the ear. However, she did not dismiss her, a sen-
tence for which the trembling girl prepared herself.

"Make more--quickly!" cried the lady of caprice.
"They come. I hear them. But this is enough for
the first. Make the rest and beat with the molinillo
as I have done, and Malia will bring all to the cor-
ridor."

She ran to her room and her mirror. Both were
small, the room little more luxurious than the cell
of a nun. But the roses hung over the window,
the birds had built in the eaves, and over the wall
the sun shone in. In one corner was an altar and
a crucifix. If the walls were rough and white,
they were spotless as the hands that shook out and
then twisted high the fine dusky masses of hair.
When a fold had been drawn over either ear, in
the modest fashion of the California maid and wife,
and the tall shell comb had fastened the rest, Con-
cha instead of finishing the headdress with her long
Spanish pins, divested the stems of two half-blown
roses of their thorns and thrust them obliquely
through the knot. Her dress was of simple white
linen made with a very full skirt and little round
jacket, but embroidered by her own deft fingers
with the color she loved best. She patted her frock,
rolled down her sleeves, and went out to the "corri-
dor" to stand demurely behind her mother as the
Russians, escorted by Father Ramon Abella, rode