CHAPTER XXII.
I sought in vain about the house and garden for Mariposilla.
The child had not been away from the ranch since the news of Sidney's marriage, and her sudden absence alarmed me.
I remembered that it was Saturday. Perhaps Mariposilla had gone to the old church for confession. Arturo had the pony, and for a moment I was in despair.
Fortunately a neighbor arrived with a horse and buggy, which I borrowed.
I was determined not to alarm the Doña Maria, and drove away at once in the direction of the Old Mission. The road, for the first time, seemed long and uninteresting. The neighbor's horse was an ancient nag, who discovered at once my impatience and inexperience. He absolutely refused to accelerate his midsummer dog-trot. The persuasions of a stranger he ignored.
Despairing, I submitted, while I vaguely questioned myself as to what I should do, in case Mariposilla had not gone to the church.
When at last I caught sight of the long, gray outline, hiding among cool, green peppers, my heart seemed to stand still.
As I turned into the main approach leading to the Mission, the old bells broke suddenly the oppressive silence. Their melancholy strokes were for the dead; perhaps for the Doña Maria's mother, I thought.
Mechanically I counted the tolls, until their number had reached sixteen, then the old bells paused a moment before they again repeated the years of the youthful dead.