The young girl tripped on towards her house a little agitated and conscious, and yet a little proud as she saw the faces of her aunt, her uncle, her two cousins, and even her discarded escort, Jo Adams, at the windows, watching her. “So,” said her aunt, as she entered breathlessly, “ye walked home with the preacher! It was a speshal providence and manifestation for ye, Cissy. I hope ye was mannerly and humble--and profited by the words of grace.” “I don't know,” said Cissy, putting aside her hat and cloak listlessly. “He didn't talk much of anything--but the old wreck of the Tamalpais.” “What?” said her aunt quickly. “The wreck of the Tamalpais, and the boat's crew that came up the gorge,” repeated the young girl. “And what did HE know about the boat's crew?” said her aunt hurriedly, fixing her black eyes on Cissy. “Nothing except what I told him.” “What YOU told him!” echoed her aunt, with an ominous color filling the sallow hollows of her cheek. “Yes! He has been a sailor, you know--and I thought it would interest him; and it did! He thought it strange.” “Cecilia Jane Appleby,” said her aunt shrilly, “do you mean to say that you threw away your chances of salvation and saving grace just to tell gossiping tales that you knew was lies, and evil report, and false witnesses!” “I only talked of what I'd heard, aunt Vashti,” said Cecilia indignantly. “And he afterwards talked of--of--my voice, and said I had a heavenly gift,” she added, with a slight quiver of her lip. Aunt Vashti regarded the girl sharply. “And you may thank the Lord for that heavenly gift,” she said, in a slightly lowered voice; “for ef ye hadn't to use it tonight, I'd shut ye up in your room, to make it pay for yer foolish gaddin' TONGUE! And I reckon I'll escort ye to chapel tonight myself, miss, and get shut o' some of this foolishness.” II. The broad plaza of the Mission de la Concepcion had been baking in the day-long sunlight. Shining drifts from the outlying sand dunes, blown across the ill-paved roadway, radiated the heat in the faces of the few loungers like the pricking of liliputian arrows, and invaded even the cactus hedges. The hot air visibly quivered over the dark red tiles of the tienda roof as if they were undergoing a second burning. The black shadow of a chimney on the whitewashed adobe wall was like a door or cavernous opening in the wall itself; the tops of the olive and pear trees seen above it were russet and sere already in the fierce light. Even the moist breath of the sea beyond had quite evaporated before it crossed the plaza, and now rustled the leaves in the Mission garden with a dry, crepitant sound.