"The donas!" echoed Don Ricardo, aghast; "and the bride a young saint stolen from the Church!—the donas!"
"What's that?" asked Bryton, while the rest applauded the dancer. "Donas?"
"The gifts of the groom to the bride,—the gown, the wedding veil, the—holy God! it's sacrilege!"
"Is it?" asked the American; "then we'll stop it. Come to coffee, Merced!"
Without further ceremony he picked the girl up in his arms, and carried her, laughing and struggling, into the great refectory, where the Indian servants were placing breakfast on the table.
"That was quick work, Antonio," observed Don Ricardo, with a breath of relief.
"Sure; he is the best of all the Americanos. Ai! even more like the caballeros of other days than our own sons!"
Don Ricardo did not care to commit himself so far as that. He contented himself with grumbling at Rafael's indifference.
"And the girl a young saint—meant to live in religion!"
Bryton rejoined them with a cup of coffee, and both the men hastened to assure him that it was not Rafael who was in fault, but the many glasses he had emptied.