"And Raquel is not--" "Raquel Estevan de Arteaga is a woman men should cross themselves when they mention," he said, quietly. "She has a strength in her that is of God or the devil; she brings it from her Indian hills of Mexico, and I for one will be on the safe side and treat it with respect." "She has bewitched you, that is all," declared Ana; but the man in the priest's robe drew her behind a giant aliso tree and kissed her on the mouth. "Perhaps so," he agreed; "but, my Anita, it is only enough to make me pity the man she would bewitch in a different way. God! If he knew that she cared like that, his life would be a hell." "Why not a heaven?" asked Ana, turning to the care of the breakfast. "Raquel spoke beautifully of a love like that last night,--a love in the inner court of life, in sanctuary, where only one other soul could kneel beside one; it was a love spiritual only." "Only!" said the man, glancing toward the girlish figure in the serape curled against the white bark of the tree. "Only! Anita, girl, let us get the breakfast and leave love to people who have not a price set against their heads. As for that love of the inner court of life, the sanctuary, Raquel still dreams the dreams of a nun. Men and women of California are of flesh and blood, and they do not love in that way." [Music: _La Tempestad_.] CHAPTER XIX Three days later, Keith Bryton opened his eyes within the white walls of a little room in the Mission. The wooden shutters of the barred window were open, and all was still. A meadow-lark called somewhere without, and he could hear down the valley the beat of the surf against the cliffs. A bearded priest sat in the window reading a book, and a woman coming from the dining-room, through the quaint old Moorish doorway stopped suddenly with a quick-caught breath of fear as his eyes opened at the rustle of her dress, and he smiled at her with a great sigh of relief. "Dona Espiritu!" he murmured. "I knew you would come if I waited. Such a bad dream has been with me! I thought I was back in California, and you--ah! there were higher barriers around you than the convent walls, and--" Dona Raquel stood motionless, with the little earthen olla of spring water in her two hands. Her face grew white, and she glanced at the man in the window-seat. He raised a finger of warning to his lips, and arose and came forward. "You must not talk, Don Keith," he said, quietly. "One cup of water, since the lady brings it to you, and then to sleep again. Sleep is best." "You were of the dream, too," muttered Bryton, fretfully, "the bad dream. Espiritu mia! tell me it is not true. I cannot think; my head--" "Tell him, Dona Espiritu," said the man with the book. Then he gave her a glance of warning and touched his temple significantly. She crossed the room and placed the water beside him.