detestable."

"Why?--if I can do her good--and make her happy, sometimes?"

"Does she ever talk about her life--before she came here?"

"Oh, no; she is far too sad. Once only, when I told her I would pray
for her in the Mission Church, she asked me to burn a candle that her
lover might serve his sentence more quickly and come out and marry her.
Will you light one for her to-day, senor?"

"With the greatest pleasure; if you really want your maid to marry a
man who no doubt will murder her for the sake of some other woman."

"Oh, surely not! He loves her. I know that many men love more than
once, but when they are punished like that, they must remember."

"Is it true that you are only sixteen? Is that an impertinent
question? I cannot help it. Those years are so few, and so much
wisdom has gone into that little head."

"Sixteen is quite old." Concha drew herself up with an air of offended
dignity. "Elena Castro, who lives on the other side, is but eighteen
and she has three little ones. The Virgin brought them in the night
and left them in the big rosebush you see before the door--one at a
time, of course. Only the old nurse knew; the Virgin whispered it
while she was saying a prayer for Elena; and early in the morning she
came and found the dear little baby and put it in Elena's arms. I am
the godmother of the first--Conchitita. In Santa Barbara, where we
lived for some years, Anita Amanda Carillo, the friend of Ana Paula, is
married, although she is but twelve and sits on the floor all day and
plays with her dolls. She prays every night to the Virgin to bring her
a real baby, but she is not old enough to take care of it and must
wait. Twelve is too young to marry." Concha shook her head. Her eyes
were wise, and Rezanov noted anew that her mouth alone was as young as
her years. "My father would not permit such a thing. I am glad he is
not anxious we should marry soon. I should love to have the babies,
though; they are so sweet to play with and make little dresses for.
But my mother says the Virgin does not bring the little ones to good
girls--poor Rosa had one but it died--until their parents find them a
husband first. I have never wanted a husband--" Concha darted a swift
glance over her shoulder, but Santiago was in the clutches of the
learned doctor and wishing that he knew no Latin; "so I go every day
and play with Elena's babies, which is well enough."

Rezanov listened to this innocent