[Illustration: "'IT WAS ONLY THE PEARLS YOU WANTED. '"]

THE SPLENDID IDLE FORTIES

_STORIES OF OLD CALIFORNIA_

BY

GERTRUDE ATHERTON

AUTHOR OF "THE CONQUEROR, " "SENATOR NORTH" "THE ARISTOCRATS, " ETC. 

_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HARRISON FISHER_

1902

TO

THE BOHEMIAN CLUB

OF SAN FRANCISCO

AS A SLIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF

ITS COURTESY IN PLACING

ITS FINE

LIBRARY OF CALIFORNIAN LITERATURE

AT MY DISPOSAL

NOTE

This is a revised and enlarged edition of the volume which was issuedsome years ago under the title, "Before the Gringo Came. "

CONTENTS

THE PEARLS OF LORETO

THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS

THE WASH-TUB MAIL

THE CONQUEST OF DOŅA JACOBA

A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA

THE ISLE OF SKULLS

THE HEAD OF A PRIEST

LA PÉRDIDA

LUKARI'S STORY

NATALIE IVANHOFF: A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS

THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO

THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL

WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL

THE PEARLS OF LORETO

I

Within memory of the most gnarled and coffee-coloured Montereņo neverhad there been so exciting a race day. All essential conditions seemedto have held counsel and agreed to combine. Not a wreath of fog floatedacross the bay to dim the sparkling air. Every horse, every vaquero, was alert and physically perfect. The rains were over; the dust was notgathered. Pio Pico, Governor of the Californias, was in Monterey onone of his brief infrequent visits. Clad in black velvet, covered withjewels and ropes of gold, he sat on his big chestnut horse at the upperend of the field, with General Castro, Doņa Modeste Castro, and otherprominent Montereņos, his interest so keen that more than once theofficial dignity relaxed, and he shouted "Brava!" with the rest. 

And what a brilliant sight it was! The flowers had faded on the hills, for June was upon them; but gayer than the hills had been was therace-field of Monterey. Caballeros, with silver on their wide gray hatsand on their saddles of embossed leather, gold and silver embroidery ontheir velvet serapes, crimson sashes about their slender waists, silverspurs and buckskin botas, stood tensely in their stirrups as the racersflew by, or, during the short intervals, pressed each other with eagerwagers. There was little money in that time. The golden skeleton withinthe sleeping body of California had not yet been laid bare. But ranchoswere lost and won; thousands of cattle would pass to other hands at thenext rodeo; many a superbly caparisoned steed would rear and plungebetween the spurs of a new master. 

And caballeros were not the only living pictures of that memorable dayof a time for ever gone. Beautiful women in silken fluttering gowns, bright flowers holding the mantilla from flushed awakened faces, sattheir impatient horses as easily as a gull rides a wave. The sun beatdown, making dark cheeks pink and white cheeks darker, but those greateyes, strong with their own fires, never faltered. The old women inattendance grumbled vague remonstrances at all things, from the heat tointercepted coquetries. But their charges gave the good dueņas littleheed. They shouted until their little throats were hoarse, smashedtheir fans, beat the sides of their mounts with their tender hands, inimitation of the vaqueros. 

"It is the gayest, the happiest, the most careless life in the world, "thought Pio Pico, shutting his teeth, as he looked about him. "But howlong will it last? Curse the Americans! They are coming. "

But the bright hot spark that convulsed assembled Monterey shot from noordinary condition. A stranger was there, a guest of General Castro, DonVicente de la Vega y Arillaga, of Los Angeles. Not that a stranger wasmatter for comment in Monterey, capital of California, but this strangerhad brought with him horses which threatened to disgrace the famouswinners of the North. Two races had been won already by the blackSouthern beasts. 

"Dios de mi alma!" cried the girls, one to the other, "their coats areblacker than our hair! Their nostrils pulse like a heart on fire! Theireyes flash like water in the sun! Ay! the handsome stranger, will heroll us in the dust? Ay! our golden horses, with the tails and manes ofsilver--how beautiful is the contrast with the vaqueros in their blackand silver, their soft white linen! The shame! the shame!--if they areput to shame! Poor Guido! Will he lose this day, when he has won somany? But the stranger is so handsome! Dios de mi vida! his eyes arelike dark blue stars. And he is so cold! He alone--he seems not to care. Madre de Dios! Madre de Dios! he wins again! No! no! no! Yes! Ay! yi!yi! B-r-a-v-o!"

Guido Cabaņares dug his spurs into his horse and dashed to the head ofthe field, where Don Vicente sat at the left of General Castro. He wasfollowed hotly by several friends, sympathetic and indignant. As herode, he tore off his serape and flung it to the ground; even his silkriding-clothes sat heavily upon his fury. Don Vicente smiled, and rodeforward to meet him. 

"At your service, seņor, " he said, lifting his sombrero. 

"Take your mustangs back to Los Angeles!" cried Don Guido, besidehimself with rage, the politeness and dignity of his race routed bypassion. "Why do you bring your hideous brutes here to shame me in theeyes of Monterey? Why--"

"Yes! Why? Why?" demanded his friends, surrounding De la Vega. "This isnot the humiliation of a man, but of the North by the accursed South!You even would take our capital from us! Los Angeles, the capital of theCalifornias!"

"What have politics to do with horse-racing?" asked De la Vega, coldly. "Other strangers have brought their horses to your field, I suppose. "

"Yes, but they have not won. They have not been from the South. "

By this time almost every caballero on the field was wheeling about Dela Vega. Some felt with Cabaņares, others rejoiced in his defeat, butall resented the victory of the South over the North. 

"Will you run again?" demanded Cabaņares. 

"Certainly. Do you think of putting your knife into my neck?"

Cabaņares drew back, somewhat abashed, the indifference of the othersputtering like water on his passion. 

"It is not a matter for blood, " he said sulkily; "but the head is hotand words are quick when horses run neck to neck. And, by the Mother ofGod, you shall not have the last race. My best horse has not run. VivaEl Rayo!"

"Viva El Rayo!" shouted the caballeros. 

"And let the race be between you two alone, " cried one. "The North orthe South! Los Angeles or Monterey! It will be the race of our life. "

"The North or the South!" cried the caballeros, wheeling and gallopingacross the field to the doņas. "Twenty leagues to a real for GuidoCabaņares. "

"What a pity that Ysabel is not here!" said Doņa Modeste Castro to PioPico. "How those green eyes of hers would flash to-day!"

"She would not come, " said the Governor. "She said she was tired of therace. "

"Of whom do you speak?" asked De la Vega, who had rejoined them. 

"Of Ysabel Herrera, La Favorita of Monterey, " answered Pio Pico. "Themost beautiful woman in the Californias, since Chonita Iturbi y Moncada, my Vicente. It is at her uncle's that I stay. You have heard me speak ofmy old friend; and surely you have heard of her. "

"Ay!" said De la Vega. "I have heard of her. "

"Viva El Rayo!"

"Ay, the ugly brute!"

"What name? Vitriolo? Mother of God! Diablo or Demonio would suit himbetter. He looks as if he had been bred in hell. He will not stand thequirto; and El Rayo is more lightly built. We shall beat by a dozenlengths. "

The two vaqueros who were to ride the horses had stripped to their softlinen shirts and black velvet trousers, cast aside their sombreros, andbound their heads with tightly knotted handkerchiefs. Their spurs werefastened to bare brown heels; the cruel quirto was in the hand of each;they rode barebacked, winding their wiry legs in and out of a horse-hairrope encircling the body of the animal. As they slowly passed the crowdon their way to the starting-point at the lower end of the field, andlistened to the rattling fire of wagers and comments, they lookeddefiant, and alive to the importance of the coming event. 

El Rayo shone like burnished copper, his silver mane and tail glitteringas if powdered with diamond-dust. He was long and graceful of body, thinof flank, slender of leg. With arched neck and flashing eyes, he walkedwith the pride of one who was aware of the admiration he excited. 

Vitriolo was black and powerful. His long neck fitted into well-placedshoulders. He had great depth of girth, immense length fromshoulder-points to hips, big cannon-bones, and elastic pasterns. Therewas neither amiability nor pride in his mien; rather a sullen sense ofbrute power, such as may have belonged to the knights of the MiddleAges. Now and again he curled his lips away from the bit and laid hisears back as if he intended to eat of the elegant Beau Brummel steppingso daintily beside him. Of the antagonistic crowd he took not theslightest notice. 

"The race begins! Holy heaven!" The murmur rose to a shout--a deephoarse shout strangely crossed and recrossed by long silver notes; athrilling volume of sound rising above a sea of flashing eyes and partedlips and a vivid moving mass of colour. 

Twice the horses scored, and were sent back. The third time they boundedby the starting-post neck and neck, nose to nose. José Abrigo, treasurerof Monterey, dashed his sombrero, heavy with silver eagles, to theground, and the race was begun. 

Almost at once the black began to gain. Inch by inch he fought his wayto the front, and the roar with which the crowd had greeted the startdropped into the silence of apprehension. 

El Rayo was not easily to be shaken off. A third of the distance hadbeen covered, and his nose was abreast of Vitriolo's flank. The vaquerossat as if carved from sun-baked clay, as lightly as if hollowed, watching each other warily out of the corners of their eyes. 

The black continued to gain. Halfway from home light was visible betweenthe two horses. The pace became terrific, the excitement so intense thatnot a sound was heard but that of racing hoofs. The horses swept onwardlike projectiles, the same smoothness, the same suggestion of eternalflight. The bodies were extended until the tense muscles rose under thesatin coats. Vitriolo's eyes flashed viciously; El Rayo's strained withdetermination. Vitriolo's nostrils were as red as angry craters; ElRayo's fluttered like paper in the wind. 

Three-quarters of the race was run, and the rider of Vitriolo could tellby the sound of the hoof-beats behind him that he had a good lead of atleast two lengths over the Northern champion. A smile curled the cornersof his heavy lips; the race was his already. 

Suddenly El Rayo's vaquero raised his hand, and down came the maddeningquirto, first on one side, then on the other. The spurs dug; the bloodspurted. The crowd burst into a howl of delight as their favouriteresponded. Startled by the sound, Vitriolo's rider darted a glance overhis shoulder, and saw El Rayo bearing down upon him like a thunder-bolt, regaining the ground that he had lost, not by inches, but by feet. Twohundred paces from the finish he was at the black's flanks; one hundredand fifty, he was at his girth; one hundred, and the horses were neckand neck; and still the quirto whirred down on El Rayo's heaving flanks, the spurs dug deeper into his quivering flesh. 

The vaquero of Vitriolo sat like an image, using neither whip nor spur, his teeth set, his eyes rolling from the goal ahead to the rider at hisside. 

The breathless intensity of the spectators had burst. They had begun toclick their teeth, to mutter hoarsely, then to shout, to gesticulate, to shake their fists in each other's face, to push and scramble for abetter view. 

"Holy God!" cried Pio Pico, carried out of himself, "the South is lost!Vitriolo the magnificent! Ah, who would have thought? The black by thegold! Ay! What! No! Holy Mary! Holy God!--"

Six strides more and the race is over. With the bark of a coyote thevaquero of the South leans forward over Vitriolo's neck. The big blackresponds like a creature of reason. Down comes the quirto once--onlyonce. He fairly lifts his horse ahead and shoots into victory, winner bya neck. The South has vanquished the North. 

The crowd yelled and shouted until it was exhausted. But even Cabaņaresmade no further demonstration toward De la Vega. Not only was he wearyand depressed, but the victory had been nobly won. 

It grew late, and they rode to the town, caballeros pushing as close todoņas as they dared, dueņas in close attendance, one theme on the lipsof all. Anger gave place to respect; moreover, De la Vega was the guestof General Castro, the best-beloved man in California. They were willingto extend the hand of friendship; but he rode last, between the Generaland Doņa Modeste, and seemed to care as little for their good will asfor their ill. 

Pio Pico rode ahead, and as the cavalcade entered the town he broke fromit and ascended the hill to carry the news to Ysabel Herrera. 

Monterey, rising to her pine-spiked hills, swept like a crescent moonabout the sapphire bay. The surf roared and fought the white sand hillsof the distant horn; on that nearest the town stood the fort, grimand rude, but pulsating with military life, and alert for Americanonslaught. In the valley the red-tiled white adobe houses studded alittle city which was a series of corners radiating from a centralirregular street. A few mansions were on the hillside to the right, brush-crowded sand banks on the left; the perfect curve of hills, thickwith pine woods and dense green undergrowth, rose high above and aroundall, a rampart of splendid symmetry. 

"Ay! Ysabel! Ysabel!" cried the young people, as they swept down thebroad street. "Bring her to us, Excellency. Tell her she shall not knowuntil she comes down. We will tell her. Ay! poor Guido!"

