The revolution was, indeed, ended.  The unexpected arrival of a relieving garrison in the bay of Todos Santos had completed what the dissensions in the insurgents’ councils had begun; the discontents, led by Brace and Winslow, had united with the Government against Perkins and his aliens; but a compromise had been effected by the treacherous giving up of the Liberator himself in return for an amnesty granted to his followers.  The part that Bunker had played in bringing about this moral catastrophe was, however, purely adventitious.  When he had recovered his health, and subsequent events had corroborated the truth of his story, the Mexican Government, who had compromised with Quinquinambo, was obliged to recognize his claims by offering him command of the missionary ship, and permission to rediscover the channel, the secret of which had been lost for half a century to the Government.  He had arrived at the crucial moment when Perkins’ command were scattered along the seashore, and the dragoons had invested Todos Santos without opposition.

Such was the story substantially told to Hurlstone and confirmed on his debarkation with the ladies at Todos Santos, the Excelsior being now in the hands of the authorities.  Hurlstone did not hesitate to express to Padre Esteban his disgust at the treachery which had made a scapegoat of Senor Perkins.  But to his surprise the cautious priest only shrugged his shoulders as he took a complacent pinch of snuff.

“Have a care, Diego!  You are of necessity grateful to this man for the news he has brought—­nay, more, for possibly being the instrument elected by Providence to precipitate the denouement of that miserable woman’s life—­but let it not close your eyes to his infamous political career.  I admit that he was opposed to the revolt of the heathen against us, but it was his emissaries and his doctrines that poisoned with heresy the fountains from which they drank.  Enough!  Be grateful! but do not expect me to intercede for Baal and Ashtaroth!”

“Intercede!” echoed Hurlstone, alarmed at the sudden sacerdotal hardness that had overspread the old priest’s face.  “Surely the Council will not be severe with the man who was betrayed into their power by others equally guilty?”

Padre Esteban avoided Hurlstone’s eyes as he answered with affected coolness,—­“Quien sabe?  There will be expulsados, no doubt.  The Excelsior, which is confiscated, will be sent to Mexico with them.”

“I must see Senor Perkins,” said Hurlstone suddenly.

The priest hesitated.

“When?” he asked cautiously.

“At once.”

“Good.”  He wrote a hurried line on a piece of paper, folded it, sealed it, and gave it to Hurlstone.  “You will hand that to the Comandante.  He will give you access to the prisoner.”

In less than half an hour Hurlstone presented himself before the Commander.  The events of the last twenty-four hours had evidently affected Don Miguel, for although he received Hurlstone courteously, there was a singular reflection of the priest’s harshness in his face as he glanced over the missive.  He took out his watch.