Raquel went no more into the room where Keith Bryton awoke to a hold on life and reason,--that was the one thing perplexing to the man in the priest's gown; and not even Ana was allowed to hear the constant demands for Dona Espiritu, or the girl of the temple, or the lady who had led him out of the wilderness under the light of the morning star! All those things would have seemed like maddest ravings to any but Padre Libertad, who carefully excluded all visitors from the room, despite the protests of Dona Angela, who claimed the privilege of relationship,--a claim denied by a shake of the head of the silent, book-reading padre. Raquel moved almost as silently about the corridors of the Mission, serene, quiet, and busy, always busy with the entertainment of her numerous guests. The people of the country rode on any pretext to San Juan in those days, to meet the Downings and talk by the hour in the cool shadows of the patio concerning the tragedies of the bandits. The beautiful old Mission town had gained a new sort of fame through them. Rafael arranged barbecues and picnics to the canyons, where the wild-rose thickets were yet odorous with bloom. Even a dance was arranged by some of the gentlemen in the old wing of the Mission, called the travellers' room,--a Spanish dance at which only those wearing the old Spanish costumes dared keep time to the music, and the Mexican serape was discarded for the velvet cloak or cape of grander days. [Illustration: "AND--HE WAS AN ATEAGA!"] The younger men rode fifty miles for costumes. Don Juan Alvara, who still wore knee-breeches, stockings, and buckled shoes, had promised to go to bed earlier that night because of the demand on his wardrobe. Raquel delved in old chests of Dona Luisa Arteaga's belongings, and brought out treasures of embroideries and brocades enough to turn the heart of Angela Bryton bitter with envy. She knew Raquel would look a barbaric queen in the jewelled bodices where topazes formed the hearts of yellow roses, or real pearl-embroidered lilies, and in laces--laces to wrap her like a mummy, leaving only those great violet eyes of hers visible to gaze in that serene haughty way at one, and through one! But once having been forced by circumstances to take the hand of a guest in hers, Raquel Arteaga raised no material barriers to hospitality. "They are at your pleasure, Senora Bryton," she said, graciously. "After you have selected what you would like, Carmella and Juanita may care for some of them. The white brocade of the lilies would become you. There is a white mantilla of lace to go with it, and pearls--plenty of pearls." Dona Maria and Teresa Arteaga exchanged glances. They had never objected to the favorites of their husbands,--no good wife did,--but even the most devoted of Mexican wives had never opened her jewel-box for her rival.