In that slight chill, which even in the hottest days in California always invests any shadow cast in that white sunlight, Father Pedro shivered in the corridor. Passing again into the garden, he followed in fancy the wayfaring figure of Francisco, saw the child arrive at the rancho of Don Juan, and with the fateful blindness of all dreamers projected a picture most unlike the reality. He followed the pilgrims even to San Jose, and saw the child deliver the missive which gave the secret of her sex and condition to the Father Superior. That the authority at San Jose might dissent with the Padre of San Carmel, or decline to carry out his designs, did not occur to the one-idead priest. Like all solitary people, isolated from passing events, he made no allowances for occurrences outside of his routine. Yet at this moment a sudden thought whitened his yellow cheek. What if the Father Superior deemed it necessary to impart the secret to Francisco? Would the child recoil at the deception, and, perhaps, cease to love him? It was the first time, in his supreme selfishness, he had taken the acolytes feelings into account. He had thought of him only as one owing implicit obedience to him as a temporal and spiritual guide.
Reverend Father!
He turned impatiently. It was his muleteer, Jose. Father Pedros sunken eye brightened.
Ah, Jose! Quickly, then; hast thou found Sanchicha?
Truly, your reverence! And I have brought her with me, just as she is; though if your reverence make more of her than to fill the six-foot hole and say a prayer over her, Ill give the mule that brought her here for food for the bulls horns. She neither hears nor speaks, but whether from weakness or sheer wantonness, I know not.
Peace, then! and let thy tongue take example from hers. Bring her with thee into the sacristy and attend without. Go!
Father Pedro watched the disappearing figure of the muleteer and hurriedly swept his thin, dry hand, veined and ribbed like a brown November leaf, over his stony forehead, with a sound that seemed almost a rustle. Then he suddenly stiffened his fingers over his breviary, dropped his arms perpendicularly before him, and with a rigid step returned to the corridor and passed into the sacristy.
For a moment in the half-darkness the room seemed to be empty. Tossed carelessly in the corner appeared some blankets topped by a few straggling black horse tails, like an unstranded riata. A trembling agitated the mass as Father Pedro approached. He bent over the heap and distinguished in its midst the glowing black eyes of Sanchicha, the Indian centenarian of the Mission San Carmel. Only her eyes lived. Helpless, boneless, and jelly-like, old age had overtaken her with a mild form of deliquescence.
Listen, Sanchicha, said the father, gravely. It is important that thou shouldst refresh thy memory for a moment. Look back fourteen years, mother; it is but yesterday to thee. Thou dost remember the babya little muchacha thou broughtest me thenfourteen years ago?
The old womans eyes became intelligent, and turned with a quick look towards the open door of the church, and thence towards the choir.
The Padre made a motion of irritation. No, no! Thou dost not understand; thou dost not attend me. Knowest thou of any mark of clothing, trinket, or amulet found upon the babe?
The light of the old womans eyes went out. She might have been dead. Father Pedro waited a moment, and then laid his hand impatiently on her shoulder.
Dost thou mean there are none?
A ray of light struggled back into her eyes.
None.
And thou hast kept back or put away no sign nor mark of her parentage? Tell me, on this crucifix.
The eyes caught the crucifix, and became as empty as the orbits of the carven Christ upon it.
Father Pedro waited patiently. A moment passed; only the sound of the muleteers spurs was heard in the courtyard.
It is well, he said at last, with a sigh of relief. Pepita shall give thee some refreshment, and Jose will bring thee back again. I will summon him.
He passed out of the sacristy door, leaving it open. A ray of sunlight darted eagerly in, and fell upon the grotesque heap in the corner. Sanchichas eyes lived again; more than that, a singular movement came over her face. The hideous caverns of her toothless mouth openedshe laughed. The step of Jose was heard in the corridor, and she became again inert.
