The bridesmaids stood in a group apart, a large bouquet:  each wore a gown of a different color.  Valencia blazed forth in yellow, and flashed triumphant glances at Estenega, now and again one of irrepressible envy and resentment at Reinaldo.  Chonita looked like a water-witch in pale green covered with lace that stirred with every breath of air; her mantilla was as delicate as sea-spray.  About her was something subtle, awakened, restive, that I noticed for the first time.  Once she intercepted one of Valencia’s lavish glances, and her own eyes were extremely wicked and dangerous for a moment.  I looked at Estenega.  He was regarding her with a fierce intensity which made him oblivious for the moment of his surroundings.  I looked at Valencia.  Thunderclouds were those heavy brows, lowered to the lightning which sprang from depths below.  I looked again at Chonita.  The pink color was in her marble face; pinker were her carven lips.

“God of my soul!” I said to Estenega.  “Go home.”

“My Prudencia,” said Don Guillermo.  He lifted her to the pink saddle, adjusted her foot in the pink ribbon, climbed up behind her, placed one arm about her waist, took the bridle in his other hand, and cantered out of the court-yard.  Reinaldo sprang to his horse, lifted his mother in front of him, and followed.  Then went the bridesmaids; and the rest of us fell into line as we listed.  As we rode up the valley, those awaiting us joined the cavalcade, the populace closing it, spreading out like a fan attached to the tail of a snake.  The bells rang out a joyful discordant peal; the long undulating line of many colors wound through the trees, passed the long corridor of the Mission, to the stone steps of the church.

The ceremony was a long one, for communion was given the bride and groom; and during the greater part of it I do not think Estenega removed his gaze from Chonita.  I could not help observing her too, although I was deeply impressed with the solemnity of the occasion.  Her round womanly figure had never appeared to greater advantage than in that close-fitting gown; her hips being rather wide, she wore fewer gathers than was the fashion.  Her faultless arms had a warmth in their whiteness; the filmy lace of her mantilla caressed a throat so full and round and white and firm that it seemed to invite other caresses; even the black pearls clung lovingly about it.  Her graceful head was bent forward a little, and the soft black lashes brushed her cheeks.  The pink flush was still in her face, like the first tinge of color on the chill desolation of dawn.

“Is she not beautiful?” whispered Estenega, eagerly.  “Is not that a woman to make known to herself?  Think of the infinite possibilities, the sublimation of every——­”

Here I ordered him to keep quiet, reminding him that he was in church, a fact he had quite forgotten.  I inferred that he remembered it later, for he moved restlessly more than once and looked longingly toward the door.