Until
to-day, however, I did not have the right to tell you this and to ask
you, as I now do, if you love me enough to marry me; if you think you
could manage to live with me here most of the time--after I've restored
the old place somewhat. Will you marry me, Kay--ah, you will, you
will!"
She was in his arms, her flower face upturned to his for his first kiss.
They were married in the quaint, old-world chapel of the now restored
Mission de la Madre Dolorosa by Father Dominic, and in accordance with
ancient custom, revived for the last time, the master of Palomar gave
his long-delayed _fiesta_ and barbecue, and the rich and the poor,
honest men and wastrels, the _gente_ and the _peons_ of San Marcos
County came to dance at his wedding.
Their wedding night Don Mike and his bride spent, unattended save for
Pablo and Carolina, in the home of his ancestors. It was still
daylight when they found themselves speeding the last departing wedding
guest; hand in hand they seated themselves on the old bench under the
catalpa tree and gazed down into the valley. There fell between them
the old sweet silence that comes when hearts are too filled with
happiness to find expression in words. From the Mission de la Madre
Dolorosa there floated up to them the mellow music of the Angelus; the
hills far to the west were still alight on their crests, although the
shadows were long in the valley, and Don Mike, gazing down on his
kingdom regained, felt his heart filled to overflowing.
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