The Governor turned and waved his hand, then continued the ascent of thehill, toward a long low house which showed no sign of life. 

He alighted and glanced into a room opening upon the corridor whichtraversed the front. The room was large and dimly lighted by deeply setwindows. The floor was bare, the furniture of horse-hair; saints andfamily portraits adorned the white walls; on a chair lay a guitar;it was a typical Californian sala of that day. The ships brought fewluxuries, beyond raiment and jewels, to even the wealthy of thatisolated country. 

"Ysabel, " called the Governor, "where art thou? Come down to the townand hear the fortune of the races. Alvarado Street streams like a comet. Why should the Star of Monterey withhold her light?"

A girl rose from a sofa and came slowly forward to the corridor. Discontent marred her face as she gave her hand to the Governor tokiss, and looked down upon the brilliant town. The Seņorita Doņa YsabelHerrera was poor. Were it not for her uncle she would not have where tolay her stately head--and she was La Favorita of Monterey, the proudestbeauty in California! Her father had gambled away his last acre, hishorse, his saddle, the serape off his back; then sent his motherlessgirl to his brother, and buried himself in Mexico. Don Antonio took thechild to his heart, and sent for a widowed cousin to be her dueņa. Hebought her beautiful garments from the ships that touched the port, buthad no inclination to gratify her famous longing to hang ropes of pearlsin her soft black hair, to wind them about her white neck, and band themabove her green resplendent eyes. 

"Unbend thy brows, " said Pio Pico. "Wrinkles were not made for youth. "

Ysabel moved her brows apart, but the clouds still lay in her eyes. 

"Thou dost not ask of the races, O thou indifferent one! What is thetrouble, my Ysabel? Will no one bring the pearls? The loveliest girl inall the Californias has said, 'I will wed no man who does not bring mea lapful of pearls, ' and no one has filled the front of that prettyflowered gown. But have reason, niņa. Remember that our Alta Californiahas no pearls on its shores, and that even the pearl fisheries of theterrible lower country are almost worn out. Will nothing less contentthee?"

"No, seņor. "

"Dios de mi alma! Thou hast ambition. No woman has had more offered herthan thou. But thou art worthy of the most that man could give. Had Inot a wife myself, I believe I should throw my jewels and my ugly oldhead at thy little feet. "

Ysabel glanced with some envy at the magnificent jewels with which theGovernor of the Californias was hung, but did not covet the owner. Anuglier man than Pio Pico rarely had entered this world. The upper lip ofhis enormous mouth dipped at the middle; the broad thick underlip hungdown with its own weight. The nose was big and coarse, althoughthere was a certain spirited suggestion in the cavernous nostrils. Intelligence and reflectiveness were also in his little eyes, and theywere far apart. A small white mustache grew above his mouth; about hischin, from ear to ear, was a short stubby beard, whiter by contrast withhis copper-coloured skin. He looked much like an intellectual bear. 

And Ysabel? In truth, she had reason for her pride. Her black hair, unblemished by gloss or tinge of blue, fell waving to her feet. California, haughty, passionate, restless, pleasure-loving, looked fromher dark green eyes; the soft black lashes dropped quickly when theybecame too expressive. Her full mouth was deeply red, but only a faintpink lay in her white cheeks; the nose curved at bridge and nostrils. About her low shoulders she held a blue reboso, the finger-tips of eachslim hand resting on the opposite elbow. She held her head a littleback, and Pio Pico laughed as he looked at her. 

"Dios!" he said, "but thou might be an Estenega or an Iturbi y Moncada. Surely that lofty head better suits old Spain than the republic ofMexico. Draw the reboso about thy head now, and let us go down. Theyexpect thee. "

She lifted the scarf above her hair, and walked down the steep ruttedhill with the Governor, her flowered gown floating with a silken rustleabout her. In a few moments she was listening to the tale of the races. 

"Ay, Ysabel! Dios de mi alma! What a day! A young seņor from Los Angeleswon the race--almost all the races--the Seņor Don Vicente de la Vega yArillaga. He has never been here, before. His horses! Madre de Dios!They ran like hares. Poor Guido! Válgame Dios! Even thou wouldst havebeen moved to pity. But he is so handsome! Look! Look! He comes now, side by side with General Castro. Dios! his serape is as stiff with goldas the vestments of the padre. "

Ysabel looked up as a man rode past. His bold profile and thin face werepassionate and severe; his dark blue eyes were full of power. Such aface was rare among the languid shallow men of her race. 

"He rides with General Castro, " whispered Benicia Ortega. "He stays withhim. We shall see him at the ball to-night. "

As Don Vicente passed Ysabel their eyes met for a moment. His openedsuddenly with a bold eager flash, his arched nostrils twitching. Thecolour left her face, and her eyes dropped heavily. 

Love needed no kindling in the heart of the Californian. 

II

The people of Monterey danced every night of their lives, and wentnowhere so promptly as to the great sala of Doņa Modeste Castro, theirleader of fashion, whose gowns were made for her in the city of Mexico. 

Ysabel envied her bitterly. Not because the Doņa Modeste's skin waswhiter than her own, for it could not be, nor her eyes greener, for theywere not; but because her jewels were richer than Pio Pico's, andupon all grand occasions a string of wonderful pearls gleamed in herstorm-black hair. But one feminine compensation had Ysabel: she wastaller; Doņa Modeste's slight elegant figure lacked Ysabel's gracefulinches, and perhaps she too felt a pang sometimes as the girl undulatedabove her like a snake about to strike. 

At the fashionable hour of ten Monterey was gathered for the dance. Allthe men except the officers wore black velvet or broadcloth coats andwhite trousers. All the women wore white, the waist long and pointed, the skirt full. Ysabel's gown was of embroidered crępe. Her hair wascoiled about her head, and held by a tortoise comb framed with a narrowband of gold. Pio Pico, splendid with stars and crescents and rings andpins, led her in, and with his unique ugliness enhanced her beauty. 

She glanced eagerly about the room whilst replying absently to thecaballeros who surrounded her. Don Vicente de la Vega was not there. Thethick circle about her parted, and General Castro bent over her hand, begging the honour of the contradanza. She sighed, and for the momentforgot the Southerner who had flashed and gone like the beginning of adream. Here was a man--the only man of her knowledge whom she could haveloved, and who would have found her those pearls. Californians had solittle ambition! Then she gave a light audacious laugh. Governor Picowas shaking hands cordially with General Castro, the man he hated bestin California. 

No two men could have contrasted more sharply than José Castro andPio Pico--with the exception of Alvarado the most famous men of theircountry. The gold trimmings of the general's uniform were his onlyjewels. His hair and beard--the latter worn _ā la Basca_, a narrow stripcurving from upper lip to ear--were as black as Pio Pico's once hadbeen. The handsomest man in California, he had less consciousness thanthe least of the caballeros. His deep gray eyes were luminous withenthusiasm; his nose was sharp and bold; his firm sensitive mouth wascut above a resolute chin. He looked what he was, the ardent patriot ofa doomed cause. 

"Seņorita, " he said, as he led Ysabel out to the sweet monotonous musicof the contradanza, "did you see the caballero who rode with me to-day?"

A red light rose to Ysabel's cheek. "Which one, commandante? Many rodewith you. "

"I mean him who rode at my right, the winner of the races, Vicente, sonof my old friend Juan Bautista de la Vega y Arillaga, of Los Angeles. "

"It may be. I think I saw a strange face. "

"He saw yours, Doņa Ysabel, and is looking upon you now from thecorridor without, although the fog is heavy about him. Cannot you seehim--that dark shadow by the pillar?"

Ysabel never went through the graceful evolutions of the contradanzaas she did that night. Her supple slender body curved and swayed andglided; her round arms were like lazy snakes uncoiling; her exquisitelypoised head moved in perfect concord with her undulating hips. Her eyesgrew brighter, her lips redder. The young men who stood near gave asloud a vent to their admiration as if she had been dancing El Son aloneon the floor. But the man without made no sign. 

After the dance was over, General Castro led her to her dueņa, andhanding her a guitar, begged a song. 

She began a light love-ballad, singing with the grace and style of herSpanish blood; a little mocking thing, but with a wild break now andagain. As she sang, she fixed her eyes coquettishly on the adoring faceof Guido Cabaņares, who stood beside her, but saw every movement of theform beyond the window. Don Guido kept his ardent eyes riveted uponher but detected no wandering in her glances. His lips trembled as helistened, and once he brushed the tears from his eyes. She gave hima little cynical smile, then broke her song in two. The man on thecorridor had vaulted through the window. 

Ysabel, clinching her hands the better to control her jumping nerves, turned quickly to Cabaņares, who had pressed behind her, and was pouringwords into her ear. 

"Ysabel! Ysabel! hast thou no pity? Dost thou not see that I am fit toset the world on fire for love of thee? The very water boils as I drinkit--"

She interrupted him with a scornful laugh, the sharper that her voicemight not tremble. "Bring me my pearls. What is love worth when it willnot grant one little desire?"

He groaned. "I have found a vein of gold on my rancho. I can pick thelittle shining pieces out with my fingers. I will have them beaten intoa saddle for thee--"

But she had turned her back flat upon him, and was making a deepcourtesy to the man whom General Castro presented. 

"I appreciate the honour of your acquaintance, " she murmuredmechanically. 

"At your feet, seņorita, " said Don Vicente. 

The art of making conversation had not been cultivated among theCalifornians, and Ysabel plied her large fan with slow grace, at a lossfor further remark, and wondering if her heart would suffocate her. ButDon Vicente had the gift of words. 

"Seņorita, " he said, "I have stood in the chilling fog and felt thewarmth of your lovely voice at my heart. The emotions I felt my poortongue cannot translate. They swarm in my head like a hive of puzzledbees; but perhaps they look through my eyes, " and he fixed his powerfuland penetrating gaze on Ysabel's green depths. 

A waltz began, and he took her in his arms without asking herindulgence, and regardless of the indignation of the mob of men abouther. Ysabel, whose being was filled with tumult, lay passive as he heldher closer than man had ever dared before. 

"I love you, " he said, in his harsh voice. "I wish you for my wife. Atonce. When I saw you to-day standing with a hundred other beautifulwomen, I said: 'She is the fairest of them all. I shall have her. ' AndI read the future in"--he suddenly dropped the formal "you"--"in thineeyes, cariņa. Thy soul sprang to mine. Thy heart is locked in my heartcloser, closer than my arms are holding thee now. "

The strength of his embrace was violent for a moment; but Ysabel mighthave been cut from marble. Her body had lost its swaying grace; itwas almost rigid. She did not lift her eyes. But De la Vega was notdiscouraged. 

The music finished, and Ysabel was at once surrounded by a determinedretinue. This intruding Southerner was welcome to the honours of therace-field, but the Star of Monterey was not for him. He smiled as hesaw the menace of their eyes. 

"I would have her, " he thought, "if they were a regiment ofCastros--which they are not. " But he had not armed himself againstdiplomacy. 

"Seņor Don Vicente de la Vega y Arillaga, " said Don Guido Cabaņares, whohad been selected as spokesman, "perhaps you have not learned duringyour brief visit to our capital that the Seņorita Doņa Ysabel Herrera, La Favorita of Alta California, has sworn by the Holy Virgin, by theblessed Junipero Serra, that she will wed no man who does not bring hera lapful of pearls. Can you find those pearls on the sands of the South, Don Vicente? For, by the holy cross of God, you cannot have her withoutthem!"

For a moment De la Vega was disconcerted. 

"Is this true?" he demanded, turning to Ysabel. 

"What, seņor?" she asked vaguely. She had not listened to the words ofher protesting admirer. 

A sneer bent his mouth. "That you have put a price upon yourself? Thatthe man who ardently wishes to be your husband, who has even won yourlove, must first hang you with pearls like--" He stopped suddenly, theblood burning his dark face, his eyes opening with an expression ofhorrified hope. "Tell me! Tell me!" he exclaimed. "Is this true?"

For the first time since she had spoken with him Ysabel was herself. Shecrossed her arms and tapped her elbows with her pointed fingers. 

"Yes, " she said, "it is true. " She raised her eyes to his and regardedhim steadily. They looked like green pools frozen in a marble wall. 

The harp, the flute, the guitar, combined again, and once more he swungher from a furious circle. But he was safe; General Castro had joinedit. He waltzed her down the long room, through one adjoining, then intoanother, and, indifferent to the iron conventions of his race, closedthe door behind them. They were in the sleeping-room of Doņa Modeste. The bed with its rich satin coverlet, the bare floor, the simplefurniture, were in semi-darkness; only on the altar in the corner werecandles burning. Above it hung paintings of saints, finely executed byMexican hands; an ebony cross spread its black arms against the whitewall; the candles flared to a golden Christ. He caught her hands and ledher over to the altar. 

