"Lie you still," he said, as one used to command. "The water was rough with you, and the reata rougher. Swallow some of this wine; it came from your own carriage, and is better than ours."
"From the carriage?" The carriage was on the opposite side of the stream, but her horse had followed her and was tied near, shaking himself like a great dog.
"Yes. I sent one of the boys--the vaqueros--across. Your friends know you are safe, but the carriage cannot come over--not yet; you have had good fortune to get out."
"The good fortune was to find you here, father," she said, and catching his hand she kissed it reverently. "It is a good omen and shows me a blessing is on my journey to my father's land. You may have known him by name. I am Raquel Estevan, and it was my father Felipe who once owned this land from mountain to sea."
"Felipe Estevan--you! But that cannot be. He is dead, and his one child is in religion--I was told so--I--"
The color came back to her face, and she raised herself on her elbow.
"It is true--I was for the Church--but I will tell you all--some time!"
"Go on," said the priest, authoritatively, "tell me now!"
"I was told it was better to work for God out in the world," she said, softly, "and so I am coming with my Aunt Luisa, father's cousin, and--"
"And--" he looked at her strangely. "Then it is you--you they bring to marry with Rafael Arteaga. Holy Mary! And it is Felipe's daughter--Felipe Estevan--who sold for a song rather than live under the Americanos; and it is for his daughter I wait here by San Onofre--for his daughter!"
Raquel stared at his evident agitation, not understanding. The sentences of the padre sank to muttering beneath the black beard, as he turned and strode away. The vaqueros, standing together holding their horses as if eager to be gone, exchanged wondering glances and eyed the girl curiously. Directly he came striding back and halted beside her.
"Yet you marry with Rafael Arteaga," he said, accusingly. "You are Felipe's daughter, yet you are much Americano--eh? You are of the States, is it not so? Between you two, old California will no longer have foot-room from San Jacinto to the water out there. God!" and he ground his heel into the turf. "Yet are you Felipe's daughter, and we must let you go!"