fice even this piano of mine in a
moment--only the tinkling thing is not worth a sou to anybody except its
master. But there! Are you quite comfortable?" And having seen to his
guest's needs, and placed spirits and cigars and an ash-tray within his
reach, the Padre sat himself comfortably in his chair to hear and expose
the false doctrine of Il Trovatore.

By midnight all of the opera that Gaston could recall had been played
and sung twice. The convert sat in his chair no longer, but stood
singing by the piano. The potent swing and flow of rhythms, the torrid,
copious inspiration of the South, mastered him. "Verdi has grown,"
he cried. "Verdi is become a giant." And he swayed to the beat of the
melodies, and waved an enthusiastic arm. He demanded every note. Why did
not Gaston remember it all? But if the barkentine would arrive and bring
the whole music, then they would have it right! And he made Gaston teach
him what words he knew. "'Non ti scorder,'" he sang--"'non ti scordar di
me.' That is genius. But one sees how the world moves when one is out of
it. 'A nostri monti ritorneremo'; home to our mountains. Ah, yes, there
is genius again." And the exile sighed and his spirit voyaged to distant
places, while Gaston continued brilliantly with the music of the final
scene.

Then the host remembered his guest. "I am ashamed of my selfishness," he
said. "It is already to-morrow."

"I have sat later in less good company," answered the pleasant Gaston.
"And I shall sleep all the sounder for making a convert."

"You have dispensed roadside alms," said the Padre, smiling, "and that
should win excellent dreams."

Thus, with courtesies more elaborate than the world has time for at the
present day, they bade each other good-night and parted, bearing their
late candles along the quiet halls of the mission. To young Gaston in
his bed easy sleep came without waiting, and no dreams at all. Outside
his open window was the quiet, serene darkness, where the stars shone
clear, and tranquil perfumes hung in the cloisters. But while the guest
lay sleeping all night in unchanged position like a child, up and down
between the oleanders went Padre Ignacio, walking until dawn. Temptation
indeed had come over the hill and entered the cloisters.

III

Day showed the ocean's surface no longer glassy, but lying like a mirror
breathed upon; and there between the short headlands came a sail,
gray and plain against the flat water. The pr