"Listen to me, " he said. "I will bring you those pearls. You shall havesuch pearls as no queen in Europe possesses. Swear to me here, with yourhands on this altar, that you will wed me when I return, no matter howor where I find those pearls. "

He was holding her hands between the candelabra. She looked at him witheyes of passionate surrender; the man had conquered worldly ambitions. But he answered her before she had time to speak. 

"You love me, and would withdraw the conditions. But I am ready to do adaring and a terrible act. Furthermore, I wish to show you that I cansucceed where all other men have failed. I ask only two things now. First, make me the vow I wish. "

"I swear it, " she said. 

"Now, " he said, his voice sinking to a harsh but caressing whisper, "give me one kiss for courage and hope. "

She leaned slowly forward, the blood pulsing in her lips; but she hadbeen brought up behind grated windows, and she drew back. "No, " shesaid, "not now. "

For a moment he looked rebellious; then he laid his hands on hershoulders and pressed her to her knees. He knelt behind her, andtogether they told a rosary for his safe return. 

He left her there and went to his room. From his saddle-bag he tooka long letter from an intimate friend, one of the younger Franciscanpriests of the Mission of Santa Barbara, where he had been educated. Hesought this paragraph:--

"Thou knowest, of course, my Vicente, of the pearl fisheries of BajaCalifornia. It is whispered--between ourselves, indeed, it isquite true--that a short while ago the Indian divers discovered anextravagantly rich bed of pearls. Instead of reporting to any of thecompanies, they have hung them all upon our Most Sacred Lady of Loreto, in the Mission of Loreto; and there, by the grace of God, they willremain. They are worth the ransom of a king, my Vicente, and the Churchhas come to her own again. "

III

The fog lay thick on the bay at dawn next morning. The white waves hidthe blue, muffled the roar of the surf. Now and again a whale threw avolume of spray high in the air, a geyser from a phantom sea. Above thewhite sands straggled the white town, ghostly, prophetic. 

De la Vega, a dark sombrero pulled over his eyes, a dark serapeenveloping his tall figure, rode, unattended and watchful, out of thetown. Not until he reached the narrow road through the brush forestbeyond did he give his horse rein. The indolence of the Californian wasno longer in his carriage; it looked alert and muscular; recklessnessaccentuated the sternness of his face. 

As he rode, the fog receded slowly. He left the chaparral and rode bygreen marshes cut with sloughs and stained with vivid patches oforange. The frogs in the tules chanted their hoarse matins. Throughbrush-covered plains once more, with sparsely wooded hills in thedistance, and again the tules, the marsh, the patches of orange. He rodethrough a field of mustard; the pale yellow petals brushed his darkface, the delicate green leaves won his eyes from the hot glare of theascending sun, the slender stalks, rebounding, smote his horse's flanks. He climbed hills to avoid the wide marshes, and descended into willowgroves and fields of daisies. Before noon he was in the San JuanMountains, thick with sturdy oaks, bending their heads before themadroņo, that belle of the forest, with her robes of scarlet and hercrown of bronze. The yellow lilies clung to her skirts, and the buckeyeflung his flowers at her feet. The last redwoods were there, piercingthe blue air with their thin inflexible arms, gray as a dusty band offriars. Out by the willows, whereunder crept the sluggish river, thenbetween the hills curving about the valley of San Juan Bautista. 

At no time is California so beautiful as in the month of June. De laVega's wild spirit and savage purpose were dormant for the moment as herode down the valley toward the mission. The hills were like gold, likemammoth fawns veiled with violet mist, like rich tan velvet. Afar, bareblue steeps were pink in their chasms, brown on their spurs. The darkyellow fields were as if thick with gold-dust; the pale mustard was awaving yellow sea. Not a tree marred the smooth hills. The earth sentforth a perfume of its own. Below the plateau from which rose the whitewalls of the mission was a wide field of bright green corn risingagainst the blue sky. 

The padres in their brown hooded robes came out upon the long corridorof the mission and welcomed the traveller. Their lands had gone fromthem, their mission was crumbling, but the spirit of hospitalitylingered there still. They laid meat and fruit and drink on a tablebeneath the arches, then sat about him and asked him eagerly for news ofthe day. Was it true that the United States of America were at war withMexico, or about to be? True that their beloved flag might fall, andthe stars and stripes of an insolent invader rise above the fort ofMonterey?

De la Vega recounted the meagre and conflicting rumours which hadreached California, but, not being a prophet, could not tell them thatthey would be the first to see the red-white-and-blue fluttering on themountain before them. He refused to rest more than an hour, but mountedthe fresh horse the padres gave him and went his way, riding hard andrelentlessly, like all Californians. 

He sped onward, through the long hot day, leaving the hills for themarshes and a long stretch of ugly country, traversing the beautiful SanAntonio Valley in the night, reaching the Mission of San Miguel at dawn, resting there for a few hours. That night he slept at a hospitableranch-house in the park-like valley of Paso des Robles, a grim silentfigure amongst gay-hearted people who delighted to welcome him. Theearly morning found him among the chrome hills; and at the Mission ofSan Luis Obispo the good padres gave him breakfast. The little valley, round as a well, its bare hills red and brown, gray and pink, violet andblack, from fire, sloping steeply from a dizzy height, impressed himwith a sense of being prisoned in an enchanted vale where no message ofthe outer world could come, and he hastened on his way. 

Absorbed as he was, he felt the beauty he fled past. A line of goldenhills lay against sharp blue peaks. A towering mass of gray rocks hadbeen cut and lashed by wind and water, earthquake and fire, into thesemblance of a massive castle, still warlike in its ruin. He slept for afew hours that night in the Mission of Santa Ynes, and was high in theSanta Barbara Mountains at the next noon. For brief whiles he forgothis journey's purpose as his horse climbed slowly up the steep trails, knocking the loose stones down a thousand feet and more upon a roof oftree-tops which looked like stunted brush. Those gigantic masses ofimmense stones, each wearing a semblance to the face of man or beast;those awful chasms and stupendous heights, densely wooded, bare, andmany-hued, rising above, beyond, peak upon peak, cutting through thevisible atmosphere--was there no end? He turned in his saddle and lookedover low peaks and caņons, rivers and abysms, black peaks smiting thefiery blue, far, far, to the dim azure mountains on the horizon. 

"Mother of God!" he thought. "No wonder California still shakes! I wouldI could have stood upon a star and beheld the awful throes of thiscountry's birth. " And then his horse reared between the sharp spurs andgalloped on. 

He avoided the Mission of Santa Barbara, resting at a rancho outsidethe town. In the morning, supplied as usual with a fresh horse, he fledonward, with the ocean at his right, its splendid roar in his ears. Thecliffs towered high above him; he saw no man's face for hours together;but his thoughts companioned him, savage and sinister shapes whirlingabout the figure of a woman. On, on, sleeping at ranchos or missions, meeting hospitality everywhere, avoiding Los Angeles, keeping close tothe ponderous ocean, he left civilization behind him at last, andwith an Indian guide entered upon that desert of mountain-tops, BajaCalifornia. 

Rapid travelling was not possible here. There were no valleys worthy thename. The sharp peaks, multiplying mile after mile, were like teeth ofgigantic rakes, black and bare. A wilderness of mountain-tops, desolateas eternity, arid, parched, baked by the awful heat, the silence neverbroken by the cry of a bird, a hut rarely breaking the barren monotony, only an infrequent spring to save from death. It was almost impossibleto get food or fresh horses. Many a night De la Vega and his stoicalguide slept beneath a cactus, or in the mocking bed of a creek. Themustangs he managed to lasso were almost unridable, and would havebucked to death any but a Californian. Sometimes he lived on cactusfruit and the dried meat he had brought with him; occasionally he shota rabbit. Again he had but the flesh of the rattlesnake roasted overcoals. But honey-dew was on the leaves. 

He avoided the beaten trail, and cut his way through naked bushes spikedwith thorns, and through groves of cacti miles in length. When the thickfog rolled up from the ocean he had to sit inactive on the rocks, orlose his way. A furious storm dashed him against a boulder, breaking hismustang's leg; then a torrent, rising like a tidal wave, thundered downthe gulch, and catching him on its crest, flung him upon a tree ofthorns. When dawn came he found his guide dead. He cursed his luck, andwent on. 

Lassoing another mustang, he pushed on, having a general idea of thedirection he should take. It was a week before he reached Loreto, a weekof loneliness, hunger, thirst, and torrid monotony. A week, too, ofthought and bitterness of spirit. In spite of his love, which nevercooled, and his courage, which never quailed, Nature, in her guise offoul and crooked hag, mocked at earthly happiness, at human hope, atyouth and passion. 

If he had not spent his life in the saddle, he would have been worn outwhen he finally reached Loreto, late one night. As it was, he slept in ahut until the following afternoon. Then he took a long swim in the bay, and, later, sauntered through the town. 

The forlorn little city was hardly more than a collection of Indians'huts about a church in a sandy waste. No longer the capital, even thebarracks were toppling. When De la Vega entered the mission, not a whiteman but the padre and his assistant was in it; the building was throngedwith Indian worshippers. The mission, although the first built inCalifornia, was in a fair state of preservation. The Stations in theirbattered frames were mellow and distinct. The gold still gleamed in thevestments of the padre. 

For a few moments De la Vega dared not raise his eyes to the Lady ofLoreto, standing aloft in the dull blaze of adamantine candles. When hedid, he rose suddenly from his knees and left the mission. The pearlswere there. 

It took him but a short time to gain the confidence of the priest andthe little population. He offered no explanation for his coming, beyondthe curiosity of the traveller. The padre gave him a room in themission, and spent every hour he could spare with the brilliantstranger. At night he thanked God for the sudden oasis in his life'sdesolation. The Indians soon grew accustomed to the lonely figurewandering about the sand plains, or kneeling for hours together beforethe altar in the church. And whom their padre trusted was to them assacred and impersonal as the wooden saints of their religion. 

IV

The midnight stars watched over the mission. Framed by the cross-shapedwindow sunk deep in the adobe wall above the entrance, a mass of themassumed the form of the crucifix, throwing a golden trail full upon theLady of Loreto, proud in her shining pearls. The long narrow body of thechurch seemed to have swallowed the shadows of the ages, and to yawn formore. 

De la Vega, booted and spurred, his serape folded about him, hissombrero on his head, opened the sacristy door and entered the church. In one hand he held a sack; in the other, a candle sputtering in abottle. He walked deliberately to the foot of the altar. In spite ofhis intrepid spirit, he stood appalled for a moment as he saw the dimradiance enveloping the Lady of Loreto. He scowled over his shoulder atthe menacing emblem of redemption and crossed himself. But had it beenthe finger of God, the face of Ysabel would have shone between. Heextinguished his candle, and swinging himself to the top of the altarplucked the pearls from the Virgin's gown and dropped them into thesack. His hand trembled a little, but he held his will between histeeth. 

How quiet it was! The waves flung themselves upon the shore withthe sullen wrath of impotence. A seagull screamed now and again, anexclamation-point in the silence above the waters. Suddenly De la Vegashook from head to foot, and snatched the knife from his belt. A faintcreaking echoed through the hollow church. He strained his ears, holdinghis breath until his chest collapsed with the shock of outrushing air. But the sound was not repeated, and he concluded that it had been but avibration of his nerves. He glanced to the window above the doors. Thestars in it were no longer visible; they had melted into bars of flame. The sweat stood cold on his face, but he went on with his work. 

A rope of pearls, cunningly strung together with strands of sea-weed, was wound about the Virgin's right arm. De la Vega was too nervous touncoil it; he held the sack beneath, and severed the strands with hisknife. As he finished, and was about to stoop and cut loose the pearlsfrom the hem of the Virgin's gown, he uttered a hoarse cry and stoodrigid. A cowled head, with thin lips drawn over yellow teeth, furiouseyes burning deep in withered sockets, projected on its long neck fromthe Virgin's right and confronted him. The body was unseen. 

"Thief!" hissed the priest. "Dog! Thou wouldst rob the Church? Accursed!accursed!"

There was not one moment for hesitation, one alternative. Before thepriest could complete his malediction, De la Vega's knife had flashedthrough the fire of the cross. The priest leaped, screeching, thenrolled over and down, and rebounded from the railing of the sanctuary. 

V

Ysabel sat in the low window-seat of her bedroom, pretending to draw thethreads of a cambric handkerchief. But her fingers twitched, and hereyes looked oftener down the hill than upon the delicate work whichrequired such attention. She wore a black gown flowered with yellowroses, and a slender ivory cross at her throat. Her hair hung in twoloose braids, sweeping the floor. She was very pale, and her pallor wasnot due to the nightly entertainments of Monterey. 

