Miss Keene bit her pretty lips.

“They think it is a mistake; they cannot believe that any intentional indignity is offered them,” she said quietly.  “Perhaps it is well they do not.”

“They desired me to express their condolences to the Senora,” said the Padre, with exasperating gentleness, “and were relieved to be assured by me of your perfect security in the hands of these gentlemen.”

Miss Keene raised her clear eyes to the ecclesiastic.  That accomplished diplomat of Todos Santos absolutely felt confused under the cool scrutiny of this girl’s unbiased and unsophisticated intelligence.

“Then you have seen them,” she said, “and you know their innocence, and the utter absurdity of this surveillance?”

“I have not seen them all,” said the priest softly.  “There is still another—­a Senor Hurlstone—­who is missing?  Is he not?”

It was not in the possibility of Eleanor Keene’s truthful blood to do other than respond with a slight color to this question.  She had already concealed from every one the fact of having seen the missing man in the Mission garden the evening before.  It did not, however, prevent her the next moment from calmly meeting the glance of the priest as she answered gravely,—­

“I believe so.  But I cannot see what that has to do with the detention of the others.”

“Much, perhaps.  It has been said that you alone, my child, were in the confidence of this man.”

“Who dared say that?” exclaimed Miss Keene in English, forgetting herself in her indignation.

“If it’s anything mean—­it’s Mrs. Brimmer, I’ll bet a cooky,” said Mrs. Markham, whose linguistic deficiencies had debarred her from the previous conversation.

“You have only,” continued the priest, without noticing the interruption, “to tell us what you know of this Hurlstone’s plans,—­of his complicity with Senor Perkins, or,” he added significantly, “his opposition to them—­to insure that perfect justice shall be done to all.”

Relieved that the question involved no disclosure of her only secret regarding Hurlstone, Miss Keene was about to repeat the truth that she had no confidential knowledge of him, or of his absurd alleged connection with Senor Perkins, when, with an instinct of tact, she hesitated.  Might she not serve them all—­even Hurlstone himself—­by saying nothing, and leaving the burden of proof to their idiotic accusers?  Was she altogether sure that Hurlstone was entirely ignorant of Senor Perkins’ plans, or might he not have refused, at the last moment, to join in the conspiracy, and so left the ship?

“I will not press you for your answer now,” said the priest gently.  “But you will not, I know, keep back anything that may throw a light on this sad affair, and perhaps help to reinstate your friend Mr. Hurlstone in his real position.”

“If you ask me if I believe that Mr. Hurlstone had anything to do with this conspiracy, I should say, unhesitatingly, that I do not.  And more, I believe that he would have jumped overboard rather than assent to so infamous an act,” said the young girl boldly.