But, as his first glance fell on Ramona, Father
Gaspara's expression changed.
"What is all this!" he thought; and as quick as he thought it, he
exclaimed, in a severe tone, looking at Ramona, "Woman, are you
an Indian?"
"Yes, Father," answered Ramona, gently. "My mother was an
Indian."
"Ah! half-breed!" thought Father Gaspara. "It is strange how
sometimes one of the types will conquer, and sometimes another!
But this is no common creature;" and it was with a look of new
interest and sympathy on his face that he proceeded with the
ceremony,-- the other couple, a middle-aged Irishman, with his
more than middle-aged bride, standing quietly by, and looking on
with a vague sort of wonder in their ugly, impassive faces, as if it
struck them oddly that Indians should marry.
The book of the marriage-records was kept in Father Gaspara's
own rooms, locked up and hidden even from his old housekeeper.
He had had bitter reason to take this precaution. It had been for
more than one man's interest to cut leaves out of this old record,
which dated back to 1769, and had many pages written full in the
hand of Father Junipero himself.
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