Her dueņa sat beside her. The old woman was the colour of strong coffee;but she, too, looked as if she had not slept, and her straight old lipscurved tenderly whenever she raised her eyes to the girl's face. 

There was no carpet on the floor of the bedroom of La Favorita ofMonterey, the heiress of Don Antonio Herrera, and the little bedsteadin the corner was of iron, although a heavy satin coverlet trimmed withlace was on it. A few saints looked down from the walls; the furniturewas of native wood, square and ugly; but it was almost hidden under finelinen elaborately worked with the deshalados of Spain. 

The supper hour was over, and the light grew dim. Ysabel tossed thehandkerchief into Doņa Juana's lap, and stared through the grating. Against the faded sky a huge cloud, shaped like a fire-breathing dragon, was heavily outlined. The smoky shadows gathered in the woods. Thehoarse boom of the surf came from the beach; the bay was uneasy, and thetide was high: the earth had quaked in the morning, and a wind-stormfought the ocean. The gay bright laughter of women floated up from thetown. Monterey had taken her siesta, enjoyed her supper, and was readyto dance through the night once more. 

"He is dead, " said Ysabel. 

"True, " said the old woman. 

"He would have come back to me before this. "

"True. "

"He was so strong and so different, mamita. "

"I never forget his eyes. Very bold eyes. "

"They could be soft, macheppa. "

"True. It is time thou dressed for the ball at the Custom-house, niņita. "

Ysabel leaned forward, her lips parting. A man was coming up the hill. He was gaunt; he was burnt almost black. Something bulged beneath hisserape. 

Doņa Juana found herself suddenly in the middle of the room. Ysabeldarted through the only door, locking it behind her. The indignant dueņaalso recognized the man, and her position. She trotted to the door andthumped angrily on the panel; sympathetic she was, but she never couldso far forget herself as to permit a young girl to talk with a manunattended. 

"Thou shalt not go to the ball to-night, " she cried shrilly. "Thou shaltbe locked in the dark room. Thou shalt be sent to the rancho. Open!open! thou wicked one. Madre de Dios! I will beat thee with my ownhands. "

But she was a prisoner, and Ysabel paid no attention to her threats. Thegirl was in the sala, and the doors were open. As De la Vega crossed thecorridor and entered the room she sank upon a chair, covering her facewith her hands. 

He strode over to her, and flinging his serape from his shoulder openedthe mouth of a sack and poured its contents into her lap. Pearls of allsizes and shapes--pearls black and pearls white, pearls pink and pearlsfaintly blue, pearls like globes and pearls like pears, pearls as bigas the lobe of Pio Pico's ear, pearls as dainty as bubbles of frost--alapful of gleaming luminous pearls, the like of which caballero hadnever brought to doņa before. 

For a moment Ysabel forgot her love and her lover. The dream of alifetime was reality. She was the child who had cried for the moon andseen it tossed into her lap. 

She ran her slim white fingers through the jewels. She took up handfulsand let them run slowly back to her lap. She pressed them to her face;she kissed them with little rapturous cries. She laid them against herbreast and watched them chase each other down her black gown. Then atlast she raised her head and met the fierce sneering eyes of De la Vega. 

"So it is as I might have known. It was only the pearls you wanted. Itmight have been an Indian slave who brought them to you. "

She took the sack from his hand and poured back the pearls. Then shelaid the sack on the floor and stood up. She was no longer pale, and hereyes shone brilliantly in the darkening room. 

"Yes, " she said; "I forgot for a moment. But during many terrible weeks, seņor, my tears have not been for the pearls. "

The sudden light that was De la Vega's chiefest charm sprang to hiseyes. He took her hands and kissed them passionately. 

"That sack of pearls would be a poor reward for one tear. But thou hastshed them for me? Say that again. Mi alma! mi alma!"

"I never thought of the pearls--at least not often. At last, not at all. I have been very unhappy, seņor. Ay!"

The maiden reserve which had been knit like steel about her plasticyears burst wide. "Thou art ill! What has happened to thee? Ay, Dios!what it is to be a woman and to suffer! Thou wilt die! Oh, Mother ofGod!"

"I shall not die. Kiss me, Ysabel. Surely it is time now. "

But she drew back and shook her head. 

He exclaimed impatiently, but would not release her hand. "Thou meanestthat, Ysabel?"

"We shall be married soon--wait. "

"I had hoped you would grant me that. For when I tell you where I gotthose pearls you may drive me from you in spite of your promise--driveme from you with the curse of the devout woman on your lips. I mightinvent some excuse to persuade you to fly with me from Californiato-night, and you would never know. But I am a man--a Spaniard--and a Dela Vega. I shall not lie to you. "

She looked at him with wide eyes, not understanding, and he went on, hisface savage again, his voice harsh. He told her the whole story ofthat night in the mission. He omitted nothing--the menacing cross, thesacrilegious theft, the deliberate murder; the pictures were paintedwith blood and fire. She did not interrupt him with cry or gasp, but herexpression changed many times. Horror held her eyes for a time, thenslowly retreated, and his own fierce pride looked back at him. Shelifted her head when he had finished, her throat throbbing, her nostrilstwitching. 

"Thou hast done that--for me?"

"Ay, Ysabel!"

"Thou hast murdered thy immortal soul--for me?"

"Ysabel!"

"Thou lovest me like that! O God, in what likeness hast thou made me? Inwhatsoever image it may have been, I thank Thee--and repudiate Thee!"

She took the cross from her throat and broke it in two pieces with herstrong white fingers. 

"Thou art lost, eternally damned: but I will go down to hell with thee. "And she threw herself upon him and kissed him on the mouth. 

For a moment he forgot the lesson thrust into his brain by the hideousfingers of the desert. He was almost happy. He put his hands about herwarm face after a time. "We must go to-night, " he said. "I went toGeneral Castro's to change my clothes, and learned that a ship sailsfor the United States to-night. We will go on that. I dare not delaytwenty-four hours. It may be that they are upon my heels now. How can wemeet?"

Her thoughts had travelled faster than his words, and she answered atonce: "There is a ball at the Custom-house to-night. I will go. You willhave a boat below the rocks. You know that the Custom-house is on therocks at the end of the town, near the fort. No? It will be easier forme to slip from the ball-room than from this house. Only tell me whereyou will meet me. "

"The ship sails at midnight. I too will go to the ball; for with me youcan escape more easily. Have you a maid you can trust?"

"My Luisa is faithful. "

"Then tell her to be on the beach between the rocks of the Custom-houseand the Fort with what you must take with you. "

Again he kissed her many times, but softly. "Wear thy pearls to-night. Iwish to see thy triumphant hour in Monterey. "

"Yes, " she said, "I shall wear the pearls. "

VI

The corridor of the Custom-house had been enclosed to protect themusicians and supper table from the wind and fog. The store-room hadbeen cleared, the floor scrubbed, the walls hung with the colours ofMexico. All in honour of Pio Pico, again in brief exile from his belovedLos Angeles. The Governor, blazing with diamonds, stood at the upper endof the room by Doņa Modeste Castro's side. About them were Castro andother prominent men of Monterey, all talking of the rumoured war betweenthe United States and Mexico and prophesying various results. NeitherPico nor Castro looked amiable. The Governor had arrived in the morningto find that the General had allowed pasquinades representing hisExcellency in no complimentary light to disfigure the streets ofMonterey. Castro, when taken to task, had replied haughtily that itwas the Governor's place to look after his own dignity; he, theCommandante-General of the army of the Californias, had more importantmatters to attend to. The result had been a furious war of words, endingin a lame peace. 

"Tell us, Excellency, " said José Abrigo, "what will be the outcome?"

"The Americans can have us if they wish, " said Pio Pico, bitterly. "Wecannot prevent. "

"Never!" cried Castro. "What? We cannot protect ourselves against theinvasion of bandoleros? Do you forget what blood stings the veins ofthe Californian? A Spaniard stand with folded arms and see his countryplucked from him! Oh, sacrilege! They will never have our Californiaswhile a Californian lives to cut them down!"

"Bravo! bravo!" cried many voices. 

"I tell you--" began Pio Pico, but Doņa Modeste interrupted him. "Nomore talk of war to-night, " she said peremptorily. "Where is Ysabel?"

"She sent me word by Doņa Juana that she could not make herself ready intime to come with me, but would follow with my good friend, Don Antonio, who of course had to wait for her. Her gown was not finished, I believe. I think she had done something naughty, and Doņa Juana had tried topunish her, but had not succeeded. The old lady looked very sad. Ah, here is Doņa Ysabel now!"

"How lovely she is!" said Doņa Modeste. "I think--What! what!--"

"Dios de mi Alma!" exclaimed Pio Pico, "where did she get those pearls?"

The crowd near the door had parted, and Ysabel entered on the arm of heruncle. Don Antonio's form was bent, and she looked taller by contrast. His thin sharp profile was outlined against her white neck, bared forthe first time to the eyes of Monterey. Her shawl had just been laidaside, and he was near-sighted and did not notice the pearls. 

She had sewn them all over the front of her white silk gown. She hadwound them in the black coils of her hair. They wreathed her neck androped her arms. Never had she looked so beautiful. Her great green eyeswere as radiant as spring. Her lips were redder than blood. A pink flameburned in her oval cheeks. Her head moved like a Californian lily on itsstalk. No Montereņo would ever forget her. 

"El Son!" cried the young men, with one accord. Her magnificent beautyextinguished every other woman in the room. She must not hide her lightin the contradanza. She must madden all eyes at once. 

Ysabel bent her head and glided to the middle of the room. The otherwomen moved back, their white gowns like a snowbank against the garishwalls. The thin sweet music of the instruments rose above the boom ofthe tide. Ysabel lifted her dress with curving arms, displaying archedfeet clad in flesh-coloured stockings and white slippers, and danced ElSon. 

Her little feet tapped time to the music; she whirled her body withutmost grace, holding her head so motionless that she could havebalanced a glass of water upon it. She was inspired that night; andwhen, in the midst of the dance, De la Vega entered the room, a sort ofmadness possessed her. She invented new figures. She glided back andforth, bending and swaying and doubling until to the eyes of herbewildered admirers the outlines of her lovely body were gone. Even thewomen shouted their approval, and the men went wild. They pulled theirpockets inside out and flung handfuls of gold at her feet. Those whohad only silver cursed their fate, but snatched the watches from theirpockets, the rings from their fingers, and hurled them at her withshouts and cheers. They tore the lace ruffles from their shirts; theyrushed to the next room and ripped the silver eagles from their hats. Even Pio Pico flung one of his golden ropes at her feet, a hot blaze inhis old ugly face, as he cried:--

"Brava! brava! thou Star of Monterey!"

Guido Cabaņares, desperate at having nothing more to sacrifice to hisidol, sprang upon a chair, and was about to tear down the Mexican flag, when the music stopped with a crash, as if musicians and instruments hadbeen overturned, and a figure leaped into the room. 

The women uttered a loud cry and crossed themselves. Even the men fellback. Ysabel's swaying body trembled and became rigid. De la Vega, whohad watched her with folded arms, too entranced to offer her anythingbut the love that shook him, turned livid to his throat. A friar, hishood fallen back from his stubbled head, his brown habit stiff withdirt, smelling, reeling with fatigue, stood amongst them. His eyes weredeep in his ashen face. They rolled about the room until they met De laVega's. 

General Castro came hastily forward. "What does this mean?" he asked. "What do you wish?"

The friar raised his arm, and pointed his shaking finger at De la Vega. 

"Kill him!" he said, in a loud hoarse whisper. "He has desecrated theMother of God!"

Every caballero in the room turned upon De la Vega with furioussatisfaction. Ysabel had quickened their blood, and they were willingto cool it in vengeance on the man of whom they still were jealous, andwhom they suspected of having brought the wondrous pearls which coveredtheir Favorita to-night. 

"What? What?" they cried eagerly. "Has he done this thing?"

"He has robbed the Church. He has stripped the Blessed Virgin of herjewels. He--has--murdered--a--priest of the Holy Catholic Church. "

Horror stayed them for a moment, and then they rushed at De la Vega. "Hedoes not deny it!" they cried. "Is it true? Is it true?" and they surgedabout him hot with menace. 

"It is quite true, " said De la Vega, coldly. "I plundered the shrine ofLoreto and murdered its priest. "

The women panted and gasped; for a moment even the men were stunned, and in that moment an ominous sound mingled with the roar of the surf. Before the respite was over Ysabel had reached his side. 

