“Such a pleasant city, Marquis! Spanish monks founded it. Spanish and Mexican soldiers have defended it. Look at its fine churches and missions; its lovely homes, and blooming gardens.” “It is also all our own, father. It was but yesterday I said to one of those insolent Americans who was condescending to admire it: ‘Very good, Senor; and, if you deign to believe me, it was not brought from New York. Such as you see it, it was made by ourselves here at San Antonio.’ Saints in heaven! the fellow laughed in my face. We were mutually convinced of each other’s stupidity.” “Ah, how they envy us the country! And you, Marquis, who have traveled over the world, you can imagine the reason?” “Father, I will tell you the reason; it is the craving in the heart to find again the lost Eden. The Almighty made Texas with full hands. When He sets his heart on a man, he is permitted to live there.” “Grace of God! You speak the truth. Shall we then give up the gift of His hand to heretics and infidels?” “I cannot imagine it.” “Then every one must do the work he can do. Some are to slay the unbelievers; others; are to preserve the children of the Church. Your niece and her two daughters will be lost to the faith, unless you interfere for their salvation. Of you will their souls be required.” “By Saint Joseph, it is a duty not in agreement with my desire! I, who have carefully abstained from the charge of a wife and daughters of my own.” “It is but for a day or two, Marquis, until the matter is arranged. The convent is the best of all refuges for women so desolate.” The marquis did not answer. He lifted a book and began to read; and Fray Ignatius watched him furtively. In the mean time the Senora had reached her home. She was pleased with the result of her visit. A little kindness easily imposed upon this childlike woman, and she trusted in any one who was pleasant to her. “You may believe me, Antonia,” she said; “my uncle was in a temper most unusual. He kissed my hands. He offered me his protection. That is a great thing, I assure you. And your father cannot object to our removal there.” Antonia knew not what answer to make. Her heart misgave her. Why had Fray Ignatius made the proposal? She was sure it was part of an arrangement, and not a spontaneous suggestion of the moment. And she was equally sure that any preconcerted plan, having Fray Ignatius for its author, must be inimical to them. Her mother’s entry had not awakened Isabel, who lay asleep upon a sofa. The Senora was a little nettled at the circumstance. “She is a very child! A visit of such importance! And she is off to the land of dreams while I am fatiguing myself! I wish indeed that she had more consideration!” Then Antonia brought her chocolate, and, as she drank it and smoked her cigarito, she chatted in an almost eager way about the persons she had seen.