"And those candles of purest white, packed in scented cotton, for what especial purpose are they reserved?" "They are the candles for the dead." Angela shuddered, as with a passing chill. "How constantly you people keep before you remembrance of the tomb!" she exclaimed. "One needs to get out in the sun often to remember that the old Mission is not really a vault." "It is," said Ana; "there are padres of the old days buried under some of the floors." "How perfectly horrid! And you make all those dozens of immaculate candles to be used for whoever comes first," she continued, addressing herself to Raquel, with a slight smile of disdain as at a childish pastime; "and they are all duly blessed, I suppose, and duly insured to light the souls from the path of the inferno." For the first time Raquel perceived the touch of malice under the smiling query. "You are right," she said, quietly; "those are of the first I ever made with my own hands here in San Juan Capistrano. Padre Sanchez bestowed on them his blessing, and the thought of so holy a man is in itself a blessing." "But think," persisted the soft little malicious tones, "is it not often the story of the pearls and the swine? Any sodden drunken Indian beast is likely to be laid in state with those emblems of purity burning in his honor." Raquel paused with the last handful of them, and the violet eyes, dark with indignation, met the blue ones. "That is true," she said, coldly. "We are taught that souls are all alike before God. These in my hand may be lit for any one--for a sodden beast that dies in sin, for a murderer, for me perhaps, or it may be they burn even for you, senora!" "Ugh! how ghastly!" The blue eyes wavered, and she arose with a little shiver. "But I don't think I would want them, really," she added, as she was leaving the room, "any more than I would want masses said if I should go under a breaker some day when bathing, and never come up again. The fashion of the living praying for the dead seems a bit incongruous and amusing. Save the candles for those of the faith, Dona Raquel." Her little mocking laugh made more pointed her intention of ridicule. The face of Raquel was still and expressionless, as she slowly placed the last of the candles in the perfumed box and closed the lid. Ana flung down her embroidery, and said to Raquel, with blazing eyes: "Raquelita! Some day I shall choke that pretty little white devil, you will see! How and why we endure her mocking I don't know. That she is of Keith Bryton's family is something, but it is not enough. When he is able I shall tell him some things--I shall tell Don Eduardo things! She makes a mock of our women, and I keep quiet; she makes her love to your husband, and I say nothing; but, Raquel, she makes mockery of your religion in your own house. Can you stand that too?" Raquel put her hands over her eyes an instant in a tired way.