"He did it for me!" she cried, in her clear triumphant voice. "Forme! And although you kill us both, I am the proudest woman in all theCalifornias, and I love him. "

"Good!" cried Castro, and he placed himself before them. "Stand back, every one of you. What? are you barbarians, Indians, that you would doviolence to a guest in your town? What if he has committed a crime? Ishe not one of you, then, that you offer him blood instead of protection?Where is your pride of caste? your _hospitality_? Oh, perfidy! Fallback, and leave the guest of your capital to those who are compelled tojudge him. "

The caballeros shrank back, sullen but abashed. He had touched the quickof their pride. 

"Never mind!" cried the friar. "You cannot protect him from _that_. Listen!"

Had the bay risen about the Custom-house?

"What is that?" demanded Castro, sharply. 

"The poor of Monterey; those who love their Cross better than thearistocrats love their caste. They know. "

De la Vega caught Ysabel in his arms and dashed across the room andcorridor. His knife cut a long rift in the canvas, and in a moment theystood upon the rocks. The shrieking crowd was on the other side of theCustom-house. 

"Marcos!" he called to his boatman, "Marcos!"

No answer came but the waves tugging at the rocks not two feet belowthem. He could see nothing. The fog was thick as night. 

"He is not here, Ysabel. We must swim. Anything but to be torn to piecesby those wild-cats. Are you afraid?"

"No, " she said. 

He folded her closely with one arm, and felt with his foot for the edgeof the rocks. A wild roar came from behind. A dozen pistols were firedinto the air. De la Vega reeled suddenly. "I am shot, Ysabel, " he said, his knees bending. "Not in this world, my love!"

She wound her arms about him, and dragging him to the brow of the rocks, hurled herself outward, carrying him with her. The waves tossed them onhigh, flung them against the rocks and ground them there, playing withthem like a lion with its victim, then buried them. 

THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS

I

"God of my soul! Do not speak of hope to me. Hope? For what are thosethree frigates, swarming with a horde of foreign bandits, creeping aboutour bay? For what have the persons of General Vallejo and Judge Leesebeen seized and imprisoned? Why does a strip of cotton, painted with agaping bear, flaunt itself above Sonoma? Oh, abomination! Oh, execrableprofanation! Mother of God, open thine ocean and suck them down! Smitethem with pestilence if they put foot in our capital! Shrivel theirfingers to the bone if they dethrone our Aztec Eagle and flourish theirstars and stripes above our fort! O California! That thy sons and thydaughters should live to see thee plucked like a rose by the usurper!And why? Why? Not because these piratical Americans have the right toone league of our land; but because, Holy Evangelists! they want it! Ourlands are rich, our harbours are fine, gold veins our valleys, thereforewe must be plucked. The United States of America are mightier thanMexico, therefore they sweep down upon us with mouths wide open. HolyGod! That I could choke but one with my own strong fingers. Oh!" DoņaEustaquia paused abruptly and smote her hands together, --"O that I werea man! That the women of California were men!"

On this pregnant morning of July seventh, eighteen hundred andforty-six, all aristocratic Monterey was gathered in the sala of DoņaModeste Castro. The hostess smiled sadly. "That is the wish of myhusband, " she said, "for the men of our country want the Americans. "

"And why?" asked one of the young men, flicking a particle of dust fromhis silken riding jacket. "We shall then have freedom from the constantwar of opposing factions. If General Castro and Governor Pico are notcalling Juntas in which to denounce each other, a Carillo is pitting hisambition against an Alvarado. The Gringos will rule us lightly and bringus peace. They will not disturb our grants, and will give us rich pricesfor our lands--"

"Oh, fool!" interrupted Doņa Eustaquia. "Thrice fool! A hundred yearsfrom now, Fernando Altimira, and our names will be forgotten inCalifornia. Fifty years from now and our walls will tumble upon uswhilst we cook our beans in the rags that charity--American charity--hasflung us! I tell you that the hour the American flag waves above thefort of Monterey is the hour of the Californians' doom. We have lived inArcadia--ingrates that you are to complain--they will run over us likeants and sting us to death!"

"That is the prediction of my husband, " said Doņa Modeste. "Liberty, Independence, Decency, Honour, how long will they be his watch-words?"

"Not a day longer!" cried Doņa Eustaquia, "for the men of California arecowards. "

"Cowards! We? No man should say that to us!" The caballeros were ontheir feet, their eyes flashing, as if they faced in uniform the navy ofthe United States, rather than confronted, in lace ruffles and silkensmallclothes, an angry scornful woman. 

"Cowards!" continued Fernando Altimira. "Are not men flocking aboutGeneral Castro at San Juan Bautista, willing to die in a cause alreadylost? If our towns were sacked or our women outraged would not theweakest of us fight until we died in our blood? But what is coming isfor the best, Doņa Eustaquia, despite your prophecy; and as we cannothelp it--we, a few thousand men against a great nation--we resignourselves because we are governed by reason instead of by passion. Noone reverences our General more than Fernando Altimira. No grander manever wore a uniform! But he is fighting in a hopeless cause, and thefewer who uphold him the less blood will flow, the sooner the strugglewill finish. "

Doņa Modeste covered her beautiful face and wept. Many of the womensobbed in sympathy. Bright eyes, from beneath gay rebosas or delicatemantillas, glanced approvingly at the speaker. Brown old men and womenstared gloomily at the floor. But the greater number followed everymotion of their master-spirit, Doņa Eustaquia Ortega. 

She walked rapidly up and down the long room, too excited to sit down, flinging the mantilla back as it brushed her hot cheek. She was a womannot yet forty, and very handsome, although the peachness of youth hadleft her face. Her features were small but sharply cut; the squarechin and firm mouth had the lines of courage and violent emotions, herpiercing intelligent eyes interpreted a terrible power of love and hate. But if her face was so strong as to be almost unfeminine, it was frankand kind. 

Doņa Eustaquia might watch with joy her bay open and engulf the hatedAmericans, but she would nurse back to life the undrowned bodies flungupon the shore. If she had been born a queen she would have slain inanger, but she would not have tortured. General Castro had flung his hatat her feet many times, and told her that she was born to command. Eventhe nervous irregularity of her step to-day could not affect the extremeelegance of her carriage, and she carried her small head with theimperious pride of a sovereign. She did not speak again for a moment, but as she passed the group of young men at the end of the room her eyesflashed from one languid face to another. She hated their rich breechesand embroidered jackets buttoned with silver and gold, the lacehandkerchiefs knotted about their shapely throats. No man was a man whodid not wear a uniform. 

Don Fernando regarded her with a mischievous smile as she approached hima second time. 

"I predict, also, " he said, "I predict that our charming Doņa Eustaquiawill yet wed an American--"

"What!" she turned upon him with the fury of a lioness. "Hold thyprating tongue! I marry an American? God! I would give every league ofmy ranchos for a necklace made from the ears of twenty Americans. Iwould throw my jewels to the pigs, if I could feel here upon my neckthe proof that twenty American heads looked ready to be fired from thecannon on the hill!"

Everybody in the room laughed, and the atmosphere felt lighter. Muslingowns began to flutter, and the seal of disquiet sat less heavily uponcareworn or beautiful faces. But before the respite was a moment old ayoung man entered hastily from the street, and throwing his hat on thefloor burst into tears. 

"What is it?" The words came mechanically from every one in the room. 

The herald put his hand to his throat to control the swelling muscles. "Two hours ago, " he said, "Commander Sloat sent one Captain WilliamMervine on shore to demand of our Commandante the surrender of the town. Don Mariano walked the floor, wringing his hands, until a quarter of anhour ago, when he sent word to the insolent servant of a pirate-republicthat he had no authority to deliver up the capital, and bade him go toSan Juan Bautista and confer with General Castro. Whereupon the Americanthief ordered two hundred and fifty of his men to embark in boats--donot you hear?"

A mighty cheer shook the air amidst the thunder of cannon; then another, and another. 

Every lip in the room was white. 

"What is that?" asked Doņa Eustaquia. Her voice was hardly audible. 

"They have raised the American flag upon the Custom-house, " said theherald. 

For a moment no one moved; then as by one impulse, and without a word, Doņa Modeste Castro and her guests rose and ran through the streets tothe Custom-house on the edge of the town. 

In the bay were three frigates of twenty guns each. On the rocks, in thestreet by the Custom-house and on its corridors, was a small army of menin the naval uniform of the United States, respectful but determined. About them and the little man who read aloud from a long roll of paper, the aristocrats joined the rabble of the town. Men with sunken eyes whohad gambled all night, leaving even serape and sombrero on the gamingtable; girls with painted faces staring above cheap and gaudy satins, who had danced at fandangos in the booths until dawn, then wanderedabout the beach, too curious over the movements of the American squadronto go to bed; shopkeepers, black and rusty of face, smoking big pipeswith the air of philosophers; Indians clad in a single garment ofcalico, falling in a straight line from the neck; eagle-beaked oldcrones with black shawls over their heads; children wearing only a smocktwisted about their little waists and tied in a knot behind; a fewAmerican residents, glancing triumphantly at each other; caballeros, gay in the silken attire of summer, sitting in angry disdain upon theirplunging, superbly trapped horses; last of all, the elegant women intheir lace mantillas and flowered rebosas, weeping and clinging to eachother. Few gave ear to the reading of Sloat's proclamation. 

Benicia, the daughter of Doņa Eustaquia, raised her clasped hands, thetears streaming from her eyes. "Oh, these Americans! How I hate them!"she cried, a reflection of her mother's violent spirit on her sweetface. 

Doņa Eustaquia caught the girl's hands and flung herself upon her neck. "Ay! California! California!" she cried wildly. "My country is flung toits knees in the dirt. "

A rose from the upper corridor of the Custom-house struck her daughterfull in the face. 

II

The same afternoon Benicia ran into the sala where her mother was lyingon a sofa, and exclaimed excitedly: "My mother! My mother! It is notso bad. The Americans are not so wicked as we have thought. Theproclamation of the Commodore Sloat has been pasted on all the walls ofthe town and promises that our grants shall be secured to us under thenew government, that we shall elect our own alcaldes, that we shallcontinue to worship God in our own religion, that our priests shallbe protected, that we shall have all the rights and advantages of theAmerican citizen--"

"Stop!" cried Doņa Eustaquia, springing to her feet. Her face stillburned with the bitter experience of the morning. "Tell me of no morelying promises! They will keep their word! Ay, I do not doubt but theywill take advantage of our ignorance, with their Yankee sharpness! Iknow them! Do not speak of them to me again. If it must be, it must; andat least I have thee. " She caught the girl in her arms, and covered theflower-like face with passionate kisses. "My little one! My darling!Thou lovest thy mother--better than all the world? Tell me!"

The girl pressed her soft, red lips to the dark face which could expresssuch fierceness of love and hate. 

"My mother! Of course I love thee. It is because I have thee that I donot take the fate of my country deeper heart. So long as they do not puttheir ugly bayonets between us, what difference whether the eagle or thestars wave above the fort?"

"Ah, my child, thou hast not that love of country which is part of mysoul! But perhaps it is as well, for thou lovest thy mother the more. Isit not so, my little one?"

"Surely, my mother; I love no one in the world but you. "

Doņa Eustaquia leaned back and tapped the girl's fair cheek with herfinger. 

"Not even Don Fernando Altimira?"

"No, my mother. "

"Nor Flujencio Hernandez? Nor Juan Perez? Nor any of the caballeros whoserenade beneath thy window?"

"I love their music, but it comes as sweetly from one throat as fromanother. "

Her mother gave a long sigh of relief. "And yet I would have thee marrysome day, my little one. I was happy with thy father--thanks to God hedid not live to see this day--I was as happy, for two little years, asthis poor nature of ours can be, and I would have thee be the same. Butdo not hasten to leave me alone. Thou art so young! Thine eyes have yetthe roguishness of youth; I would not see love flash it aside. Thy mouthis like a child's; I shall shed the saddest tears of my life the dayit trembles with passion. Dear little one! Thou hast been more than adaughter to me; thou hast been my only companion. I have striven toimpart to thee the ambition of thy mother and the intellect of thyfather. And I am proud of thee, very, very proud of thee!"

Benicia pinched her mother's chin, her mischievous eyes softening. "Ay, my mother, I have done my little best, but I never shall be you. I amafraid I love to dance through the night and flirt my breath away betterthan I love the intellectual conversation of the few people you thinkworthy to sit about you in the evenings. I am like a little butterflysitting on the mane of a mountain lion--"

"Tush! Tush! Thou knowest more than any girl in Monterey, and I amsatisfied with thee. Think of the books thou hast read, the languagesthou hast learned from the Seņor Hartnell. Ay, my little one, nobodybut thou wouldst dare to say thou cared for nothing but dancing andflirting, although I will admit that even Ysabel Herrera could scarcerival thee at either. "

"Ay, my poor Ysabel! My heart breaks every night when I say a prayer forher. " She tightened the clasp of her arms and pressed her face close toher mother's. "Mamacita, darling, " she said coaxingly, "I have a bigfavour to beg. Ay, an enormous one! How dare I ask it?"

