Then you are certain she is the babe you seek? said the father, without looking up.
I reckon as near as you can be certain of anything. Her age tallies; she was the only foundling girl baby baptized by you, you know,he partly turned round appealingly to the Padre,that year. Injin woman says she picked up a baby. Looks like a pretty clear case, dont it?
And the clothes, friend Cranch? said the priest, with his eyes still on the ground, and a slight assumption of easy indifference.
They will be forthcoming, like enough, when the time comes, said Cranch; the main thing at first was to find the girl; that was MY job; the lawyers, I reckon, can fit the proofs and say whats wanted, later on.
But why lawyers, continued Padre Pedro, with a slight sneer he could not repress, if the child is found and Senor Cranch is satisfied?
On account of the property. Business is business!
The property?
Mr. Cranch pressed the back of his knife-blade on his boot, shut it up with a click, and putting it in his pocket said calmly,
Well, I reckon the million of dollars that her father left when he died, which naturally belongs to her, will require some proof that she is his daughter.
He had placed both his hands in his pockets, and turned his eyes full upon Father Pedro. The priest arose hurriedly.
But you said nothing of this before, Senor Cranch, said he, with a gesture of indignation, turning his back quite upon Cranch, and taking a step towards the refectory.
Why should I? I was looking after the girl, not the property, returned Cranch, following the Padre with watchful eyes, but still keeping his careless, easy attitude.
Ah, well! Will it be said so, think you? Eh! Bueno. What will the world think of your sacred quest, eh? continued the Padre Pedro, forgetting himself in his excitement, but still averting his face from his companion.
The world will look after the proofs, and I reckon not bother if the proofs are all right, replied Cranch, carelessly; and the girl wont think the worse of me for helping her to a fortune. Hallo! youve dropped something. He leaped to his feet, picked up the breviary which had fallen from the Padres fingers, and returned it to him with a slight touch of gentleness that was unsuspected in the man.
The priests dry, tremulous hand grasped the volume without acknowledgment.
But these proofs? he said hastily; these proofs, Senor?
Oh, well, youll testify to the baptism, you know.
But if I refuse; if I will have nothing to do with this thing! If I will not give my word that there is not some mistake, said the priest, working himself into a feverish indignation. That there are not slips of memory, eh? Of so many children baptized, is it possible for me to know which, eh? And if this Juanita is not your girl, eh?
Then youll help me to find who is, said Cranch, coolly.
Father Pedro turned furiously on his tormentor. Overcome by his vigil and anxiety. He was oblivious of everything but the presence of the man who seemed to usurp the functions of his own conscience. Who are you, who speak thus? he said hoarsely, advancing upon Cranch with outstretched and anathematizing fingers. Who are you, Senor Heathen, who dare to dictate to me, a Father of Holy Church? I tell you, I will have none of this. Never! I will not. From this moment, you understandnothing. I will never . . .
He stopped. The first stroke of the Angelus rang from the little tower. The first stroke of that bell before whose magic exorcism all human passions fled, the peaceful bell that had for fifty years lulled the little fold of San Carmel to prayer and rest, came to his throbbing ear. His trembling hands groped for the crucifix, carried it to his left breast; his lips moved in prayer. His eyes were turned to the cold, passionless sky, where a few faint, far-spaced stars had silently stolen to their places. The Angelus still rang, his trembling ceased, he remained motionless and rigid.
The American, who had uncovered in deference to the worshiper rather than the rite, waited patiently. The eyes of Father Pedro returned to the earth, moist as if with dew caught from above. He looked half absently at Cranch.
Forgive me, my son, he said, in a changed voice. I am only a worn old man. I must talk with thee more of thisbut not to-nightnot to-night;to-morrowto-morrowto-morrow.
He turned slowly and appeared to glide rather than move under the trees, until the dark shadow of the Mission tower met and encompassed him. Cranch followed him with anxious eyes. Then he removed the quid of tobacco from his cheek.
Just as I reckoned, remarked he, quite audibly. Hes clean gold on the bed rock after all!
CHAPTER IV
That night Father Pedro dreamed a strange dream. How much of it was reality, how long it lasted, or when he awoke from it, he could not tell. The morbid excitement of the previous day culminated in a febrile exaltation in which he lived and moved as in a separate existence.
This is what he remembered. He thought he had risen at night in a sudden horror of remorse, and making his way to the darkened church had fallen upon his knees before the high altar, when all at once the acolytes voice broke from the choir, but in accents so dissonant and unnatural that it seemed a sacrilege, and he trembled. He thought he had confessed the secret of the childs sex to Cranch, but whether the next morning or a week later he did not know. He fancied, too, that Cranch had also confessed some trifling deception to him, but what, or why, he could not remember; so much greater seemed the enormity of his own transgression. He thought Cranch had put in his hands the letter he had written to the Father Superior, saying that his secret was still safe, and that he had been spared the avowal and the scandal that might have ensued. But through all, and above all, he was conscious of one fixed idea: to seek the seashore with Sanchicha, and upon the spot where she had found Francisco, meet the young girl who had taken his place, and so part from her forever. He had a dim recollection that this was necessary to some legal identification of her, as arranged by Cranch, but how or why he did not understand; enough that it was a part of his penance.
It was early morning when the faithful Antonio, accompanied by Sanchicha and Jose, rode forth with him from the Mission of San Carmel. Except on the expressionless features of the old woman, there was anxiety and gloom upon the faces of the little cavalcade. He did not know how heavily his strange abstraction and hallucinations weighed upon their honest hearts. As they wound up the ascent of the mountain he noticed that Antonio and Jose conversed with bated breath and many pious crossings of themselves, but with eyes always wistfully fixed upon him. He wondered if, as part of his penance, he ought not to proclaim his sin and abase himself before them; but he knew that his devoted followers would insist upon sharing his punishment; and he remembered his promise to Cranch, that for HER sake he would say nothing. Before they reached the summit he turned once or twice to look back upon the Mission. How small it looked, lying there in the peaceful valley, contrasted with the broad sweep of the landscape beyond, stopped at the further east only by the dim, ghost-like outlines of the Sierras. But the strong breath of the sea was beginning to be felt; in a few moments more they were facing it with lowered sombreros and flying serapes, and the vast, glittering, illimitable Pacific opened out beneath them.