As to the fact that her host and her charmingly troublesome guest would be thrown together even more than in the south, it did not trouble her in the least. Even the bishop could not blame her for what occurred in the house of Raquel Arteaga! Let that lady stay at home and guard her own husband. And if she failed,--well, it might be well to have some of that cold, Indian-like pride of hers lowered. The Dona Angela said nothing, only smiled a little, and pretended to understand none of the Spanish spoken, but the padre, watching her wide childish blue eyes, and her rosebud of a mouth, noticed also the one quick birdlike glance she flung toward Rafael, and felt, like Dona Maria, that the stubborn pride of Raquel Arteaga was at last to be lowered a little. She had been as an eagle swimming in the blue above all their heads, but this petite, golden-headed ladybird would sip more of honey from the blossoms of life, and touch more closely an Arteaga! And when, after the very gay supper in the old refectory, Rafael brought a mantilla for Dona Angela, that its lacy film might protect her from the soft air of the starlight, the padre poured an extra glass of wine for the Dona Maria, the Don Eduardo, and himself, and held them in discussion. Fernando and Juanita and the other young people could go along and show the Dona Angela how beautiful were the arches and corridors after the sun was gone, but they, the older people, were content with the shelter of adobe walls after the night fell. So they wandered forth, Fernando with a guitar, that the end of a perfect day should be celebrated in love-songs; and as he protested that they sounded better at a distance, he and Juanita strayed off into the night. Dona Angela and Don Rafael, from a throne of sculptured stars and circles, suns and crescents,--all the Aztec symbols of light,--listened to the passion expressed in "El Tormento de Amor" floating down to them from the tiled roof of the corridors, and later, when the doors were closed on the girls for the night, those two still listened together to the musical cadence of "Vengo a tu Ventana" sung under barred windows, and to other harmonies never written in music, but known as a compelling power to the tempestuous heart of the Mexican. Under the stars of that night, the butterfly was made to feel that the beautiful tiger she had at first paraded as a trophy was not to be laughed at,--never any more! And even when the dawn broke, she lay wide-eyed behind the iron bars of her window, wordless and frightened,--a magician who had raised a spirit stronger than her power to subdue. What a trifle it had been at first,--a mere flirtation for the sake of his handsome eyes, and now--