ven in the moonlight,
commanded amends and more from penitent lips.

"No man has ever seen them before--since I was a baby; not even my
father and brothers," said Concha, trembling between horror and rapture
at the tremendous surrender. "You will never remind me of it. Ay yi!
promise--Pedro mio!"

"On condition that you promise not to confess it. I should like to be
sure that your mind belonged as much to me and as little to others as
possible. I do not object to confession--we have it in our church; but
remember that there are other things as sacred as your religion."

She nodded. "I understand--better than you understand Romanism. I
must confess that I met you to-night, but Father Abella is too discreet
to ask for more. It is such blessed memories that feed the soul, and
they would fly away on a whisper."

XX

The next morning Father Abella rode over to the Presidio and was
closeted for an hour with the Commandante and the Governor. Then the
three rode down to the beach, entered a canoe, and paddled out to the
Juno. Rezanov met them on deck with a gravity as significant as their
own, but led them at once to the cabin where wine, and the cigarettes
for which alone they would have counselled the treaty, awaited them.

The quartette pledged each other in an embarrassed silence, disposed of
a moment more with obdurate matches. Don Jose inhaled audibly, then
lifted his eyes and met the veiled and steady gaze of the Russian.

"Senor," he said, "I have come to tell you that I consent to your
marriage with my daughter."

"Thank you," said Rezanov. And their hands clasped across the table.

But this was far too simple for the taste of a Governor. So important
an occasion demanded official dignity and many words.

"Your excellency," he said severely, sitting very erect, with one white
hand on the table and the other on the hilt of his sword (yet full of
courtesy, and longing to enjoy the cheer and conversation of his host);
"the peaceful monotony of our lives has been rudely shaken by a demand
upon three fallible human beings to alter the course of history in two
great nations. That is a sufficient excuse for the suspense to which
we have been forced to subject you. The marriage of a Russian and a
Spaniard is of no great moment in itself, but the marriage of the
Plenipotentiary of the Tsar himself with the daughter of Jose Mario
Arguello, not only one of the most eminent, respected, and
distinguish