ut of the chapel, Father Gaspara leading the way, the
Irish couple shambling along shamefacedly apart from each other,
Alessandro, still holding Ramona's hand in his, said, "Will you ride,
dear? It is but a step."

"No, thanks, dear Alessandro, I would rather walk," she replied; and
Alessandro slipping the bridles of the two horses over his left arm,
they walked on. Father Gaspara heard the question and answer, and was
still more puzzled.

"He speaks as a gentleman speaks to a lady," he mused. "What does it
mean? Who are they?"

Father Gaspara was a well-born man, and in his home in Spain had been
used to associations far superior to any which he had known in his
Californian life, A gentle courtesy of tone and speech, such as that
with which Alessandro had addressed Ramona, was not often heard in
his parish. When they entered his house, he again regarded them both
attentively. Ramona wore on her head the usual black shawl of the
Mexican women. There was nothing distinctive, to the Father's eye, in
her figure or face. In the dim light of the one candle,--Father Gaspara
allowed himself no luxuries,--the exquisite coloring of her skin and the
deep blue of her eyes were not to be seen. Alessandro's tall figure
and dignified bearing were not uncommon. The Father had seen many as
fine-looking Indian men. But his voice was remarkable, and he spoke
better Spanish than was wont to be heard from Indians.

"Where are you from?" said the Father, as he held his pen poised in
hand, ready to write their names in the old raw-hide-bound book.

"Temecula, Father," replied Alessandro.

Father Gaspara dropped his pen. "The village the Americans drove out the
other day?" he cried.

"Yes, Father."

Father Gaspara sprang from his chair, took refuge from his excitement,
as usual, in pacing the floor. "Go! go! I'm done with you! It's all
over," he said fiercely to the Irish bride and groom, who had given him
their names and their fee, but were still hanging about irresolute, not
knowing if all were ended or not. "A burning shame! The most dastardly
thing I have seen yet in this land forsaken of God!" cried the Father.
"I saw the particulars of it in the San Diego paper yesterday." Then,
coming to a halt in front of Alessandro, he exclaimed: "The paper said
that the Indians were compelled to pay all the costs of the suit; that
the sheriff took their cattle to do it. Was that true?"

"Yes, Father," replied Alessandro.

The Father str