It sank in his throat with a horrible choking sensation.

The nearest heads of oats began to nod to him, he felt himself swaying backward and forward.

He fell--heavily, down, down, down, from the summit of the mountain to the floor of the Mission chapel, and there he lay in the dark.
* * * * * "He moves." "Blessed Saint Anthony preserve him!" It was Antonio's voice, it was Jose's arm, it was the field of wild oats, the sky above his head,--all unchanged.
"What has happened ?" said the priest feebly.
"A giddiness seized your reverence just now, as we were coming to seek you." "And you met no one ?" "No one, your reverence." Father Pedro passed his hand across his forehead.
"But who are these ?" he said, pointing to two figures who now appeared upon the trail.
Antonio turned.
"It is the Americano, Senor Cranch, and his adopted daughter, the _mestiza_ Juanita, seeking your reverence, methinks." "Ah!" said Father Pedro.
Cranch came forward and greeted the priest cordially.
"It was kind of you, Father Pedro," he said, meaningly, with a significant glance at Jose and Antonio, "to come so far to bid me and my adopted daughter farewell.

We depart when the tide serves, but not before you partake of our hospitality in yonder cottage." Father Pedro gazed at Cranch and then at Juanita.
"I see," he stammered.

"But she goes not alone.
She will be strange at first.