"Aha! What is it? I should like to know. I thought thy tenderness was alittle anxious. "

"Ay, mamacita! Do not refuse me or it will break my heart. On Wednesdaynight Don Thomas Larkin gives a ball at his house to the officers of theAmerican squadron. Oh, mamacita! mamacita! _darling!_ do, do let me go!"

"Benicia! Thou wouldst meet those men? Válgame Dios! And thou art achild of mine!"

She flung the girl from her, and walked rapidly up and down the room, Benicia following with her little white hands outstretched. "Dearestone, I know just how you feel about it! But think a moment. They havecome to stay. They will never go. We shall meet them everywhere--everynight--every day. And my new gown, mamacita! The beautiful silverspangles! There is not such a gown in Monterey! Ay, I must go. And theysay the Americans hop like puppies when they dance. How I shall laughat them! And it is not once in the year that I have a chance to speakEnglish, and none of the other girls can. And all the girls, all thegirls, all the girls, will go to this ball. Oh, mamacita!"

Her mother was obliged to laugh. "Well, well, I cannot refuse youanything; you know that! Go to the ball! Ay, yi, do not smother me! Asyou have said--that little head can think--we must meet these insolentbraggarts sooner or later. So I would not--" her cheeks blanchedsuddenly, she caught her daughter's face between her hands, and bent herpiercing eyes above the girl's soft depths. "Mother of God! That couldnot be. My child! Thou couldst never love an American! A Gringo! AProtestant! Holy Mary!"

Benicia threw back her head and gave a long laugh--the light ripplinglaugh of a girl who has scarcely dreamed of lovers. "I love an American?Oh, my mother! A great, big, yellow-haired bear! When I want only tolaugh at their dancing! No, mamacita, when I love an American thou shalthave his ears for thy necklace. "

III

Thomas O. Larkin, United States Consul to California until theoccupation left him without duties, had invited Monterey to meet theofficers of the _Savannah, Cyane, _ and _Levant_, and only Doņa ModesteCastro had declined. At ten o'clock the sala of his large house on therise of the hill was thronged with robed girls in every shade and deviceof white, sitting demurely behind the wide shoulders of coffee-coloureddowagers, also in white, and blazing with jewels. The young matrons werethere, too, although they left the sala at intervals to visit the roomset apart for the nurses and children; no Montereņa ever left her littleones at home. The old men and the caballeros wore the black coats andwhite trousers which Monterey fashion dictated for evening wear; thehair of the younger men was braided with gay ribbons, and diamondsflashed in the lace of their ruffles. 

The sala was on the second floor; the musicians sat on the corridorbeyond the open windows and scraped their fiddles and twanged theirguitars, awaiting the coming of the American officers. Before long theregular tramp of many feet turning from Alvarado Street up the littlePrimera del Este, facing Mr. Larkin's house, made dark eyes flash, laceand silken gowns flutter. Benicia and a group of girls were standing byDoņa Eustaquia. They opened their large black fans as if to wave backthe pink that had sprung to their cheeks. Only Benicia held her headsaucily high, and her large brown eyes were full of defiant sparkles. 

"Why art thou so excited, Blandina?" she asked of a girl who had graspedher arm. "I feel as if the war between the United States and Mexicobegan tonight. "

"Ay, Benicia, thou hast so gay a spirit that nothing ever frightensthee! But, Mary! How many they are! They tramp as if they would gothrough the stair. Ay, the poor flag! No wonder--"

"Now, do not cry over the flag any more. Ah! there is not one to comparewith General Castro!"

The character of the Californian sala had changed for ever; the blue andgold of the United States had invaded it. 

The officers, young and old, looked with much interest at the faces, soft, piquant, tropical, which made the effect of pansies lookinginquisitively over a snowdrift. The girls returned their glances withapproval, for they were as fine and manly a set of men as ever had faceddeath or woman. Ten minutes later California and the United States wereflirting outrageously. 

Mr. Larkin presented a tall officer to Benicia. That the young man wasvery well-looking even Benicia admitted. True, his hair was golden, butit was cut short, and bore no resemblance to the coat of a bear; hismustache and brows were brown; his gray eyes were as laughing as herown. 

"I suppose you do not speak any English, seņorita, " he said helplessly. 

"No? I spik Eenglish like the Spanish. The Spanish people no havedifficult at all to learn the other langues. But Seņor Hartnell hesay it no is easy at all for the Eenglish to spik the French and theSpanish, so I suppose you no spik one word our langue, no?"

He gallantly repressed a smile. "Thankfully I may say that I do not, else would I not have the pleasure of hearing you speak English. Neverhave I heard it so charmingly spoken before. "

Benicia took her skirt between the tips of her fingers and swayed hergraceful body forward, as a tule bends in the wind. 

"You like dip the flag of the conqueror in honey, seņor. Ay! We needhave one compliment for every tear that fall since your eagle stab hisbeak in the neck de ours. "

"Ah, the loyal women of Monterey! I have no words to express myadmiration for them, seņorita. A thousand compliments are not worth onetear. "

Benicia turned swiftly to her mother, her eyes glittering with pleasure. "Mother, you hear! You hear!" she cried in Spanish. "These Americans arenot so bad, after all. "

Doņa Eustaquia gave the young man one of her rare smiles; it flashedover her strong dark face, until the light of youth was there once more. 

"Very pretty speech, " she said, with slow precision. "I thank you, SeņorRussell, in the name of the women of Monterey. "

"By Jove! Madam--seņora--I assure you I never felt so cut up in mylife as when I saw all those beautiful women crying down there by theCustom-house. I am a good American, but I would rather have thrown theflag under your feet than have seen you cry like that. And I assure you, dear seņora, every man among us felt the same. As you have been goodenough to thank me in the name of the women of Monterey, I, in behalf ofthe officers of the United States squadron, beg that you will forgiveus. "

Doņa Eustaquia's cheek paled again, and she set her lips for a moment;then she held out her hand. 

"Seņor, " she said, "we are conquered, but we are Californians; andalthough we do not bend the head, neither do we turn the back. We haveinvite you to our houses, and we cannot treat you like enemies. I willsay with--how you say it--truth?--we did hate the thought that youcome and take the country that was ours. But all is over and cannotbe changed. So, it is better we are good friends than poor ones;and--and--my house is open to you, seņor. "

Russell was a young man of acute perceptions; moreover, he had heardof Doņa Eustaquia; he divined in part the mighty effort by which goodbreeding and philosophy had conquered bitter resentment. He raised thelittle white hand to his lips. 

"I would that I were twenty men, seņora. Each would be your devotedservant. "

"And then she have her necklace!" cried Benicia, delightedly. 

"What is that?" asked Russell; but Doņa Eustaquia shook her fanthreateningly and turned away. 

"I no tell you everything, " said Benicia, "so no be too curiosa. You nodance the contradanza, no?"

"I regret to say that I do not. But this is a plain waltz; will you notgive it to me?"

Benicia, disregarding the angry glances of approaching caballeros, laidher hand on the officer's shoulder, and he spun her down the room. 

"Why, you no dance so bad!" she said with surprise. "I think always theAmericanos dance so terreeblay. "

"Who could not dance with a fairy in his arms?"

"What funny things you say. I never been called fairy before. "

"You have never been interpreted. " And then, in the whirl-waltz of thatday, both lost their breath. 

When the dance was over and they stood near Doņa Eustaquia, he took thefan from Benicia's hand and waved it slowly before her. She laughedoutright. 

"You think I am so tired I no can fan myself?" she demanded. "How queerare these Americanos! Why, I have dance for three days and three nightsand never estop. "

"Seņorita!"

"Si, seņor. Oh, we estop sometimes, but no for long. It was at Sonomatwo months ago. At the house de General Vallejo. "

"You certainly are able to fan yourself; but it is no reflection uponyour muscle. It is only a custom we have. "

"Then I think much better you no have the custom. You no look like a manat all when you fan like a girl. "

He handed her back the fan with some choler. 

"Really, seņorita, you are very frank. I suppose you would have a manlie in a hammock all day and roll cigaritos. "

"Much better do that than take what no is yours. "

"Which no American ever did!"

"Excep' when he pulled California out the pocket de Mexico. "

"And what did Mexico do first? Did she not threaten the United Stateswith hostilities for a year, and attack a small detachment of our troopswith a force of seven thousand men--"

"No make any difference what she do. Si she do wrong, that no is excusefor you do wrong. "

Two angry young people faced each other. 

"You steal our country and insult our men. But they can fight, Madre deDios! I like see General Castro take your little Commodore Sloat by theneck. He look like a little gray rat. "

"Commodore Sloat is a brave and able man, Miss Ortega, and no officer inthe United States navy will hear him insulted. "

"Then much better you lock up the ears. "

"My dear Captain Russell! Benicia! what is the matter?"

Mr. Larkin stood before them, an amused smile on his thin intellectualface. "Come, come, have we not met to-night to dance the waltz of peace?Benicia, your most humble admirer has a favour to crave of you. I wouldhave my countrymen learn at once the utmost grace of the Californian. Dance El Jarabe, please, and with Don Fernando Altimira. "

Benicia lifted her dainty white shoulders. She was not unwilling toavenge herself upon the American by dazzling him with her grace andbeauty. Her eye's swift invitation brought Don Fernando, scowling, toher side. He led her to the middle of the room, and the musicians playedthe stately jig. 

Benicia swept one glance of defiant coquetry at Russell from beneathher curling lashes, then fixed her eyes upon the floor, nor raised themagain. She held her reed-like body very erect and took either side ofher spangled skirt in the tips of her fingers, lifting it just enoughto show the arched little feet in their embroidered stockings and satinslippers. Don Fernando crossed his hands behind him, and together theyrattled their feet on the floor with dexterity and precision, whilst thegirls sang the words of the dance. The officers gave genuine applause, delighted with this picturesque fragment of life on the edge of thePacific. Don Fernando listened to their demonstrations with sombrecontempt on his dark handsome face; Benicia indicated her pleasure bysundry archings of her narrow brows, or coquettish curves of her redlips. Suddenly she made a deep courtesy and ran to her mother, with along sweeping movement, like the bending and lifting of grain in thewind. As she approached Russell he took a rose from his coat and threwit at her. She caught it, thrust it carelessly in one of her thickbraids, and the next moment he was at her side again. 

IV

Doņa Eustaquia slipped from the crowd and out of the house. Drawing areboso about her head she walked swiftly down the street and across theplaza. Sounds of ribaldry came from the lower end of the town, but thearistocratic quarter was very quiet, and she walked unmolested to thehouse of General Castro. The door was open, and she went down the longhall to the sleeping room of Doņa Modeste. There was no response to herknock, and she pushed open the door and entered. The room was dimly litby the candles on the altar. Doņa Modeste was not in the big mahoganybed, for the heavy satin coverlet was still over it. Doņa Eustaquiacrossed the room to the altar and lifted in her arms the small figurekneeling there. 

"Pray no more, my friend, " she said. "Our prayers have been unheard, andthou art better in bed or with thy friends. "

Doņa Modeste threw herself wearily into a chair, but took DoņaEustaquia's hand in a tight clasp. Her white skin shone in the dimlight, and with her black hair and green tragic eyes made her look likea little witch queen, for neither suffering nor humiliation could bendthat stately head. 

"Religion is my solace, " she said, "my only one; for I have not a brainof iron nor a soul of fire like thine. And, Eustaquia, I have more causeto pray to-night. "

"It is true, then, that José is in retreat? Ay, Mary!"

"My husband, deserted by all but one hundred men, is flying southwardfrom San Juan Bautista. I have it from the wash-tub mail. That never iswrong. "

"Ingrates! Traitors! But it is true, Modeste--surely, no?--that ourgeneral will not surrender? That he will stand against the Americans?"

