ur wife. As long as
her first husband lives, she is forever his wife, bound by a tie which
no human law can sever!"

CHAPTER IX.

AN OPEN-AIR PRISON.

An hour after mass Father Esteban had quietly installed Hurlstone in a
small cell-like apartment off the refectory. The household of the
priest consisted of an old Indian woman of fabulous age and miraculous
propriety, two Indian boys who served at mass, a gardener, and a
muleteer. The first three, who were immediately in attendance upon the
priest, were cognizant of a stranger's presence, but, under instructions
from the reverend Padre, were loyally and superstitiously silent; the
vocations of the gardener and muleteer made any intrusion from them
impossible. A breakfast of fruit, tortillas, chocolate, and red wine,
of which Hurlstone partook sparingly and only to please his entertainer,
nevertheless seemed to restore his strength, as it did the Padre's
equanimity. For the old man had been somewhat agitated during mass,
and, except that his early morning congregation was mainly composed of
Indians, muleteers, and small venders, his abstraction would have been
noticed. With ready tact he had not attempted, by further questioning,
to break the taciturnity into which Hurlstone had relapsed after his
emotional confession and the priest's abrupt half-absolution. Was it
possible he regretted his confidence, or was it possible that his
first free and untrammeled expression of his wrongs had left him with a
haunting doubt of their real magnitude?

"Lie down here, my son," said the old ecclesiastic, pointing to a small
pallet in the corner, "and try to restore in the morning what you have
taken from the night. Manuela will bring your clothes when they are
dried and mended; meantime, shift for yourself in Pepito's serape and
calzas. I will betake me to the Comandante and the Alcalde, to learn the
dispositions of your party, when the ship will sail, and if your absence
is suspected. Peace be with you, son! Manuela, attend to the caballero,
and see you chatter not."

Without doubting the substantial truth of his guest's story, the good
Padre Esteban was not unwilling to have it corroborated by such details
as he thought he could collect among the Excelsior's passengers. His own
experience in the confessional had taught him the unreliability of
human evidence, and the vagaries of both conscientious and unconscious
suppression. That a young, good-looking, and accomplishe