"It is the truth. English rule and justice walk with equal pace in India." "England would not do less in California for our church." In her enthusiasm she leaned toward him, her brown eyes flashing. "Else comes the United States. Her armed ships patrol our coast, sounding, always sounding, for deep and shallow water, though the coastline of this province was charted long before the United States of America was born. Why hazard the contingencies of American government, when the weight of her little finger, did she so wish, could be heavier than was the whole hand of Mexico? I, as a child of the church, ask you this. From my present home in an official family in Monterey I can read the signs of the time. Padre Osuna, we must act, and quickly." "Another has spoken to me somewhat of this." "That other was Captain Farquharson? No?" The padre did not reply. "The Captain seeks to bring California from unsatisfactory Mexico to stable and safe England. Señor Padre, for the good of souls, the souls of the Indians you love, help him!" The Franciscan sprang to his feet, his figure erect and his face radiant. "But, Misericordia! what can I do!" sinking back into his seat. "Ah, humble friar! You have the power of a Savonarola who threw the wicked, bloody city of Florence to her praying knees. Have I not heard you in the cathedral in Seville, and again in Barcelona? Did not the soldiers draw strong cordons at the great cathedral in Madrid when you spoke there, lest the surging crowd crush themselves at the entrance? Ah, mighty one! speak to the people of this province, tell them of England and of her benevolent sway. Lift your voice for your country's good. Instruct and persuade, as you alone can, priest of the golden tongue! Then, listen, and from your hearers will come cheers for the mistress of the seas and her kindly rule. If you are silent, your church and your state lose much because a man marvelously gifted failed in manifest duty." "I hold the call of duty supreme." "You used that as a text for one of your sermons in Seville." "Why do you connect me with that preacher in the cathedrals?" "Because you are the same man, though you now wear a beard and write but a portion of your former name." "Señora Valentino, that I am here under my present name is approved by my conscience and by my superiors." "I doubt not, good padre." The priest looked fixedly at the flag gently waving high above their heads. "Padre, the good of souls! The welfare of your Order! Your Indian wards!" "I know--I know." They arose. He saluted and turned to go. Then he hesitated. "My will is that of my superior." He walked away a few steps, paused, and stood facing her, with: "'Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not.' My children of the wilderness cry unto me--unto me." Making the sign of the cross, he continued slowly down the road. The joy of triumph shone in the señora's smile. CHAPTER X