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The mail's closing tomorrow morning." "Yes," replied the two correspondents at the table, simultaneously bringing their letters to a close. "Hurry up, then," said the messenger. "The Padre's waiting to censor them. He sent me along to see if there were any more." Mordaunt folded his letter and placed it in an envelope. "Got a stamp, Harcourt? I've run out." He extended a penny.
Saunders half arose. "Sit down, Saunders," said Mark quietly, "sit down. What's so astonishing about that?" "You you are engaged to Miss Atheson? You can't mean it!" "I didn't say that." Saunders sat down again. "You know nothing about her," he gasped. "The Padre's friends are good enough to appeal to me." "But does the Padre know?" Mark's eyes began to steel and glitter.
The charm of the Padre's simple manner and ways proved no less irresistible to them than to the rest of the world, and they marveled that he spoke English so well. His intimate knowledge of the people and the customs of the country threw a new light on them, reconciling the girls to many things that had seemed incomprehensible.
Imagine the scene but whether the good padre's momentary wrath, and then utter astonishment and indignation, or the guest's embarrassment, were greatest or the most ludicrous, it would be hard to determine.
Two Indians were killed and three wounded, and four of the soldiers were wounded. That same afternoon the troops returned and, despite the padre's protest, sacked the Indians' houses and killed all the stragglers they found, regardless of their guilt or innocence. The Indians refused to return, and retreated further over the mountains to the recesses of the Tulares.
For the stately Spanish centuries of custom lived at Santa Ysabel del Mar, inviolate, feudal, remote. They were the only persons of quality present; and between themselves and the gente de razon a space intervened. Behind the padre's chair stood an Indian to wait upon him, and another stood behind the chair of Gaston Villere.
On the contrary, it seemed absurd even to hope, and in such an event then the Padre's sacrifice would be unnecessary. If on the other hand but he dared not let the thought take shape. All he knew was that with Joan at his side no power of law should touch one single white hair of the Padre's head, while the breath of life remained in his body.
The supposed Americans proved to be a small detachment of British troops, and thus the affair ended. On another occasion during the same period the Padre's loyalty and good humour were manifested, though in a different manner. While amusing himself in the garden one day, he overheard two Irish soldiers engaged in conversation to this effect:
Instantly the Padre's face grew dark, as I had maliciously foreseen it would. It was out of the question, he said. Then let them starve, said I, for I have no sympathy with tatterdemalion pride.
I must own, by-the-by, that I felt well pleased to accept the padre's embrace in imagination rather than in reality; and heartily thanking him for his kind reception, I begged to know his name, that I might tell my uncle.
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