lstone any
trouble. It seems I must look elsewhere for the brains of this party,
and to find a solution of this young man's mystery; and, if I judge
correctly, it is with this beautiful young agitator of revolutions and
her oratorical duenna I must deal."

He entered the low gateway of the Presidio unchallenged, and even
traversed the courtyard without meeting a soul. The guard and sentries
had evidently withdrawn to their habitual peaceful vocations, and the
former mediaeval repose of the venerable building had returned. There
was no one in the guard-room; but as the priest turned back to the
corridor, his quick ear was suddenly startled by the unhallowed
and inconsistent sounds of a guitar. A monotonous voice also--the
Comandante's evidently--was raised in a thin, high recitative.

The Padre passed hastily through the guard-room, and opened the door
of the passage leading to the garden slope. Here an extraordinary group
presented itself to his astonished eyes. In the shadow of a palm-tree,
Mrs. Markham, seated on her Saratoga trunk as on a throne, was gazing
blandly down upon the earnest features of the Commander, who, at her
feet, guitar in hand, was evidently repeating some musical composition.
His subaltern sat near him, divided in admiration of his chief and the
guest. Miss Keene, at a little distance, aided by the secretary,
was holding an animated conversation with a short, stout, Sancho
Panza-looking man, whom the Padre recognized as the doctor of Todos
Santos.

At the apparition of the reverend Father, the Commander started,
the subaltern stared, and even the secretary and the doctor looked
discomposed.

"I am decidedly de trop this morning," soliloquized the ecclesiastic;
but Miss Keene cut short his reflection by running to him frankly, with
outstretched hand.

"I am so glad that you have come," she said, with a youthful,
unrestrained earnestness that was as convincing as it was fascinating,
"for you will help me to persuade this gentleman that poor Captain
Bunker is suffering more from excitement of mind than body, and that
bleeding him is more than folly."

"The man's veins are in a burning fever and delirium from aguardiente,"
said the little doctor excitedly, "and the fire must first be put out by
the lancet."

"He is only crazy with remorse for having lost his ship through his own
carelessness and the treachery of others," said Miss Keene doughtily.

"He is a maniac and will kill himself, unl