Indian, as her father had done.

He was the first to recover his self-possession. "The Father is not
here," he said. "He will be back soon, for he set me my task until he
should return, and I have almost done it." "Is that your task?" she
asked. "How beautiful! How wonderful!" And she stepped nearer the table.
"Show me, how do you make them? I never thought that Indians could make
such things. I have heard my father say that holy men in Spain could
make angels, but you are an Indian: how can you do it?" "I cannot tell
you," he said slowly: then "Yes, I will tell you," and a flush came on
his dark face, and a light into his eyes, as he looked at her. "I do not
make them, these angels; they come to me because the Father has taught
me to love them. He says the angels come to those who love them, and any
one can love them. And when I saw you," he went on, his eyes upon her
eager face, "I thought you were the angel I was painting, for you are
like an angel, too; and now I shall always love you, and it will be easy
to paint. Listen! the Father is coming. You must go quickly, but now I
have seen you I must see you again. You are Magdalena, Agust'n's
daughter. I shall find you to-morrow when I take the orders for the work
to your father."

Magdalena slipped away, and thus was begun the short but happy love of
Te--filo and Magdalena short, like the history of the beautiful Mission
itself; happy, as all love is happy, let its end be what it may. Many a
time they met in secret, for sweet interviews or even a hurried word or
glance; but love grows best in the shade. And meanwhile, the great
church had been growing too, and now it was Te--filo's proud task to
paint the frescoes on the walls and dome, as the Father had hoped.
Simple designs they were to be at first,--floral emblems and the
symbols used for ages by the Church, but later Te--filo was to essay much