“Don Diego Estenega,” said Chonita, “I would present you to the Senorita Dona Valencia Menendez, of the Rancho del Fuego.”

Estenega bowed.  “I have heard much of Dona Valencia, and am delighted to meet her.”

Valencia was nonplussed for a moment; he had not given her the customary salutation, and she could hardly murmur the customary reply.  She merely smiled and looked so handsome that she could afford to dispense with words.

“A superb type,” said Estenega to me, as Don Guillermo claimed the beauty’s attention for a moment.  “But only a type; nothing distinctive.”

Nevertheless, ten minutes later, Valencia, with the manoeuvring of the general of many a battle, had guided him to a seat in the sala under Dona Trinidad’s sleepy wing, and her eyes were flashing the language of Spain to his.  I saw Chonita watch them for a moment, in mingled surprise and doubt, then saw a sudden look of fear spring to her eyes as she turned hastily and walked away.

Again I shared her room,—­the thirty rooms and many in the out-buildings were overflowing with guests who had come a hundred leagues or less,—­and after we had been in bed a half-hour, Chonita, overcome by the insinuating power of that time-honored confessional, told me of her meeting with Estenega at the Mission.  I made few comments, but sighed; I knew him so well.  “It will be strange to even seem to be friends with him,” she added,—­“to hate him in my heart and yet delight to talk with him, and perhaps to regret when he leaves.”

“Are you sure that you still hate him?”

She sat up in bed.  The solid wooden shutters were closed, but over the door was a small square aperture, and through this a stray moonbeam drifted and fell on her.  Her hair was tumbling about her shoulders, and she looked decidedly less statuesque than usual.

“Eustaquia,” she said, solemnly, “I believe I can go to confession.”

XVIII.

At sunrise the next morning the guests of Casa Grande were horsed and ready to start for the Mission.  The valley between the house and the Mission was alive with the immediate rancheros and their families, and the people of the town, aristocrats and populace.

At Estenega’s suggestion, I climbed with him to the attic of the tower, much to the detriment of my frock.  But I made no complaint after Diego had removed the dusty little windows on both sides and I looked through the apertures at the charming scene.  The rising sun gave added fire to the bright red tiles of the long white Mission, and threw a pink glow on its noble arches and towers and on the white massive aqueduct.  The bells were crashing their welcome to the bride.  The deep valley, wooded and rocky, was pervaded by the soft glow of the awakening, but was as lively as midday.  There were horses of every color the Lord has decreed that horses shall wear.  The saddles upon them were