"Anita mia, you cannot send me back, for I will not go. Do not fancy me unhappy because--oh--because of anything. I feel, here in the open, more at home than any moment since I came to California. We were of the hill folk, my mother's people, and out under the stars in the night all their old buried instincts awake in me--the pagan gladness of the wilderness." "You do not look glad," said Ana, doubtfully. "Child, child! who of us is glad with unmixed gladness, after the door has been closed on our youth and the dreams of youth?" She slid from her perch and slipped her hand through her friend's arm. "But to-night, beloved, we will close other doors--the doors of the world of people. This tree shall be the last landmark; beyond this we ride over enchanted ground, and fancy all wild sweet things of our destination. You go to--to your lover, perhaps; and I--I ride to dream dreams in the open." "But, Raquelita--" "Never fear they will lead us too far astray, the harmless dreams," she laughed. "If they do, I shall do heavy penance; be sure of that!" "You look like a witch, instead of a devotee, in this half-light," observed Ana. "Your eyes are like stars; and--what has wakened in you this wild mood? Is it the wilderness alone?" "Not quite," acknowledged Raquel, demurely. "Since you will have a definite cause, I will confess, Anita mia, that it was the white, strong arms of--of--never look so frightened, dear,--of my friend the aliso tree!" They both laughed, but Ana sat a moment by the little camp-fire and stared at her. "That is all very well, and you have your good fun with me," she said; "but out here you are a different person from the lady of your cloisters. Yet nothing has happened to make you different--nothing, except that we are in the open." "Nothing? O thou wise one!" mocked Raquel. "But a star shone out, and its rays bewitch people sometimes, when it shines down into the heart until the radiance there is too great for one little bosom to hold; and it trembles to the lips, and all the eager longings of the world are understood, and one feels very, very close to one's own soul; and one feels that just beyond that star, or just beyond the bend of the trail up here, one might find it. So, let us ride hard and fast, my Anita,--I to my bewitched fancies, and you to your lover." "And I--I thought you did not understand!" muttered Ana. "That was because never before have I seen you without the hedges of people about you. God forgive Rafael Arteaga, who has known and ridden away!"