fer this cross to the chapel for
certain heathenish reasons of their own. I am quite sure that they still
hold some obscure rites here under the good Father's very nose, and
that, in the guise of this emblem of our universal faith, they worship
some deity we have no knowledge of."

"It's a shame," said Miss Keene quickly.

To her surprise, Hurlstone did not appear so shocked as she, in her
belief of his religious sympathy with the Padre, had imagined.

"They're a harmless race," he said carelessly. "The place is much
frequented by the children--especially the young girls; a good many of
these offerings came from them."

The better to examine these quaint tributes, Miss Keene had thrown
herself, with an impulsive, girlish abandonment, on the mound by the
cross, and Hurlstone sat down beside her. Their eyes met in an innocent
pleasure of each other's company. She thought him very handsome in the
dark, half official Mexican dress that necessity alone had obliged him
to assume, and much more distinguished-looking than his companions
in their extravagant foppery; he thought her beauty more youthful and
artless than he had imagined it to be, and with his older and graver
experiences felt a certain protecting superiority that was pleasant and
reassuring.

Nevertheless, seated so near each other, they were very quiet. Hurlstone
could not tell whether it was the sea or the flowers, but the dress of
the young girl seemed to exhale some subtle perfume of her own freshness
that half took away his breath. She had scraped up a handful of sand,
and was allowing it to escape through her slim fingers in a slender rain
on the ground. He was watching the operation with what he began to fear
was fatuous imbecility.

"Miss Keene?--I beg your pardon"--

"Mr. Hurlstone?--Excuse me, you were saying"--

They had both spoken at the same moment, and smiled forgivingly at
each other. Hurlstone gallantly insisted upon the precedence of her
thought--the scamp had doubted the coherency of his own.

"I used to think," she began--"you won't be angry, will you?"

"Decidedly not."

"I used to think you had an idea of becoming a priest."

"Why?"

"Because--you are sure you won't be angry--because I thought you hated
women!"

"Father Esteban is a priest," said Hurlstone, with a faint smile, "and
you know he thinks kindly of your sex."

"Yes; but perhaps HIS life was never spoiled by some wicked woman
like--like yours."

For an instant