when he
looked up and saw the party from the presidio
floundering over the last of the sand hills. He
shuffled off to order refreshments, and returned in
time to disburden the carreta of Dona Ignacia--no
mean feat--volubly delighted in the visit and the
gossip it portended. But as he offered his arm to
lead her into the sala, she pushed him aside and
pointed to Concha, who had sprung to the ground
unassisted.

"She has come to confess, padre!" she exclaimed,