Before Father Felipe could reply the servant entered with the announcement that the horse was ready. "Good-night, Father Felipe," said Arthur, pressing the priest's hands warmly, with every trace of his former suspiciousness gone. "Good night. A thousand thanks for the horse. In speeding the parting guest," he added, gravely, "you have perhaps done more for the health of my soul than you imagine--good-night. _Adios!_" With a light laugh in his ears, the vision of a graceful, erect figure, waving a salute from a phantom steed, an inward rush of the cold grey fog, and muffled clatter of hoofs over the mouldy and mossy marbles in the churchyard, Father Felipe parted from his guest. He uttered a characteristic adjuration, took a pinch of snuff, and closing the door, picked up the card of the gallant Colonel Starbottle and tossed it into the fire. But the perplexities of the holy Father ceased not with the night. At an early hour in the morning, Donna Maria Sepulvida appeared before him at breakfast, suspicious, indignant, and irate. "Tell me, Father Felipe," she said, hastily, "did the Don Arturo pass the night here?" "Truly no, my daughter," answered the Padre, cautiously. "He was here but for a little"---- "And he went away when?" interrupted Donna Maria. "At nine." "And where?" continued Donna Maria, with a rising colour. "To San Francisco, my child; it was business of great importance--but sit down, sit, little one! This impatience is of the devil, daughter, you must calm yourself." "And do you know, Father Felipe, that he went away without coming _near me_?" continued Donna Maria, in a higher key, scarcely heeding her ghostly confessor. "Possibly, most possibly! But he received a despatch--it was of the greatest importance." "A despatch!" repeated Donna Maria, scornfully. "Truly--from whom?" "I know not, my child," said Father Felipe, gazing at the pink cheeks, indignant eyes, and slightly swollen eyelids of his visitor; "this impatience--this anger is most unseemly." "Was it from Mr. Dumphy?" reiterated Donna Maria, stamping her little foot. Father Felipe drew back his chair. Through what unhallowed spell had this woman--once the meekest and humblest of wives--become the shrillest and most shrewest of widows? Was she about to revenge herself on Arthur for her long suffering with the late Don José? Father Felipe pitied Arthur now and prospectively. "Are you going to tell me?" said Donna Maria, tremulously, with alarming symptoms of hysteria. "I believe it was from Mr. Dumphy," stammered Padre Felipe. "At least the answer Don Arturo gave me to send in reply--only these words, 'I will return at once'--was addressed to Mr. Dumphy. But I know not what was the message _he_ received."