For a while the vessel and its cargo and the landed men and various business and conversations occupied them. But the freight for the mission once seen to, there was not much else to detain them. The barkentine was only a coaster like many others which had begun to fill the sea a little more of late years, and presently host and guest were riding homeward. Side by side they rode, companions to the eye, but wide apart in mood; within the turbulent young figure of Gaston dwelt a spirit that could not be more at ease, while revolt was steadily kindling beneath the schooled and placid mask of the Padre. Yet still the strangeness of his situation in such a remote, resourceless place came back as a marvel into the young man's lively mind. Twenty years in prison, he thought, and hardly aware of it! And he glanced at the silent priest. A man so evidently fond of music, of theaters, of the world, to whom pressed flowers had meant something once--and now contented to bleach upon these wastes! Not even desirous of a brief holiday, but finding an old organ and some old operas enough recreation! "It is his age, I suppose," thought Gaston. And then the notion of himself when he should be sixty occurred to him, and he spoke. "Do you know, I do not believe," said he, "that I should ever reach such contentment as yours." "Perhaps you will," said Padre Ignacio, in a low voice. "Never!" declared the youth. "It comes only to the few, I am sure." "Yes. Only to the few," murmured the Padre. "I am certain that it must be a great possession," Gaston continued; "and yet--and yet--dear me! life is a splendid thing!" "There are several ways to live it," said the Padre. "Only one for me!" cried Gaston. "Action, men, women, things--to be there, to be known, to play a part, to sit in the front seats; to have people tell one another, 'There goes Gaston Villere!' and to deserve one's prominence. Why, if I was Padre of Santa Ysabel del Mar for twenty years--no! for one year--do you know what I should have done? Some day it would have been too much for me. I should have left these savages to a pastor nearer their own level, and I should have ridden down this canyon upon my mule, and stepped on board the barkentine, and gone back to my proper sphere. You will understand, sir, that I am far from venturing to make any personal comment. I am only thinking what a world of difference lies between natures that can feel as alike as we do upon so many subjects. Why, not since leaving New Orleans have I met any one with whom I could talk, except of the weather and the brute interests common to us all. That such a one as you should be here is like a dream." "But it is not a dream," said the Padre. "And, sir--pardon me if I do say this--are you not wasted at Santa Ysabel del Mar? I have seen the priests at the other missions. They are--the sort of good men that I expected. But are you needed to save such souls as these?"