boy's
maintenance, and the good fathers had accepted, equally for the child's
sake as for the Church's sake, the generous "restitution" which this
coarse, powerful, ruffianly looking father was apparently seeking to
make. He was quite aware of it at the time, and had equally accepted it
with grim cynicism; but it now came back to him with a new and smarting
significance. Might THEY, too, not succeed in weaning the boy's
affection from him, or if the mother had interfered, would they not side
with her in claiming an equal right? He had sometimes laughed to himself
over the security of this hiding-place, so unknown and so unlikely to be
discovered by her, yet within easy reach of her friends and his enemies;
he now ground his teeth over the mistake which his doting desire to keep
his son accessible to him had caused him to make. He put spurs to his
horse, dashed down the little, narrow, ill-paved street, through
the deserted plaza, and pulled up in a cloud of dust before the only
remaining tower, with its cracked belfry, of the half-ruined Mission
church. A new dormitory and school-building had been extended from its
walls, but in a subdued, harmonious, modest way, quite unlike the usual
glaring white-pine glories of provincial towns. Steptoe laughed to
himself bitterly. Some of his money had gone in it.

He seized the horsehair rope dangling from a bell by the wall and rang
it sharply. A soft-footed priest appeared,--Father Dominico. "Eddy
Horncastle? Ah! yes. Eddy, dear child, is gone."

"Gone!" shouted Steptoe in a voice that startled the padre. "Where?
When? With whom?"

"Pardon, senor, but for a time--only a pasear to the next village. It is
his saint's day--he has half-holiday. He is a good boy. It is a little
pleasure for him and for us."

"Oh!" said Steptoe, softened into a rough apology. "I forgot. All right.
Has he had any visitors lately--lady, for instance?"

Father Dominico cast a look half of fright, half of reproval upon his
guest.

"A lady HERE!"

In his relief Steptoe burst into a coarse laugh. "Of course; you see
I forgot that, too. I was thinking of one of his woman folks, you
know--relatives--aunts. Was there any other visitor?"

"Only one. Ah! we know the senor's rules regarding his son."

"One?" repeated Steptoe. "Who was it?"

"Oh, quite an hidalgo--an old friend of the child's--most polite,
most accomplished, fluent in Spanish, perfect in deportment. The Senor
Horncastle surely could