a convert of the mission-第3部分

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incitement！　　Yet　such　was　its　fascination　that　he　fancied　it　was

reclaimed　by　the　delightful　childlike　and　innocent　expression　of

the　singer。



Enough　that　this　tall；　gaunt；　broad…shouldered　man　arose　and；

overcome　by　a　curiosity　almost　as　childlike；　slipped　into　the

garden　and　glided　with　an　Indian　softness　of　tread　toward　the

voice。　　The　moon　shone　full　upon　the　ruined　Mission　wall　tipped

with　clusters　of　dark　foliage。　　Half　hiding；　half　mingling　with　one

of　theman　indistinct　bulk　of　light…colored　huddled　fleeces　like

an　extravagant　bird's　nesthung　the　unknown　musician。　　So　intent

was　the　performer's　preoccupation　that　Masterton　actually　reached

the　base　of　the　wall　immediately　below　the　figure　without

attracting　its　attention。　　But　his　foot　slipped　on　the　crumbling

debris　with　a　snapping　of　dry　twigs。　　There　was　a　quick　little　cry

from　above。　　He　had　barely　time　to　recover　his　position　before　the

singer；　impulsively　leaning　over　the　parapet；　had　lost　hers；　and

fell　outward。　　But　Masterton　was　tall；　alert；　and　self…possessed；

and　threw　out　his　long　arms。　　The　next　moment　they　were　full　of

soft　flounces；　a　struggling　figure　was　against　his　breast；　and　a

woman's　frightened　little　hands　around　his　neck。　　But　he　had　broken

her　fall；　and　almost　instantly；　yet　with　infinite　gentleness；　he

released　her　unharmed；　with　hardly　her　crisp　flounces　crumpled；　in

an　upright　position　against　the　wall。　　Even　her　guitar；　still

hanging　from　her　shoulder　by　a　yellow　ribbon；　had　bounded　elastic

and　resounding　against　the　wall；　but　lay　intact　at　her　satin…

slippered　feet。　　She　caught　it　up　with　another　quick　little　cry；

but　this　time　more　of　sauciness　than　fear；　and　drew　her　little　hand

across　its　strings；　half　defiantly。



〃I　hope　you　are　not　hurt？〃　said　the　circuit　preacher；　gravely。



She　broke　into　a　laugh　so　silvery　that　he　thought　it　no

extravagance　to　liken　it　to　the　moonbeams　that　played　over　her　made

audible。　　She　was　lithe；　yet　plump；　barred　with　black　and　yellow

and　small…waisted　like　a　pretty　wasp。　　Her　complexion　in　that　light

was　a　sheen　of　pearl　satin　that　made　her　eyes　blacker　and　her

little　mouth　redder　than　any　other　color　could。　　She　was　small；

but；　remembering　the　fourteen…year…old　wife　of　the　shopkeeper；　he

felt　that；　for　all　her　childish　voice　and　features；　she　was　a　grown

woman；　and　a　sudden　shyness　took　hold　of　him。



But　she　looked　pertly　in　his　face；　stood　her　guitar　upright　before

her；　and　put　her　hands　behind　her　back　as　she　leaned　saucily

against　the　wall　and　shrugged　her　shoulders。



〃It　was　the　fault　of　you；〃　she　said；　in　a　broken　English　that

seemed　as　much　infantine　as　foreign。　　〃What　for　you　not　remain　to

yourself　in　your　own　CASA？　　So　it　come。　　You　creep　soin　the　dark…

…and　shake　my　wall；　and　I　fall。　　And　she；〃　pointing　to　the　guitar；

〃is　a'most　broke！　　And　for　all　thees　I　have　only　make　to　you　a

serenade。　　Ingrate！〃



〃I　beg　your　pardon；〃　said　Masterton　quickly；　〃but　I　was　curious。　　I

thought　I　might　help　you；　and〃



〃Make　yourself　another　cat　on　the　wall；　eh？　　No；　one　is　enough；

thank　you！〃



A　frown　lowered　on　Masterton's　brow。　　〃You　don't　understand　me；〃　he

said；　bluntly。　　〃I　did　not　know　WHO　was　here。〃