"He will not yield. He would have marched upon Monterey and forced themto give him battle here but for this base desertion. Now he will go toLos Angeles and command the men of the South to rally about him. "

"I knew that he would not kiss the boots of the Americans like the restof our men! Oh, the cowards! I could almost say to-night that I likebetter the Americans than the men of my own race. _They_ are Castros! Ishall hate their flag so long as life is in me; but I cannot hate thebrave men who fight for it. But my pain is light to thine. Thy heart iswrung, and I am sorry for thee. "

"My day is over. Misfortune is upon us. Even if my husband's life isspared--ay! shall I ever see him again?--his position will be takenfrom him, for the Americans will conquer in the end. He will beCommandante-General of the army of the Californias no longer, but--holyGod!--a ranchero, a caballero! He at whose back all California hasgalloped! Thou knowest his restless aspiring soul, Eustaquia, hisambition, his passionate love of California. Can there be happiness forsuch a man humbled to the dust--no future! no hope? Ay!"--she sprang toher feet with arms uplifted, her small slender form looking twice itsheight as it palpitated against the shadows, "I feel the bitterness ofthat spirit! I know how that great heart is torn. And he is alone!"She flung herself across Doņa Eustaquia's knees and burst into violentsobbing. 

Doņa Eustaquia laid her strong arm about her friend, but her eyes weremore angry than soft. "Weep no more, Modeste, " she said. "Rather, ariseand curse those who have flung a great man into the dust. But comfortthyself. Who can know? Thy husband, weary with fighting, disgusted withmen, may cling the closer to thee, and with thee and thy children forgetthe world in thy redwood forests or between the golden hills of thyranchos. "

Doņa Modeste shook her head. "Thou speakest the words of kindness, butthou knowest José. Thou knowest that he would not be content to be asother men. And, ay! Eustaquia, to think that it was opposite our owndear home, our favourite home, that the American flag should first havebeen raised! Opposite the home of José Castro!"

"To perdition with Frémont! Why did he, of all places, select San JuanBautista in which to hang up his American rag?"

"We never can live there again. The Gabilan Mountains would shut out thevery face of the sun from my husband. "

"Do not weep, my Modeste; remember thy other beautiful ranchos. Dios demi alma!" she added with a flash of humour, "I revere San Juan Bautistafor your husband's sake, but I weep not that I shall visit you there nomore. Every day I think to hear that the shaking earth of that beautifulvalley has opened its jaws and swallowed every hill and adobe. God grantthat Frémont's hair stood up more than once. But go to bed, my friend. Look, I will put you there. " As if Doņa Modeste were an infant, sheundressed and laid her between the linen sheets with their elaboratedrawn work, then made her drink a glass of angelica, folded and laidaway the satin coverlet, and left the house. 

She walked up the plaza slowly, holding her head high. Monterey at thattime was infested by dogs, some of them very savage. Doņa Eustaquia'sstrong soul had little acquaintance with fear, and on her way to GeneralCastro's house she had paid no attention to the snarling muzzles thrustagainst her gown. But suddenly a cadaverous creature sprang upon herwith a savage yelp and would have caught her by the throat had not aheavy stick cracked its skull. A tall officer in the uniform of theUnited States navy raised his cap from iron-gray hair and looked at herwith blue eyes as piercing as her own. 

"You will pardon me, madam, " he said, "if I insist upon attending you toyour door. It is not safe for a woman to walk alone in the streets ofMonterey at night. "

Doņa Eustaquia bent her head somewhat haughtily. "I thank you much, seņor, for your kind rescue. I would not like, at all, to be eaten bythe dogs. But I not like to trouble you to walk with me. I go only tothe house of the Seņor Larkin. It is there, at the end of the littlestreet beyond the plaza. "

"My dear madam, you must not deprive the United States of the pleasureof protecting California. Pray grant my humble request to walk behindyou and keep off the dogs. "

Her lips pressed each other, but pride put down the bitter retort. 

"Walk by me, if you wish, " she said graciously. "Why are you not at thehouse of Don Thomas Larkin?"

"I am on my way there now. Circumstances prevented my going earlier. "His companion did not seem disposed to pilot the conversation, and hecontinued lamely, "Have you noticed, madam, that the English frigate_Collingwood_ is anchored in the bay?"

"I saw it in the morning. " She turned to him with sudden hope. "Havethey--the English--come to help California?"

"I am afraid, dear madam, that they came to capture California at thefirst whisper of war between Mexico and the United States; you know thatEngland has always cast a covetous eye upon your fair land. It is saidthat the English admiral stormed about the deck in a mighty rage to-daywhen he saw the American flag flying on the fort. "

"All are alike!" she exclaimed bitterly, then controlled herself. "You--do you admeer our country, seņor? Have you in America somethingmore beautiful than Monterey?"

The officer looked about him enthusiastically, glad of a change oftopic, for he suspected to whom he was talking. "Madam, I have neverseen anything more perfect than this beautiful town of Monterey. Whata situation! What exquisite proportions! That wide curve of snow-whitesand about the dark blue bay is as exact a crescent as if cut with aknife. And that semicircle of hills behind the town, with its pine andbrush forest tapering down to the crescent's points! Nor could anythingbe more picturesque than this scattered little town with its bright redtiles above the white walls of the houses and the gray walls of theyards; its quaint church surrounded by the ruins of the old presidio;its beautiful, strangely dressed women and men who make this corner ofthe earth resemble the pages of some romantic old picture-book--"

"Ay!" she interrupted him. "Much better you feel proud that you conquerus; for surely, seņor, California shall shine like a diamond in the verycentre of America's crown. " Then she held out her hand impulsively. 

"Mucho gracias, seņor--pardon--thank you very much. If you love mycountry, seņor, you must be my friend and the friend of my daughter. Iam the Seņora Doņa Eustaquia Carillo de Ortega, and my house is thereon the hill--you can see the light, no? Always we shall be glad to seeyou. "

He doffed his cap again and bent over her hand. 

"And I, John Brotherton, a humble captain in the United States navy, do sincerely thank the most famous woman of Monterey for her gracioushospitality. And if I abuse it, lay it to the enthusiasm of the Americanwho is not the conqueror but the conquered. "

"That was very pretty--speech. When you abuse me I put you out the door. This is the house of Don Thomas Larkin, where is the ball. You come in, no? You like I take your arm? Very well"

And so the articles of peace were signed. 

V

"Yes, yes, indeed, Blandina, " exclaimed Benicia, "they had no chance atall last night, for we danced until dawn, and perhaps they were afraidof Don Thomas Larkin. But we shall talk and have music to-night, andthose fine new tables that came on the last ship from Boston must not bedestroyed. "

"Well, if you really think--" said Blandina, who always thought exactlyas Benicia did. She opened a door and called:--

"Flujencio. "

"Well, my sister?"

A dreamy-looking young man in short jacket and trousers of red silkentered the room, sombrero in one hand, a cigarito in the other. 

"Flujencio, you know it is said that these 'Yankees' always 'whittle'everything. We are afraid they will spoil the furniture to-night; sotell one of the servants to cut a hundred pine slugs, and you go downto the store and buy a box of penknives. Then they will have plenty toamuse themselves with and will not cut the furniture. "

"True! True! What a good idea! Was it Benicia's?" He gave her a glanceof languid adoration. "I will buy those knives at once, before I forgetit, " and he tossed the sombrero on his curls and strode out of thehouse. 

"How dost thou like the Seņor Lieutenant Russell, Benicia?"

Benicia lifted her chin, but her cheeks became very pink. 

"Well enough. But he is like all the Americans, very proud, and thinkstoo well of his hateful country. But I shall teach him how to flirt. Hethinks he can, but he cannot. "

"Thou canst do it, Benicia--look! look!"

Lieutenant Russell and a brother officer were sauntering slowly by andlooking straight through the grated window at the beautiful girls intheir gayly flowered gowns. They saluted, and the girls bent theirslender necks, but dared not speak, for Doņa Francesca Hernandez was inthe next room and the door was open. Immediately following the Americanofficers came Don Fernando Altimira on horseback. He scowled as he sawthe erect swinging figures of the conquerors, but Benicia kissed thetips of her fingers as he flung his sombrero to the ground, and hegalloped, smiling, on his way. 

That night the officers of the United States squadron met the society ofMonterey at the house of Don Jorje Hernandez. After the contradanza, towhich they could be admiring spectators only, much to the delight of thecaballeros, Benicia took the guitar presented by Flujencio, and lettingher head droop a little to one side like a lily bent on its stalk by thebreeze, sang the most coquettish song she knew. Her mahogany brown hairhung unconfined over her white shoulders and gown of embroidered silkwith its pointed waist and full skirt. Her large brown eyes werealternately mischievous and tender, now and again lighted by a suddenflash. Her cheeks were pink; her round babylike arms curved with all thegrace of the Spanish woman. As she finished the song she dropped hereyelids for a moment, then raised them slowly and looked straight atRussell. 

"By Jove, Ned, you are a lucky dog!" said a brother officer. "She's theprettiest girl in the room! Why don't you fling your hat at her feet, asthese ardent Californians do?"

[Illustration: "RUSSELL CROSSED THE ROOM AND SAT BESIDE BENICIA. "]

"My cap is in the next room, but I will go over and fling myself thereinstead. "

Russell crossed the room and sat down beside Benicia. 

"I should like to hear you sing under those cypresses out on the oceanabout six or eight miles from here, " he said to her. "I rode down thecoast yesterday. Jove! what a coast it is!"

"We will have a merienda there on some evening, " said Doņa Eustaquia, who sat beside her daughter. "It is very beautiful on the big rocks towatch the ocean, under the moonlight. "

"A merienda?"

"A peek-neek. "

"Good! You will not forget that?"

She smiled at his boyishness. "It will be at the next moon. I promise. "

Benicia sang another song, and a half-dozen caballeros stood abouther, regarding her with glances languid, passionate, sentimental, reproachful, determined, hopeless. Russell, leaning back in his chair, listened to the innocent thrilling voice of the girl, and watched heradorers, amused and stimulated. The Californian beauty was like no otherwoman he had known, and the victory would be as signal as the capture ofMonterey. "More blood, perhaps, " he thought, "but a victory is a pooraffair unless painted in red. It will do these seething caballeros goodto learn that American blood is quite as swift as Californian. "

As the song finished, the musicians began a waltz; Russell took theguitar from Benicia's hand and laid it on the floor. 

"This waltz is mine, seņorita, " he said. 

"I no know--"

"Seņorita!" said Don Fernando Altimira, passionately, "the first waltzis always mine. Thou wilt not give it to the American?"

"And the next is mine!"

"And the next contradanza!"

The girl's faithful retinue protested for their rights. Russell couldnot understand, but he translated their glances, and bent his lips toBenicia's ear. That ear was pink and her eyes were bright with roguishtriumph. 

"I want this dance, dear seņorita. I may go away any day. Orders maycome to-morrow which will send me where I never can see you again. Youcan dance with these men every night of the year--"

"I give to you, " said Benicia, rising hurriedly. "We must be hospitableto the stranger who comes to-day and leaves to-morrow, " she said inSpanish to the other men. "I have plenty more dances for you. "

After the dance, salads and cakes, claret and water, were brought to thewomen by Indian girls, who glided about the room with borrowed grace, their heads erect, the silver trays held well out. They wore bright redskirts and white smocks of fine embroidered linen, open at the throat, the sleeves very short. Their coarse hair hung in heavy braids; theirbright little eyes twinkled in square faces scrubbed until they shonelike copper. 

"Captain, " said Russell to Brotherton, as the men followed the host intothe supper room, "let us buy a ranch, marry two of these stunninggirls, and lie round in hammocks whilst these Western houris bring usaguardiente and soda. What an improvement on Byron and Tom Moore! Itis all so unhackneyed and unexpected. In spite of Dana and Robinson Iexpected mud huts and whooping savages. This is Arcadia, and the womenare the most elegant in America. "

"Look here, Ned, " said his captain, "you had better do less flirting andmore thinking while you are in this odd country. Your talents will getrusty, but you can rub them up when you get home. Neither Californianmen nor women are to be trifled with. This is the land of passion, notof drawing-room sentiment. "

"Perhaps I am more serious than you think. What is the matter?" He spoketo a brother officer who had joined them and was laughing immoderately. 

"Do you see those Californians grinning over there?" The speakerbeckoned to a group of officers, who joined him at once. "What job doyou suppose they have put up on us? What do you suppose that mysterioustable in the sala means, with its penknives and wooden sticks? I thoughtit was a charity bazaar. Well, it is nothing more nor less than a trickto keep us from whittling up the furniture. We are all Yankees to them, you know. Preserve my Spanish!"

The officers shouted with delight. They marched solemnly back into thesala, and seating themselves in a deep circle about the table, whittled the slugs all over the floor, much to the satisfaction of theCalifornians. 

VI

After the entertainment was over, Russell strolled about the town. Thenew moon was on the sky, the stars thick and bright; but dark cornerswere everywhere, and he kept his hand on his pistol. He found himselfbefore the long low house of Doņa Eustaquia Ortega. Not a lightglimmered; the shutters were of solid wood. He walked up and down, trying to guess which was Benicia's room. 

