"Oh, my own soul!" and Raquel shrugged her shoulders with a dreary smile. "It is the soul of Rafael I am set to guard. Only that must I think of every day of my life. My own! Only Mother Mary knows what my own may become." "His mother knew the power of the heretics; it was not fair, Raquelita." "It is judgment," said Raquel, steadily. "I asked God to give me some work for the Church in the world, instead of within the convent walls. It was brought to me; I accepted it on my knees. What any of us think now does not change that in the least. I must live till I die with that thought." "So I know," conceded Ana, "and so I thank God the other man does not come. You would know then how to feel sympathy for the women who fail, or the women who do mad things such as I mean to do to-night." "Do I not understand? Do I not go with you? Yes, ahead of you, for my horse beats yours," replied Raquel; and from that to the Mission plaza there was only the sound of hoof-beats on the hard road, and no more words of love or lovers. A man had come from San Diego with a message from Rafael Arteaga. He would be at San Juan in a few days, and was bringing guests for a barbecue. Strange word had come from the vigilantes of the disappearance of Bryton, the Americano. It had been learned that he had not returned to Los Angeles, neither had he gone south. To free Mrs. Bryton from anxiety, Rafael and Don Eduardo meant to find him and make a holiday while doing it. Raquel Arteaga listened, and Ana noticed all at once how white and tired she looked from the little gallop. "Get down from the saddle, my dear," she said, appealingly. "Lift her, you, Victorio. Mother Mary! Do not faint, Raquel!" Raquel did not faint. She thanked the muscular Victorio, who lifted her from the saddle as though she had been but a little child, and placed her on one of the long seats of brick, while Ana ran for water, and old Polonia crouched beside her and looked up in her face, but did not speak. She had heard the name of the hated Americano, and she had no need to ask questions. It was the witchcraft come over her again; even the sound of his name could bring it! "No, I am not ill, Ana. I really am not," she persisted. "You say I turn white. Well, it may be I had no dinner--I think I forgot it, or those heroes the vigilantes took my appetite. See! I can stand; I am quite well. I am ready for the San Joaquin ride when the sun goes down." "But, if harm should come?" "Never fear. To go will not harm me. I am very strong--stronger than you think. Ai! I shall live long--a long, long time, Anita!" She arose and passed through the door of the carved Aztec sun and little half-crescents, and Ana looked after her doubtfully.