The third day, which should have brought the return of Antonio, was nearly spent. Father Pedro was impatient but not alarmed. The good fathers at San Jose might naturally detain Antonio for the answer, which might require deliberation. If any mischance had occurred to Francisco, Antonio would have returned or sent a special messenger. At sunset he was in his accustomed seat in the orchard, his hands clasped over the breviary in his listless lap, his eyes fixed upon the mountain between him and that mysterious sea that had brought so much into his life. He was filled with a strange desire to see it, a vague curiosity hitherto unknown to his preoccupied life; he wished to gaze upon that strand, perhaps the very spot where she had been found; he doubted not his questioning eyes would discover some forgotten trace of her; under his persistent will and aided by the Holy Virgin, the sea would give up its secret. He looked at the fog creeping along the summit, and recalled the latest gossip of San Carmel; how that since the advent of the Americanos it was gradually encroaching on the Mission. The hated name vividly recalled to him the features of the stranger as he had stood before him three nights ago, in this very garden; so vividly that he sprang to his feet with an exclamation. It was no fancy, but Senor Cranch himself advancing from under the shadow of a pear tree.
I reckoned Id catch you here, said Mr. Cranch, with the same dry, practical business fashion, as if he was only resuming an interrupted conversation, and I reckon I aint going to keep you a minit longer than I did tother day. He mutely referred to his watch, which he already held in his hand, and then put it back in his pocket. Well! we found her!
Francisco, interrupted the priest with a single stride, laying his hand upon Cranchs arm, and staring into his eyes.
Mr. Cranch quietly removed Father Pedros hand. I reckon that wasnt the name as I caught it, he returned dryly. Hadnt you better sit down?
Pardon mepardon me, Senor, said the priest, hastily sinking back upon his bench, I was thinking of other things. Youyoucame upon me suddenly. I thought it was the acolyte. Go on, Senor! I am interested.
I thought youd be, said Cranch, quietly. Thats why I came. And then you might be of service too.
True, true, said the priest, with rapid accents; and this girl, Senor, this girl is
Juanita, the mestiza, adopted daughter of Don Juan Briones, over on the Santa Clare Valley, replied Cranch, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, and then sitting down upon the bench beside Father Pedro.
The priest turned his feverish eyes piercingly upon his companion for a few seconds, and then doggedly fixed them upon the ground. Cranch drew a plug of tobacco from his pocket, cut off a portion, placed it in his cheek, and then quietly began to strap the blade of his jack-knife upon his boot. Father Pedro saw it from under his eyelids, and even in his preoccupation despised him.
Then you are certain she is the babe you seek? said the father, without looking up.
I reckon as near as you can be certain of anything. Her age tallies; she was the only foundling girl baby baptized by you, you know,he partly turned round appealingly to the Padre,that year. Injin woman says she picked up a baby. Looks like a pretty clear case, dont it?
Then you are certain she is the babe you seek? said the father, without looking up.
I reckon as near as you can be certain of anything. Her age tallies; she was the only foundling girl baby baptized by you, you know,he partly turned round appealingly to the Padre,that year. Injin woman says she picked up a baby. Looks like a pretty clear case, dont it?
And the clothes, friend Cranch? said the priest, with his eyes still on the ground, and a slight assumption of easy indifference.
They will be forthcoming, like enough, when the time comes, said Cranch; the main thing at first was to find the girl; that was MY job; the lawyers, I reckon, can fit the proofs and say whats wanted, later on.
But why lawyers, continued Padre Pedro, with a slight sneer he could not repress, if the child is found and Senor Cranch is satisfied?
On account of the property. Business is business!
The property?
Mr. Cranch pressed the back of his knife-blade on his boot, shut it up with a click, and putting it in his pocket said calmly,
Well, I reckon the million of dollars that her father left when he died, which naturally belongs to her, will require some proof that she is his daughter.
He had placed both his hands in his pockets, and turned his eyes full upon Father Pedro. The priest arose hurriedly.
But you said nothing of this before, Senor Cranch, said he, with a gesture of indignation, turning his back quite upon Cranch, and taking a step towards the refectory.
Why should I? I was looking after the girl, not the property, returned Cranch, following the Padre with watchful eyes, but still keeping his careless, easy attitude.
Ah, well! Will it be said so, think you? Eh! Bueno. What will the world think of your sacred quest, eh? continued the Padre Pedro, forgetting himself in his excitement, but still averting his face from his companion.
The world will look after the proofs, and I reckon not bother if the proofs are all right, replied Cranch, carelessly; and the girl wont think the worse of me for helping her to a fortune. Hallo! youve dropped something. He leaped to his feet, picked up the breviary which had fallen from the Padres fingers, and returned it to him with a slight touch of gentleness that was unsuspected in the man.
The priests dry, tremulous hand grasped the volume without acknowledgment.
