“I feel that I must speak to you this once, _señor_. For the boasts you made concerning me, I forgive you freely, believing that they would not have been made unless you were in your cups. But surely you must realise that nothing can be accomplished by remaining at San Diego de Alcalá. The people dislike you, _señor_, and your presence is very annoying because of that. Will you not go back up El Camino Real?” “That you forgive anything I may have said pleases me, _señorita_,” the caballero replied. “It shows you have a gentle heart, as was shown last night when you carried me food. I am desolated to think you have such an ill opinion of me. As for leaving San Diego de Alcalá--I cannot think of that just now, _señorita_.” “Not even if I ask it as a kindness, _señor_?” “Not even though you ask it, _señorita_--and I would do it for you sooner than for anyone else I know.” “It is not pretty compliments I wish, _señor_. Will you not forget your foolish boast, and go?” “If ever I made a boast, _señorita_, it was not a foolish one.” “I urge you again, _señor_, to go before Rojerio Rocha comes. He is expected to become my husband, and when he hears of your boast he may take it upon himself to do something unpleasant. Will you not do as I request, since I have disobeyed my _duenna’s_ orders and lowered myself to speak with you?” “_Lowered_ yourself, _señorita_?” Surprise, astonishment, a bit of pain was in the voice, and the caballero’s face went white for an instant as his fingers gripped the rim of his sombrero until it was torn. But quickly he recovered his composure, and bowed before her again. “I beg your pardon, _señorita_. But you mistake. It would be impossible for you to lower yourself, since angels are above punishment and accusation; it is myself--or any other man--who is elevated when you condescend to take notice of his existence.” “I--I should not have spoken as I did,” she stammered. “You should speak exactly as you desire, _señorita_--always. It is your privilege. As for me--it is my privilege to remain at San Diego de Alcalá, not in opposition to your wishes, but because I--I have reason to remain. And you yourself have made it impossible for me to leave now.” “I?” “There was some question, I believe, of my punishment at the hands of this Rojerio Rocha if I remained. That in itself is a very good reason why I should not depart, _señorita_. Have you ever heard it said that I am a coward?” “I am sure you are not,” she replied, searching his face. “It takes a brave man to depart in the face of a charge of cowardice, _señor_. Will you not show your courage?” “The point is well taken,” he observed. “But I have reason for remaining, though mission and presidio and neophytes and gentiles turn against me--a twofold reason, _señorita_. One part of it concerns that of which, happily, you know nothing; and the other----” “Well, _señor_?”