that I
shall never falter nor doubt."

He bent his head and kissed her for the first time without passion, but
solemnly, as had their nuptials indeed been accomplished, and the
greater mystery of spiritual union isolated them for a moment in that
twilight region where the mortal part did not enter.

As they left the church they saw that all the Indians of the Mission
and neighborhood, in a gala of color, had gathered to cheer the
Russians as they rode away. Concha was to return as she had come,
beside the carreta of her mother, and as Rezanov mounted his horse she
stood staring with unseeing eyes on the brilliant, animated scene.
Suddenly she heard a suppressed sob, and felt a touch on her skirt.
She looked round and saw Rosa, kneeling close to the church. For a
moment she continued to stare, hardly comprehending, in the intense
concentration of her faculties, that tangible beings, other than
herself and Rezanov, still moved on the earth. Then her mind relaxed.
She was normal in a normal world once more. She stooped and patted the
hands clasping her skirts.

"Poor Rosa!" she said. "Poor Rosa!"

Over the intense green of islands and hills were long banners of yellow
and purple mist, where the wild flowers were lifting their heads. The
whole quivering bay was as green as the land, but far away the
mountains of the east were pink. Where there was a patch of verdure on
the sand hills the warm golden red of the poppy flaunted in the
sunshine. All nature was in gala attire like the Californians
themselves, as the Juno under full sail sped through "The Mouth of the
Gulf of the Farallones." Fort San Joaquin saluted with seven guns; the
Juno returned the compliment with nine. The Commandante, his family
and guests, stood on the hill above the fort, cheering, waving
sombreros and handkerchiefs. Wind and tide carried the ship rapidly
out the straits. Rezanov dropped the cocked hat he had been waving and
raised his field-glass. Concha, as ever, stood a little apart. As the
ship grew smaller and the company turned toward the Presidio, she
advanced to the edge of the bluff. The wind lifted her loosened
mantilla, billowing it out on one side, and as she stood with her hands
pressed against her heart, she might, save for her empty arms, have
been the eidolon of the Madonna di San Sisto. In her eyes was the same
expression of vague arrested horror as she looked out on that world of
menacing imperfections the blind