in some ship for Mexico or Central America, for he would not dare to go
to San Luis Rey or San Gabriel, as he would be discovered and sent back.
But I fear it will do no good."

The two returned to the house, where the woman still waited for them.
She saw traces of emotion on the Father's face, and consternation
written plainly on that of her husband, but, like a true Indian, asked
no questions.

Father Zalvidea commanded the couple to say nothing about the matter,
and returned to the mission. As soon as he reached it, he sent off two
trusty neophytes, on horseback, one to San Diego, the other to San
Pedro, with letters to friends in each place, relating the robbery. But
no trace of Juan was found. He had had over two days' start, and by the
time the messenger arrived at San Pedro, he was far out to sea in a ship
which had sailed the very morning of the discovery of the theft.

After this cruel interruption, Father Zalvidea returned to his quiet
life with a sorrowful heart. He did not regret the loss of the money, so
far as he himself was concerned, for he had long destined it for the
Church, as he knew he could retire to some monastery when too old and
feeble for further usefulness; but the desecration of his secret was
like a painful stab. The robbery had the effect, also, of calling
forcibly to mind, once again, the life and love of other days - those
halcyon days of youth, when all was sunshine and hope. During the rest
of the day the Father was unable to control himself for any work
whatsoever. He paced back and forth the length of his room; walked up
and down the cloister surrounding the patio; wandered out around the
garden, and even as far off as the bluff, a mile from the mission, from
which could be seen the beach below, white with foam from the inrushing