"No doubt she has some fervent wish, like all
children," he thought apologetically. "And whether
this will help her to realize it or not, at least it will
be interesting to watch her eyes--and mouth--
when I tell her. Will she melt, or flash, or receive
my offering at her shrine as a matter of course?
I'll surprise her to-night in the middle of a dance."

He deposited a gold piece among the candles on
the table and followed Father Abella through a side
door. A corridor ran behind the long line of rooms
designed not only for priests but for travellers al-
ways sure of a welcome at these hospitable Mis-
sions. Father Abella shuffled ahead, halted on the
threshold of a large room, and ceremoniously in-
vited his guests to enter. Two other priests stood
before a table set with wine and delicate confec-
tions, their hands concealed in their wide brown
sleeves, but their unmatched physiognomies--the one
lean and jovial, the other plump and resigned--
alight with the same smile of welcome. Father
Abella mentioned them as his coadjutor Father
Martin Landaeta, and their guest Father Jose Uria
of San Jose; and then the three, with the scant rites
of genuine hospitality, applied themselves to the tick-
ling of palates long unused to ambrosial living. Re-
sponding ingenuously to the glow of their home-
made wines, they begged Rezanov to accept the Mis-
sion, burn it, plunder it, above all, to plan his own