"Katherine will understand," said Rhoda. "Katherine always loved Kut-le. Even now I can't believe that she has altogether turned against him." Jack Newman heaved a sigh. "Well," he said, "Kut-le, will you and Rhoda come down to the monastery with us and be married?" His young niece was solemn. "Yes," answered Kut-le, "if Rhoda is agreed." Rhoda's face still wore the look of exaltation. "I will come!" she said. Kut-le did not let his glance rest on her, but turned to Billy. "Mr. Porter," he said courteously, "will you come to my wedding?" Billy looked dazed. He stared from Kut-le to Rhoda, and Rhoda smiled at him. His last defense was down. "I'll be there, thanks!" he said. "There is a side trail that we can take my horses down," said Kut-le. They all were silent as Kut-le led the way down the side trail and by a circuitous path to the monastery. He made his way up through a rude, grass-grown path to a cloistered front that was in fairly good repair. Here they dismounted and waited while Kut-le pulled a long bell-rope that hung beside a battered door. There was not long to wait before the door opened and a white-faced old padre stood staring in amazement at the little group. Kut-le talked rapidly, now in Spanish and now in English, and at last the padre turned to Rhoda with a smile. "And you?" he asked. "You are quite willing?" "Yes," said Rhoda, though her voice trembled in spite of her. "And you?" asked the padre, turning to Jack and Billy. The two men nodded. "Then enter!" said the padre. And with Cesca and Molly bringing up the rear, the wedding party followed the padre down a long adobe hallway across a courtyard where palms still shaded a trickling fountain, into a dim chapel, with grim adobe walls and pews hacked and worn by centuries of use. The padre was excited and pleased. "If," he said, "you all will sit, I will call my two choir-boys who are at work in the olive orchard. They are not far away. We are always ready to hold service for such as may wish to attend." He disappeared through the door of the choir loft and returned shortly, followed by two tall Mexican half-breeds, clad in priceless surplices that had been wrought in Spain two centuries before. They lighted some meager candles before the altar and began their chant in soft, well-trained voices. The padre turned and waited. Kut-le rose and, taking Rhoda's hand, he led her before the aged priest. To the two white men the scene was unforgetable. The dim old chapel, scene of who could tell what heart-burnings of desert history; the priest of the ancient religion; standing before him the two young people, one of a vanishing and one of a conquering race, both startlingly vivid in the perfection of their beauty; and, looking on, the two wide-eyed squaws with aboriginal wonder in their eyes. It was but a moment before Kut-le had slipped a ring on Rhoda's finger; but a moment before the priest had pronounced them man and wife.