A sunset in San Juan is truly worth crossing either a continent or an ocean to witness, when the ranges toward La Paz are purple where the sage-brush is, and rose-color where the rains have washed the steep places to the clay, and over all of mesa and mountain the soft glory of golden haze. All that radiance touched the land and sea as the carriage of Don Eduardo, preceded by Rafael and Dona Angela, and followed by Fernando and Juanita, who had been a guest of Dona Maria, and back of all the rest the Indian servants and the nurse for the child on the carriage cushion. Amid the shrill calls of greeting, and gay exchange of words and laughter, the cavalcade passed the Casa Grande of Don Juan Alvara, and drew up before the portal of the great white Mission. Rafael lifted Angela Bryton from the saddle first of all, and then with his own hand opened the door of the carriage for Dona Maria. "My house is your own, senora," he said, with the debonair grace so charmingly his own. "I claim the privilege of carrying the child through the door myself. Dona Raquel will be here on the instant, and--" [Illustration] [Music] Vengo a tu ventana para decirte mi amore! The padre, pipe in mouth, had been watching the arrival from his own door, but he drew nearer, and smiled grimly at Dona Maria as he interrupted the young man. "Not quite on the instant, Don Rafael," he remarked. "The Dona Raquel is well on her way to San Joaquin ranch with Dona Ana Mendez. They rode good horses, and they started this evening, a few minutes before my own return." The child in Rafael's arms uttered a little cry. He had suddenly gripped her very tightly indeed, and a strange Spanish oath broke from his lips. The priest smiled, and the florid face of Don Eduardo flushed angrily. "You--you sent Victorio Lopez--" he began, but Rafael gave him one silencing look, and stepped forward, offering his hand to Dona Maria. "Will you honor my house by accepting it during your stay, senora?" he asked, smilingly. "My wife has not received the message that you would arrive this week. Sickness at the ranch, or some accident, has no doubt called the Dona Ana there, and Raquel would not let her go alone. But our house and my service are at your feet. Will you enter?" There was not a moment's hesitation on the part of Dona Maria. Let her English husband feel as he might, she meant to enter the doors where only the most exclusive had been entertained, since the day of the new chatelaine had dawned. Raquel Estevan de Arteaga was too well bred to make a scene when she returned and found them there, and Dona Maria had too much of the blood of Mexican gamblers in her veins not to be willing to take all chances when she wanted a thing very much.