“But it concerns Francisco.  It contains a secret he should know.”

“Then you can tell him it.  Perhaps it would come easier from you.”

Juanita blushed again.  “Why?” she asked, half dreading his reply.

“Because,” said the American, quietly, “you are old playmates; you are attached to each other.”

Juanita bit her lips.  “Why don’t you read it yourself?” she asked bluntly.

“Because I don’t read other people’s letters, and if it concerns me you’ll tell me.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then the Father Superior will.”

“I believe you know Francisco’s secret already,” said the girl, boldly.

“Perhaps.”

“Then, Mother of God!  Senor Crancho, what do you want?”

“I do not want to separate two such good friends as you and Francisco.”

“Perhaps you’d like to claim us both,” said the girl, with a sneer that was not devoid of coquetry.

“I should be delighted.”

“Then here is your occasion, Senor, for here comes my adopted father, Don Juan, and your friend, Senor Br—­r—­own, the American alcalde.”

Two men appeared in the garden path below them.  The stiff, glazed, broad-brimmed black hat, surmounting a dark face of Quixotic gravity and romantic rectitude, indicated Don Juan Briones.  His companion, lazy, specious, and red-faced, was Senor Brown, the American alcalde.

“Well, I reckon we kin about call the thing fixed,” said Senor Brown, with a large wave of the hand, suggesting a sweeping away of all trivial details.  “Ez I was saying to the Don yer, when two high-toned gents like you and him come together in a delicate matter of this kind, it ain’t no hoss trade nor sharp practice.  The Don is that lofty in principle that he’s willin’ to sacrifice his affections for the good of the gal; and you, on your hand, kalkilate to see all he’s done for her, and go your whole pile better.  You’ll make the legal formalities good.  I reckon that old Injin woman who can swear to the finding of the baby on the shore will set things all right yet.  For the matter o’ that, if you want anything in the way of a certificate, I’m on hand always.”

“Juanita and myself are at your disposition, caballeros,” said Don Juan, with a grave exaltation.  “Never let it be said that the Mexican nation was outdone by the great Americanos in deeds of courtesy and affection.  Let it rather stand that Juanita was a sacred trust put into my hands years ago by the goddess of American liberty, and nurtured in the Mexican eagle’s nest.  Is it not so, my soul?” he added, more humanly, to the girl, when he had quite recovered from the intoxication of his own speech.  “We love thee, little one, but we keep our honor.”

“There’s nothing mean about the old man,” said Brown, admiringly, with a slight dropping of his left eyelid; “his head is level, and he goes with his party.”

“Thou takest my daughter, Senor Cranch,” continued the old man, carried away by his emotion; “but the American nation gives me a son.”