tary authorities had failed. All the little world of
San Francisco had been invited, and it would be
strange if in the confusion between performance
and supper a lover could not find a moment alone
with his lady.

The elements were kind to the padres. The after-
noon was not too hot, although the sun flooded the
plain and there was not a cloud on the dazzling blue
of the sky. Never had the Mission and the man-
sions looked so white, their tiles so red. The trees
were blossoming pink and white in the orchards, the
lightest breeze rippled the green of the fields; and
into this valley came neither the winds nor the fogs
of the ocean.

The priests and their guests of honor sat on the
long corridor beside the church; the soldiers, sailors,
and Indians of Presidio and Mission forming the
other three sides of a hollow square. The Indian
women were a blaze of color. The ladies on the
corridor wore their mantillas, jewels, and the gay-
est of artificial flowers. There were as many fans
as women. Rezanov sat between Father Abella and
the Commandante, and not being in the best of
tempers had never looked more imposing and re-
mote. Concha, leaning against one of the pillars,
stole a glance at him and wondered miserably if this
haughty European had really sought her hand, if it
were not a girl's foolish dream. But Concha's