〃Ah；　BUENO！　　Then　it　is　Pepita　Ramirez；　you　see；〃　she　said；　tapping

her　bodice　with　one　little　finger；　〃all　the　same；　the　niece　from

Manuel　Garcia；　who　keeps　the　Mission　garden　and　lif　there。　　And

you？〃



〃My　name　is　Masterton。〃



〃How　mooch？〃



〃Masterton；〃　he　repeated。



She　tried　to　pronounce　it　once　or　twice　desperately；　and　then　shook

her　little　head　so　violently　that　a　yellow　rose　fastened　over　her

ear　fell　to　the　ground。　　But　she　did　not　heed　it；　nor　the　fact　that

Masterton　had　picked　it　up。



〃Ah；　I　cannot！〃　she　said；　poutingly。　　〃It　is　as　deefeecult　to　make

go　as　my　guitar　with　your　serenade。〃



〃Can　you　not　say　'Stephen　Masterton'？〃　he　asked；　more　gently；　with

a　returning　and　forgiving　sense　of　her　childishness。



〃Es…stefen？　　Ah；　ESTEBAN！　　Yes；　Don　Esteban！　　BUENO！　　Then；　Don

Esteban；　what　for　you　sink　so　melank…olly　one　night；　and　one　night

so　fierce？　　The　melank…olly；　he　ees　not　so　bad；　but　the　fierceah！

he　is　weeked！　　Ess　it　how　the　Americano　make　always　his　serenade？〃



Masterton's　brow　again　darkened。　　And　his　hymn　of　exultation　had

been　mistaken　by　these　peopleby　thisthis　wanton　child！



〃It　was　no　serenade；〃　he　replied；　curtly；　〃it　was　in　the　praise　of

the　Lord！〃



〃Of　how　mooch？〃



〃Of　the　Lord　of　Hostsof　the　Almighty　in　Heaven。〃　　He　lifted　his

long　arms　reverently　on　high。



〃Oh！〃　she　said；　with　a　frightened　look；　slightly　edging　away　from

the　wall。　　At　a　secure　distance　she　stopped。　　〃Then　you　are　a

soldier；　Don　Esteban？〃



〃No！〃



〃Then　what　for　you　sink　'I　am　a　soldier　of　the　Lord；'　and　you　will

make　die　'in　His　army'？　　Oh；　yes；　you　have　said。〃　　She　gathered　up

her　guitar　tightly　under　her　arm；　shook　her　small　finger　at　him

gravely；　and　said；　〃You　are　a　hoombog；　Don　Esteban；　good　a'　night；〃

and　began　to　glide　away。



〃One　moment；　MissMiss　Ramirez；〃　called　Masterton。　　〃Ithat　is

youyou　haveforgotten　your　rose；〃　he　added；　feebly；　holding　up

the　flower。　　She　halted。



〃Ah；　yes；　he　have　drop；　you　have　pick　him　up；　he　is　yours。　　I　have

drop；　you　have　pick　ME　up；　but　I　am　NOT　yours。　　Good　a'　night；

COMANDANTE　Don　Esteban！〃



With　a　light　laugh　she　ran　along　beside　the　wall　for　a　little

distance；　suddenly　leaped　up　and　disappeared　in　one　of　the　largest

gaps　in　its　ruined　and　helpless　structure。　　Stephen　Masterton　gazed

after　her　stupidly；　still　holding　the　rose　in　his　hand。　　Then　he

threw　it　away　and　re…entered　his　home。



Lighting　his　candle；　he　undressed　himself；　prayed　ferventlyso

fervently　that　all　remembrance　of　the　idle；　foolish　incident　was

wiped　from　his　mind；　and　went　to　bed。　　He　slept　well　and

dreamlessly。　　The　next　morning；　when　his　thoughts　recurred　to　the

previous　night；　this　seemed　to　him　a　token　that　he　had　not　deviated

from　his　spiritual　integrity；　it　did　not　occur　to　him　that　the

thought　itself　was　a　tacit　suspicion。



So　his　feet　quite　easily　sought　the　garden　again　in　the　early

sunshine；　even　to　the　wall　where　she　had　stood。　　But　he　had　not

taken　into　account　the　vivifying　freshness　of　the　morning；　the

renewed　promise　of　life　and　resurrection　in　the　pulsing　air　and

potent　sunlight；　and　as　he　stood　there　he　seemed　to　see　the　figure

of　the　young　girl　again　leaning　against　the　wall　in　all　the　charm

of　her　irrepressible　and　innocent　youth。　　More　than　that；　he　found

the　whole　scene　re…enacting　itself　before　him；　the　nebulous　drapery

