"Your words have an unusual interest," said the priest, as they walked down toward the plain. "They suggest that the missionary might be the one they spoke of here as the Indian nun." "This lady was not Indian," said Keith, decidedly. "Her skin was whiter than either yours or mine. The Indians called her Dona Espiritu! It was the only name they knew her by." "It was the same, and her father's name was Estevan," said the priest, quietly. "Yes, I know now. His name was Estevan, but--" "And he was the man who died the awful death up there." And he pointed back to the temple. "No!" Bryton stopped on the path and faced the priest, thus halting the entire procession at a point where a yawning gulf of a canyon reached to unseen depths below. "For the love of Christ--senor!" screamed the priest, while the Mexicans in the rear clung to their burros and swore. "The man who was killed left no child," persisted Bryton. "I heard the story." "A daughter was born six months after his death--after the wife had taken the black veil of eternal renunciation of the world," declared the priest, solemnly. "Now, senor, for the love of God, will you let us find safer footing?" "Oh, yes. Pardon me!" and Bryton continued thoughtfully along the trail to the plain below. When they reached a broader road where it was possible to ride abreast, he asked one more question. "Father, does she know?" "Not unless some in the world have told her. Here, the old priest, her uncle, had power enough over the wild tribe to make them promise they would not tell her until she had lived twenty years. He died ten years ago, but they kept faith. There are some people in the world who had to know,--the lawyers and judges who settled the estate,--for Estevan was a man of wealth. He carried wounds here from the war for California. The child thought he died from the effects of those. Out in the world where she has gone, that wild barbaric outbreak of her mother's people will never be known; and of the few who have learned it who would tell her?" "True, father: who would?" [Music: _La Passion Funesta_] CHAPTER VIII He did not go north for a month. His letter to Angela contained a check, which she at once invested in very becoming mourning, for which she of course had to journey to Los Angeles. With her went Don Eduardo Downing and his wife, Dona Maria, who, with Rafael, had unpleasant business to transact with the bishop, and were irritable in consequence. Bryton called upon them at the home of the ex-Governor of California. After Angela's first emotional outburst at the details of Teddy's death and burial,--and regret that a Protestant clergyman was not to be had,--she managed to come back to subjects nearer home, and retail a few of the changes since the death of Dona Luisa.