tangle of the garden to the tiny graveyard and shook her head.

"You have just come to San Juan?" he asked. "To-day?"

"Yes," she told him. "On the stage at noon."

"You have friends here?"

Again she shook her head.

"Ah," said Ignacio. He straightened for a brief instant and she could
see how the chest under his shirt inflated. "A tourist. You have
heard of this garden, maybe? And the bells? So you travelled across
the desert to see?"

The third time she shook her head.

"I have come to live here," she returned quietly.

"But not all alone, señorita!"

"Yes." She smiled at him again. "All alone."

"Mother of God!" he said within himself. And presently to her: "I did
not see the stage come to-day; in San Juan one takes his siesta at that
hour. And it is not often that the stage brings new people from the
railroad."

In some subtle way he had made of his explanation an apology. While
his slow brown fingers rolled a cigarette he stared away through the