f burning blushes followed each other in waves from her
neck up, and died in drops of moisture in her eyes. This continued until
she was fairly crying, dropping the letter from her hands and rocking
to and fro. In the midst of this she quickly stopped again; the clouds
broke, a sunshine of laughter started from her eyes, she laughed shyly,
she laughed loudly, she laughed hysterically. Then she stopped again as
suddenly, knitted her brows, swooped down once more upon the letter, and
turned to fly. But at the same moment the letter was quietly but firmly
taken from her hand, and Mr. Jack Cranch stood beside her.

Juanita was crimson, but unconquered. She mechanically held out her hand
for the letter; the American took her little fingers, kissed them, and
said:--

"How are you again?"

"The letter," replied Juanita, with a strong disposition to stamp her
foot.

"But," said Cranch, with business directness, "you've read enough to
know it isn't for you."

"Nor for you either," responded Juanita.

"True. It is for the Reverend Father Superior of San Jose Mission. I'll
give it to him."

Juanita was becoming alarmed, first at this prospect, second at
the power the stranger seemed to be gaining over her. She recalled
Francisco's description of him with something like superstitious awe.

"But it concerns Francisco. It contains a secret he should know."

"Then you can tell him it. Perhaps it would come easier from you."

Juanita blushed again. "Why?" she asked, half dreading his reply.

"Because," said the American, quietly, "you are old playmates; you are
attached to each other."

Juanita bit her lips. "Why don't you read it yourself?" she asked
bluntly.

"Because I don't read other people's letters, and if it concerns me
you'll tell me."

"What if I don't?"

"Then the Father Superior will."

"I believe you know Francisco's secret already," said the girl, boldly.

"Perhaps."

"Then, Mother of God! Senor Crancho, what do you want?"

"I do not want to separate two such good friends as you and Francisco."

"Perhaps you'd like to claim us both," said the girl, with a sneer that
was not devoid of coquetry.

"I should be delighted."

"Then here is your occasion, Senor, for here comes my adopted father,
Don Juan, and your friend, Senor Br--r--own, the American alcalde."

Two men appeared in the garden path below them. The stiff, glazed,
broad-brimmed black hat, surmounting a dark face of Quixotic gravity
a