danger.  Billy could not feel the pathos of the place—­desolate, yet impressive in its simplicity; but as he sauntered about, his hands in his pockets, whistling beneath his breath, “I can’t marry you!” his smart little modern mind began to work.  The strategic value of the position appealed to him, and he saw why “those old Johnnies,” as he irreverently styled the Padres, had planted the Mission here.  “Guess they knew their business ’most as well as if they’d been soldiers,” he said to himself.

Billy found pleasure in picturing the massacres which must have taken place, imagining the great doors of the enclosure opened hastily to let in an escaping band of “friendlies”; then the bursting in of the enemy, and the death of the Fathers as they tried to protect their Indian children.  Many had died by fire and tomahawk, but always others had come to take their place; and so the work had gone on through time, even as the bell-signals had gone on sounding from Mission to Mission along El Camino Reale, the highway of the Padres.

“One Father lives here; a dear old gentleman,” said Nick.  “I met him once, but he mayn’t remember me.  I’ll knock at his door to ask for the key of the church.  Somehow I think you’re going to like it better than the church of Santa Barbara.  There’s something special about this place, I hardly know what, but you’ll know.  And they’ve got some vestments they’re proud of—­made by Queen Isabella the Catholic and her ladies.”

It rather surprised Angela to hear Nick speak of “Isabella the Catholic,” for this way of naming the Queen showed knowledge of history; and Angela had not yet discovered that history was Nick’s favourite reading.  Indeed, she was only beginning to learn a few things about him.  At first her whole rather patronizing idea of the young man had been that he was an “interesting type,” a “picturesque figure.”  Then, when she heard him talk with Falconer, and Falconer talk of him and of what he had done, she saw that Hilliard was already a man of importance in his State:  that the “picturesque figure” was merely the woman’s point of view.  She was ceasing to patronize him mentally now, and almost every hour he gave her some surprise.

At a closed door in the white, deserted cloisters, Hilliard knocked, but there was no answer.  His face clouded, for he had set his heart on showing Mrs. May this Mission church.

“This means we can’t get the key,” sighed Angela.

“I’m afraid so,” he agreed.  “But it’s possible the Padre’s showing some one around, or having a look at his beloved vestments.”

They walked to the church door and found it shut; but to their surprise the big old-fashioned key was in the lock.  Nick pushed the door open and they both went in, followed by Billy.  The Padre was not to be seen.  So far as they could tell in the dimness the church was empty.

“Queer!” exclaimed Nick.  “I wonder what can have become of the Padre?  It isn’t like him to leave his church open at this time of the evening.  It’s late, and we’ll have to light up before we start on, although we’ve only eight miles to go.”