an and Adan ate enough beans, rice, cold
chicken, tongue, and dulces to make up for their prolonged fast, and
finished with a cup of chocolate and a bunch of grapes. After that they
went to sleep in two clean little cells, to which they were conducted,
nor awakened until all the air was ringing with the sweet-voiced
clangor of mission bells.

Roldan turned on his elbow and looked out of the window. The square was
rapidly filling with Indians, some running in willingly enough, others
driven in at the end of the leash by the lay brethren. All knelt on the
ground for a few moments. Roldan, whose eyes were very keen, and,
during these days, preternaturally sharpened, noted that several of the
Indians were whispering under cover of the loud mutterings about them.
The face of the Californian Indian is not pleasant to contemplate at
any time: it is either stupid or sinister. Roldan fancied he detected
something particularly evil in the glance of the whispering savages,
and resolved to warn the priests.

The scene was peaceful enough. The cattle browsing on the hills gave
the landscape an air of great repose, and the mountains beyond were
lost under a purple mist. The large stone fountain in the court
splashed lazily. As the worshippers rose and withdrew, the silver bells
rang out a merry peal, announcing that the morrow would be Sunday.

Roldan fell asleep again. When he awoke it was dark outside, but on the
table by his cot was a lighted taper and a dish of fruit. He ate of the
fine grapes and pears, then rose and opened his door. In the small room
beyond a young priest was seated at a table, bending over a large leaf
of parchment, to which he was applying a pen with quick delicate
strokes. He looked up with a smile.

"What are you doing?" asked Roldan, curiously, approaching the table.

"Illuminating the manuscripts of a mass. Look." And he displayed the
exquisite border to the music, the latter written with equal precision
and neatness. "This will be alive when I am not even dust. No one will
know that I did it; but I like the thought that it may live for
centuries."

"If I did it, I should sign my name to it," said Roldan, with his first
prompting of ambition. "But I never could do that; I have not the
patience. I mean to be governor of the Californias."

"I hope you may be," said the young priest, gravely.

"Are all your Indians docile?" asked Roldan, abruptly.

The priest raised his head. "Why do you ask?"

R