half　hidden　in　the　foliage；　the　cry　and　the　fall；　the　momentary

soft　contact　of　the　girl's　figure　against　his　own；　the　clinging

arms　around　his　neck；　the　brush　and　fragrance　of　her　flouncesall

this　came　back　to　him　with　a　strength　he　had　NOT　felt　when　it

occurred。



He　was　turning　hurriedly　away　when　his　eyes　fell　upon　the　yellow

rose　still　lying　in　the　debris　where　he　had　thrown　itbut　still

pure；　fresh；　and　unfaded。　　He　picked　it　up　again；　with　a　singular

fancy　that　it　was　the　girl　herself；　and　carried　it　into　the　house。



As　he　placed　it　half　shyly　in　a　glass　on　his　table　a　wonderful

thought　occurred　to　him。　　Was　not　the　episode　of　last　night　a

special　providence？　　Was　not　that　young　girl；　wayward　and

childlike；　a　mere　neophyte　in　her　idolatrous　religion；　as　yet

unsteeped　in　sloth　and　ignorance；　presented　to　him　as　a　brand　to　be

snatched　from　the　burning？　　Was　not　this　the　opportunity　of

conversion　he　had　longed　forthis　the　chance　of　exercising　his

gifts　of　exhortation　that　he　had　been　hiding　in　the　napkin　of

solitude　and　seclusion？　　Nay；　was　not　all　this　PREDESTINED？　　His

illness；　his　consequent　exile　to　this　land　of　false　godsthis

contiguity　to　the　Missionwas　not　all　this　part　of　a　supremely

ordered　plan　for　the　girl's　salvationand　was　HE　not　elected　and

ordained　for　that　service？　　Nay；　more；　was　not　the　girl　herself　a

mere　unconscious　instrument　in　the　hands　of　a　higher　power；　was　not

her　voluntary　attempt　to　accompany　him　in　his　devotional　exercise　a

vague　stirring　of　that　predestined　force　within　her？　　Was　not　even

that　wantonness　and　frivolity　contrasted　with　her　childishness

which　he　had　at　first　misunderstoodthe　stirrings　of　the　flesh　and

the　spirit；　and　was　he　to　abandon　her　in　that　struggle　of　good　and

evil？



He　lifted　his　bowed　head；　that　had　been　resting　on　his　arm　before

the　little　flower　on　the　tableas　if　it　were　a　shrinewith　a

flash　of　resolve　in　his　blue　eyes。　　The　wrinkled　Concepcion　coming

to　her　duties　in　the　morning　scarcely　recognized　her　gloomily

abstracted　master　in　this　transfigured　man。　　He　looked　ten　years

younger。



She　met　his　greeting；　and　the　few　direct　inquiries　that　his　new

resolve　enabled　him　to　make　more　freely；　with　some　information

which　a　later　talk　with　the　shopkeeper；　who　had　a　fuller　English

vocabulary；　confirmed　in　detail。



〃YES！　truly　this　was　a　niece　of　the　Mission　gardener；　who　lived

with　her　uncle　in　the　ruined　wing　of　the　presidio。　　She　had　taken

her　first　communion　four　years　ago。　　Ah；　yes；　she　was　a　great

musician；　and　could　play　on　the　organ。　　And　the　guitar；　ah；　yesof

a　certainty。　　She　was　gay；　and　flirted　with　the　caballeros；　young

and　old；　but　she　cared　not　for　any。〃



Whatever　satisfaction　this　latter　statement　gave　Masterton；　he

believed　it　was　because　the　absence　of　any　disturbing　worldly

affection　would　make　her　an　easier　convert。



But　how　continue　this　chance　acquaintance　and　effect　her

conversion？　　For　the　first　time　Masterton　realized　the　value　of

expediency；　while　his　whole　nature　impelled　him　to　seek　her　society

frankly　and　publicly　and　exhort　her　openly；　he　knew　that　this　was

impossible；　still　more；　he　remembered　her　unmistakable　fright　at

his　first　expression　of　faith；　he　must　〃be　wise　as　the　serpent　and

harmless　as　the　dove。〃　　He　mus