lighter as he paced up and down his veranda, year
in and year out, in the balmy winter and cool summer of that magic
climate.

"Majella, the chapel is lighted; but that is good!" exclaimed
Alessandro, as they rode into the silent plaza. "Father Gaspara must
be there;" and jumping off his horse, he peered in at the uncurtained
window. "A marriage, Majella,--a marriage!" he cried, hastily returning.
"This, too, is good fortune. We need not to wait long."

When the sacristan whispered to Father Gaspara that an Indian couple had
just come in, wishing to be married, the Father frowned. His supper was
waiting; he had been out all day, over at the old Mission olive-orchard,
where he had not found things to his mind; the Indian man and wife whom
he hired to take care of the few acres the Church yet owned there had
been neglecting the Church lands and trees, to look after their own. The
Father was vexed, tired, and hungry, and the expression with which he
regarded Alessandro and Ramona, as they came towards him, was one of the
least prepossessing of which his dark face was capable. Ramona, who had
never knelt to any priest save the gentle Father Salvierderra, and who
had supposed that all priests must look, at least, friendly, was shocked
at the sight of the impatient visage confronting her. But, as his first
glance fell on Ramona, Father Gaspara's expression changed.

"What is all this!" he thought; and as quick as he thought it, he
exclaimed, in a severe tone, looking at Ramona, "Woman, are you an
Indian?"

"Yes, Father," answered Ramona, gently. "My mother was an Indian."

"Ah! half-breed!" thought Father Gaspara. "It is strange how sometimes
one of the types will conquer, and sometimes another! But this is no
common creature;" and it was with a look of new interest and sympathy
on his face that he proceeded with the ceremony,--the other couple, a
middle-aged Irishman, with his more than middle-aged bride, standing
quietly by, and looking on with a vague sort of wonder in their ugly,
impassive faces, as if it struck them oddly that Indians should marry.

The book of the marriage-records was kept in Father Gaspara's own rooms,
locked up and hidden even from his old housekeeper. He had had bitter
reason to take this precaution. It had been for more than one man's
interest to cut leaves out of this old record, which dated back to 1769,
and had many pages written full in the hand of Father Junipero himself.

As they came o