"Your child, and the mother of it there in the willows, are my care, Rafael Arteaga, as they would have been the care of your mother, had she lived. I have sworn to that dying mother to live beside you, and guard you from what harm I can, but if you still take your marriage vows to the willows, you put aside the sacrament of your marriage to me. Never again, while you choose to live like that, must you cross to me where this altar is. I guard your soul for your mother, but by the Virgin, and by this cross on the dagger, I will send you to account there where she is, if you come to me like that again! I give my life to keep my vow; but if you drive me to it, my soul may yet have to pay in the other life for the loss of your own!"
As he stumbled out of the door he met the Padre Libertad pacing the corridor, as usual, with his book. He did not lift his eyes or speak, and Rafael passed on sullenly, muttering an oath: each way he turned in the Mission he met an altar or a priest!
Ana, coming through the portal of the inner court, met him there, and heard the oath, and was filled with fear of a discovery so appalling that her woman's wit left her, and she blundered and caught his arm and questioned.
"But, Rafael, he has done nothing. That he was at the door of Raquel is not—"
"Sure, it is not," he agreed, scoffingly. "But when a man has a wife of his own,—even Raquel Estevan de Arteaga,—he does not want a black gown and a monk's cowl forever as her shadow."
They were outside the window of Keith Bryton, and the words reached the ears of the man on the bed there, and brought him reeling but determined to his feet.
It was the first word reaching him by which he could grasp at the reality of the life about him; all the vague dreams were dashed aside by that name, "Raquel Estevan de Arteaga." It cleared the visions of the fever his nurse had feared to dispel too quickly, and in one staggering flash he saw the truth: the "dream" of the California life was no dream, it was the real life to be met and fought again. Where was he, that the voice of Rafael Arteaga dared ring with such imperious directions? He reached the barred window dizzily and leaned his head against the high ledge. The world whirled about him for a moment, and when it stopped and stood still, he again heard the voice of Rafael, irritated this time into more intolerant speech by some eager protest of Ana.
"Oh, ho! That is the man, is it? And he saved her from Juan Flores that night? That is news—God curse him!"
"Rafael!" and the woman's voice was full of horror. "You are crazy with brandy; you do not know how you speak. Go to your bed and sleep. That man saved your name and your wife from disgrace, and you have only curses for him in your mouth!"
"Basta! He may win seven heavens for aught I care. But, name of God! sing no praises of him for saving Raquel Estevan for me! She is not a woman, Anita! Never a woman for a man who wants a wife. By God, I think she is the devil turned saint; and the man who carries her to the hills is my friend and earns a herd of horses!"