"Ai! I know you now. You have become padre, and you guard her from the heretics--the heretics, father," and she pointed toward the veranda where Don Enrico and his guest could be heard in conversation. "That accursed Americano--" "Sh--h! quiet, you!" and he placed a hand on her arm authoritatively; "make no noise, say no words, but watch him all the time--every time when I am out of sight. Understand?" She glanced from the padre to Ana, who nodded her head, and at once the dark old face was illuminated; at last she was not alone in this strange land! Others were here who hated the Americano, and that made them her kindred. She caught the hand of the padre and pressed it to her forehead. "I watch always," she promised, fervently; and to herself she thought, "After all, we get him killed some way, if the padre, who was a soldier, helps." They left her in her chosen place, crouched in the hall just outside the door of Raquel, content at last that she was not alone in her hatred of the man whom she blamed for the weary hours of wretchedness lived through by her mistress. Ana showed the padre to the room set aside always for the use of such priests as travelled from San Gabriel to San Juan. They were not so many of late years, but in this house they were always honored guests, no matter what their order, or land, or language. "I am afraid--afraid!" said Ana, as she opened the door; "if some one should come who knows--" "No one will," he said, reassuringly, "and this may be a good chance to learn much. Go, help your aunt, and forget to fear." Ana sighed, but went as he bade, to the kitchen, where Dona Refugia was doing her best to make amends for the distraction of the cooks. They were like big, fat, frightened children, not one of them of any use that night. Still, there chanced to be enchilladas made the day before, and the tortillas took but a little while to bake, and the bonfire in the yard had settled to a bed of gleaming coals where the beef could be barbecued with no delay but the sending of some girls to the creek for spears of peeled willow. Ana glanced out and saw them squatted peacefully around the red heap, turning the poles on which the strips of beef were hung, as phlegmatic as though they had not howled for a human roasting there not an hour ago. Juanita had made the table look very nice, in honor of the strange American guest who had followed her call and saved the family from the disgrace of such a killing. He filled her girlish ideal of the heroic, and she was not like some women who thought that California girls should marry only their own race: a big American husband seemed the finest thing in the world to Juanita.