He had hoped that the stern law of that land otherwise so genial and inviting would be set aside in his case, an answer to Padre Ignacio's generous appeal. With such immunity he could have taken land on the river, somewhere in the broad and fecund valley between San Fernando and the Pueblo de Los Angeles, and established a prosperous ranch, free alike from the harassments of winter and the hazards of drouth. But, as Padre Ignacio had said, such exception might not be granted, the paper might never come. In such event, the mission soon would grow a small place for one whose feet never before had acknowledged bounds. So he had thought. But tonight, with the sentence of banishment upon him, he would have been glad to accept the restrictions which had bound him during his stay for the balance of his days. For there was that to be left behind at San Fernando which all the world beyond could not supply.
That was not Borromeo's footstep on the tiled garden path, nor Padre Mateo's step. It might be Doña Magdalena, coming to her kitchen to see that all was well. But she had passed the kitchen door; she was coming toward the fountain, perhaps cooling her brow after Don Geronimo's foray into the plaza. It would be a trying experience to meet Doña Magdalena, and hear her reproaches, yet there was no way to escape. For Doña Magdalena's sake he was sorry for the blow he had given Don Geronimo with the flail. He bowed his head in his hand, waiting for her to speak.