But these proofs? he said hastily; these proofs, Senor?
Oh, well, youll testify to the baptism, you know.
But if I refuse; if I will have nothing to do with this thing! If I will not give my word that there is not some mistake, said the priest, working himself into a feverish indignation. That there are not slips of memory, eh? Of so many children baptized, is it possible for me to know which, eh? And if this Juanita is not your girl, eh?
Then youll help me to find who is, said Cranch, coolly.
Father Pedro turned furiously on his tormentor. Overcome by his vigil and anxiety. He was oblivious of everything but the presence of the man who seemed to usurp the functions of his own conscience. Who are you, who speak thus? he said hoarsely, advancing upon Cranch with outstretched and anathematizing fingers. Who are you, Senor Heathen, who dare to dictate to me, a Father of Holy Church? I tell you, I will have none of this. Never! I will not. From this moment, you understandnothing. I will never . . .
He stopped. The first stroke of the Angelus rang from the little tower. The first stroke of that bell before whose magic exorcism all human passions fled, the peaceful bell that had for fifty years lulled the little fold of San Carmel to prayer and rest, came to his throbbing ear. His trembling hands groped for the crucifix, carried it to his left breast; his lips moved in prayer. His eyes were turned to the cold, passionless sky, where a few faint, far-spaced stars had silently stolen to their places. The Angelus still rang, his trembling ceased, he remained motionless and rigid.
The American, who had uncovered in deference to the worshiper rather than the rite, waited patiently. The eyes of Father Pedro returned to the earth, moist as if with dew caught from above. He looked half absently at Cranch.
Forgive me, my son, he said, in a changed voice. I am only a worn old man. I must talk with thee more of thisbut not to-nightnot to-night;to-morrowto-morrowto-morrow.
He turned slowly and appeared to glide rather than move under the trees, until the dark shadow of the Mission tower met and encompassed him. Cranch followed him with anxious eyes. Then he removed the quid of tobacco from his cheek.
Just as I reckoned, remarked he, quite audibly. Hes clean gold on the bed rock after all!
CHAPTER IV
That night Father Pedro dreamed a strange dream. How much of it was reality, how long it lasted, or when he awoke from it, he could not tell. The morbid excitement of the previous day culminated in a febrile exaltation in which he lived and moved as in a separate existence.
This is what he remembered. He thought he had risen at night in a sudden horror of remorse, and making his way to the darkened church had fallen upon his knees before the high altar, when all at once the acolytes voice broke from the choir, but in accents so dissonant and unnatural that it seemed a sacrilege, and he trembled. He thought he had confessed the secret of the childs sex to Cranch, but whether the next morning or a week later he did not know. He fancied, too, that Cranch had also confessed some trifling deception to him, but what, or why, he could not remember; so much greater seemed the enormity of his own transgression. He thought Cranch had put in his hands the letter he had written to the Father Superior, saying that his secret was still safe, and that he had been spared the avowal and the scandal that might have ensued. But through all, and above all, he was conscious of one fixed idea: to seek the seashore with Sanchicha, and upon the spot where she had found Francisco, meet the young girl who had taken his place, and so part from her forever. He had a dim recollection that this was necessary to some legal identification of her, as arranged by Cranch, but how or why he did not understand; enough that it was a part of his penance.
It was early morning when the faithful Antonio, accompanied by Sanchicha and Jose, rode forth with him from the Mission of San Carmel. Except on the expressionless features of the old woman, there was anxiety and gloom upon the faces of the little cavalcade. He did not know how heavily his strange abstraction and hallucinations weighed upon their honest hearts. As they wound up the ascent of the mountain he noticed that Antonio and Jose conversed with bated breath and many pious crossings of themselves, but with eyes always wistfully fixed upon him. He wondered if, as part of his penance, he ought not to proclaim his sin and abase himself before them; but he knew that his devoted followers would insist upon sharing his punishment; and he remembered his promise to Cranch, that for HER sake he would say nothing. Before they reached the summit he turned once or twice to look back upon the Mission. How small it looked, lying there in the peaceful valley, contrasted with the broad sweep of the landscape beyond, stopped at the further east only by the dim, ghost-like outlines of the Sierras. But the strong breath of the sea was beginning to be felt; in a few moments more they were facing it with lowered sombreros and flying serapes, and the vast, glittering, illimitable Pacific opened out beneath them.