“Come—come—come!” repeated the penitent, impatiently; a part of his grief giving way before his haste to be absolved. “We can return before you will be wanted. I cannot endure to wait! O, pity and forgive!” The good Father, like most indolent men, was very slow of decision at all times; and now he was carried away by the torrent of grief, and the impatience for absolution, which seemed to flow from the consciousness of some great crime. Half inclined to refuse, and yet too undecided to act with promptness, he suffered himself to be dragged from the room, and through the door into the open air. Here they were brought to a sudden halt: a _ranchero_ stepped before them, and presented his musket. But such an indignity at once restored the Father to his dignity. “Who dares to obstruct a son of the church in the discharge of his duty to Heaven?” he indignantly demanded. “Out of the way, false man of blood; and let the confessor and his penitent pass out from among the oppressors of God’s people!” This vigorous speech was not particularly appropriate to the occasion, nor was it thoroughly understood by him to whom it was addressed. Neither was it such as was likely to move one of De Marsiac’s ordinary followers; for the _rancheros_ generally stood more in awe of their leader’s displeasure, than of the wrath of Heaven; and it is probable that but few of the desperadoes would have hesitated to bayonet the Pope, himself, had the count so commanded. But this sentinel seemed to be of a more reverential nature; for no sooner did he recognize the priest and his companion, than he raised the point of his bayonet, shouldered his musket, and allowed them to pass. This disobedience of his captain’s orders—remarkable for its want of precedent among De Marsiac’s banditti; was not the only singular circumstance about the accommodating sentinel, as the reader will soon observe. The young penitent disappeared among the shades of night with his confessor, whom he hurried on faster, probably, than he had ever walked before. He directed his course to a little group of _ranchos_, which stood directly south of the _hacienda_. Having entered one of these, and remained five minutes—it seemed that his sin was not long in the confessing or absolution, notwithstanding his overwhelming distress—for at the end of that time he issued forth _alone_, with a well-pleased smile upon his lip, and elasticity restored to his bearing. From the door of the _rancho_ he took his way north-ward again; verging obliquely to the right, however, until he reached the bank of the river, nearly a quarter of a mile east of the _hacienda_. At this point, a grove of small trees sheltered the bank, and through them passed the road up the valley to Anelo. The youth paused as he gained the shadows, and gave a low, clear whistle. It was answered from the river-bank; and in a moment afterward, a man emerged from the covert, and approached the messenger.