"I am growing as romantic as a Californian, " he thought; "but thiswonderful country pours its colour all through one's nature. If Icould find her window, I believe I should serenade her in true Spanishfashion. By Jove, I remember now, she said something about lookingthrough her window at the pines on the hill. It must be at the back ofthe house, and how am I going to get over that great adobe wall? Thatgate is probably fastened with an iron bar--ah!"

He had walked to the corner of the wall surrounding the large yardbehind and at both sides of Doņa Eustaquia's house, and he saw, ascending a ladder, a tall figure, draped in a serape, its faceconcealed by the shadow of a sombrero. He drew his pistol, then laughedat himself, although not without annoyance. "A rival; and he has gotahead of me. He is going to serenade her. "

The caballero seated himself uncomfortably on the tiles that roofed thewall, removed his sombrero, and Russell recognized Fernando Altimira. Amoment later the sweet thin chords of the guitar quivered in the quietair, and a tenor, so fine that even Russell stood entranced, sang toBenicia one of the old songs of Monterey:--

EL SUSPIRO

 Una mirada un suspiro, Una lagrima querida, Es balsamo ā la herida Que abriste en mi corazķn. 

 Por esa lagrima cara Objeto de mi termina, Yo te amé bella criatura Desde que te vi llorar. 

 Te acuerdas de aquella noche En que triste y abatida Una lagrima querida Vi de tus ojos brotar. 

Although Russell was at the base of the high wall he saw that a lightflashed. The light was followed by the clapping of little hands. "Jove!"he thought, "am I really jealous? But damn that Californian!"

Altimira sang two more songs and was rewarded by the samedemonstrations. As he descended the ladder and reached the open streethe met Russell face to face. The two men regarded each other for amoment. The Californian's handsome face was distorted by a passionatescowl; Russell was calmer, but his brows were lowered. 

Altimira flung the ladder to the ground, but fire-blooded as he was, thepoliteness of his race did not desert him, and his struggle with Englishflung oil upon his passion. 

"Seņor, " he said, "I no know what you do it by the house of the SeņoritaBenicia so late in the night. I suppose you have the right to walk inthe town si it please yourself. "

"Have I not the same right as you--to serenade the Seņorita Benicia? IfI had known her room, I should have been on the wall before you. "

Altimira's face flushed with triumph. "I think the Seņorita Beniciano care for the English song, seņor. She love the sweet words of hercountry: she no care for words of ice. "

Russell smiled. "Our language may not be as elastic as yours, DonFernando, but it is a good deal more sincere. And it can express as muchand perhaps--"

"You love Benicia?" interrupted Altimira, fiercely. 

"I admire the Seņorita Ortega tremendously. But I have seen her twiceonly, and although we may love longer, we take more time to get there, perhaps, than you do. "

"Ay! Dios de mi vida! You have the heart of rock! You chip it off inlittle pieces, one to-day, another to-morrow, and give to the woman. I, seņor, I love Benicia, and I marry her. You understand? Si you take her, I cut the heart from your body. You understand?"

"I understand. We understand each other. " Russell lifted his cap. TheCalifornian took his sombrero from his head and made a long sweepingbow; and the two men parted. 

VII

On the twenty-third of July, Commodore Sloat transferred his authorityto Commodore Stockton, and the new commander of the Pacific squadronorganized the California Battalion of Mounted Riflemen, appointingFrémont major and Gillespie captain. He ordered them South at once tointercept Castro. On the twenty-eighth, Stockton issued a proclamationin which he asserted that Mexico was the instigator of the presentdifficulties, and justified the United States in seizing theCalifornias. He denounced Castro in violent terms as an usurper, aboasting and abusive chief, and accused him of having violated everyprinciple of national hospitality and good faith toward Captain Frémontand his surveying party. Stockton sailed for the South the same dayin the _Congress_, leaving a number of officers to Monterey and theindignation of the people. 

"By Jove, I don't dare to go near Doņa Eustaquia, " said Russell toBrotherton. "And I'm afraid we won't have our picnic. It seems to me theCommodore need not have used such strong language about California'sidol. The very people in the streets are ready to unlimb us; and as forthe peppery Doņa--"

"Speak more respectfully of Doņa Eustaquia, young man, " said the olderofficer, severely. "She is a very remarkable woman and not to be spokenslightingly of by young men who are in love with her daughter. "

"God forbid that I should slight her, dear Captain. Never have I sorespected a woman. She frightens the life out of me every time sheflashes those eyes of hers. But let us go and face the enemy at once, like the brave Americans we are. "

"Very well. " And together they walked along Alvarado Street from theharbour, then up the hill to the house of Doņa Eustaquia. 

That formidable lady and her daughter were sitting on the corridordressed in full white gowns, slowly wielding large black fans, for thenight was hot. Benicia cast up her eyes expressively as she rose andcourtesied to the officers, but her mother merely bent her head; nor didshe extend her hand. Her face was very dark. 

Brotherton went directly to the point. 

"Dear Doņa Eustaquia, we deeply regret that our Commodore has used suchharsh language in regard to General Castro. But remember that he hasbeen here a few days only and has had no chance to learn the many nobleand valiant qualities of your General. He doubtless has been prejudicedagainst him by some enemy, and he adores Frémont:--there is the trouble. He resents Castro's treating Frémont as an enemy before the UnitedStates had declared its intentions. But had he been correctly informed, he undoubtedly would have conceived the same admiration and respect foryour brave General that is felt by every other man among us. "

Doņa Eustaquia looked somewhat mollified, but shook her head sternly. "Much better he took the trouble to hear true. He insult allCalifornians by those shemful words. All the enemies of our dear Generalbe glad. And the poor wife! Poor my Modeste! She fold the arms and raisethe head, but the heart is broken. "

"Jove! I almost wish they had driven us out! Dear seņora--" Russell andBenicia were walking up and down the corridor--"we have become friends, true friends, as sometimes happens--not often--between man and woman. Cease to think of me as an officer of the United States navy, only as aman devoted to your service. I have already spent many pleasant hourswith you. Let me hope that while I remain here neither CommodoreStockton nor party feeling will exclude me from many more. "

She raised her graceful hand to her chin with a gesture peculiar to her, and looked upward with a glance half sad, half bitter. 

"I much appreciate your friendship, Capitan Brotherton. You give me muchadvice that is good for me, and tell me many things. It is like theocean wind when you have live long in the hot valley. Yes, dear friend, I forget you are in the navy of the conqueror. "

"Mamacita, " broke in Benicia's light voice, "tell us now when we canhave the peek-neek. "

"To-morrow night. "

"Surely?"

"Surely, niņita. "

"Castro, " said Russell, lifting his cap, "peace be with thee. "

VIII

The great masses of rock on the ocean's coast shone white in themoonlight. Through the gaunt outlying rocks, lashed apart by furiousstorms, boiled the ponderous breakers, tossing aloft the sparklingclouds of spray, breaking in the pools like a million silver fishes. High above the waves, growing out of the crevices of the massive rocksof the shore, were weird old cypresses, their bodies bent from theocean as if petrified in flight before the mightier foe. On their gauntoutstretched arms and gray bodies, seamed with time, knobs like humanmuscles jutted; between the broken bark the red blood showed. Fromtheir angry hands, clutching at the air or doubled in imprecation, longstrands of gray-green moss hung, waving and coiling, in the night wind. Only one old man was on his hands and knees as if to crawl from thefield; but a comrade spurned him with his foot and wound his bony handabout the coward's neck. Another had turned his head to the enemy, pointing his index finger in scorn, although he stood alone on high. 

All along the cliffs ran the ghostly army, sometimes with strainingarms fighting the air, sometimes thrust blankly outward, all with lifequivering in their arrested bodies, silent and scornful in their defeat. Who shall say what winter winds first beat them, what great waves firstfought their deathless trunks, what young stars first shone over them?They have outstood centuries of raging storm and rending earthquake. Tradition says that until convulsion wrenched the Golden Gate apart theSan Franciscan waters rolled through the long valleys and emptied intothe Bay of Monterey. But the old cypresses were on the ocean justbeyond; the incoming and the outgoing of the inland ocean could nottrouble them; and perhaps they will stand there until the end of time. 

Down the long road by the ocean rode a gay cavalcade. The caballeros hadhaughtily refused to join the party, and the men wore the blue and goldof the United States. 

But the women wore fluttering mantillas, and their prancinghigh-stepping horses were trapped with embossed leather and silver. In alumbering "wagon of the country, " drawn by oxen, running on solid wheelscut from the trunks of trees, but padded with silk, rode some of theolder people of the town, disapproving, but overridden by the impatiententhusiasm of Doņa Eustaquia. Through the pine woods with their softlymoving shadows and splendid aisles, out between the cypresses and rockybeach, wound the stately cavalcade, their voices rising above thesociable converse of the seals and the screeching of the seagullsspiking the rocks where the waves fought and foamed. The gold on theshoulders of the men flashed in the moonlight; the jewels of the womensparkled and winked. Two by two they came like a conquering army to therescue of the cypresses. Brotherton, who rode ahead with Doņa Eustaquia, half expected to see the old trees rise upright with a deep shout ofwelcome. 

When they reached a point where the sloping rocks rose high above surfand spray, they dismounted, leaving the Indian servants to tether thehorses. They climbed down the big smooth rocks and sat about in groups, although never beyond the range of older eyes, the cypresses loweringabove them, the ocean tearing through the outer rocks to swirl andgrumble in the pools. The moon was so bright, its light so broad andsilver, they almost could imagine they saw the gorgeous mass of colourin the pools below. 

"You no have seaweed like that in Boston, " said Benicia, who had acomprehensive way of symbolizing the world by the city from which shegot many of her clothes and all of her books. 

"Indeed, no!" said Russell. "The other day I sat for hours watchingthose great bunches and strands that look like richly coloured chenille. And there were stones that looked like big opals studded with vividjewels. God of my soul, as you say, it was magnificent! I never saw suchbrilliant colour, such delicate tints! And those great rugged defiantrocks out there, lashed by the waves! Look at that one; misty with sprayone minute, bare and black the next! They look like an old castle whichhas been battered down with cannon. Captain, do you not feel romantic?"

"I feel that I never want to go into an art gallery again. No wonder thewomen of California are original. "

"Benicia, " said Russell, "I have tried in vain to learn a Spanish song. But teach me a Spanish phrase of endearment. All our 'darlings' and'dearests' are too flat for California. "

"Bueno; I teach you. Say after me: Mi muy querida prima. That is verysweet. Say. "

"Mi muy--"

"Querida prima. "

"Que--What is it in English?"

"My--very--darling--first. It no sound so pretty in English. "

"It does very well. My--very--darling--first--if all these people werenot about us, I should kiss you. You look exactly like a flower. "

"Si you did, Seņor Impertinencio, you get that for thanks. "

Russell jumped to his feet with a shout, and shook from his neck alittle crab with a back like green velvet and legs like carven garnet. 

"Did you put that crab on my neck, seņorita?"

"Si, seņor. "

A sulky silence of ten minutes ensued, during which Benicia sent littlestones skipping down into the silvered pools, and Russell, againrecumbent, stared at the horizon. 

"Si you no can talk, " she said finally, "I wish you go way and let DonHenry Tallant come talk to me. He look like he want. "

"No doubt he does; but he can stay where he is. Let me kiss your hand, Benicia, and I will forgive you. "

Benicia hit his mouth lightly with the back of her hand, but he capturedit and kissed it several times. 

"Your mustache feels like the cat's, " said she. 

He flung the hand from him, but laughed in a moment. "How sentimentalyou are! Making love to you is like dragging a cannon uphill! Will younot at least sing me a love-song? And please do not make faces in thetender parts. "

Benicia tossed her spirited head, but took her guitar from its case andcalled to the other girls to accompany her. They withdrew from theirvarious flirtations with audible sighs, but it was Benicia's merienda, and in a moment a dozen white hands were sweeping the long notes fromthe strings. 

Russell moved to a lower rock, and lying at Benicia's feet lookedupward. The scene was all above him--the great mass of white rocks, whiter in the moonlight; the rigid cypresses aloft; the beautiful faces, dreamy, passionate, stolid, restless, looking from the lace mantillas;the graceful arms holding the guitars; the sweet rich voices threadingthrough the roar of the ocean like the melody in a grand recitativo; theold men and women crouching like buzzards on the stones, their sharpeyes never closing; enfolding all with an almost palpable touch, thewarm voluptuous air. Now and again a bird sang a few notes, a strangesound in the night, or the soft wind murmured like the ocean's echothrough the pines. 

The song finished. "Benicia, I love you, " whispered Russell. 

"We will now eat, " said Benicia. "Mamma, "--she raised her voice, --"shallI tell Raphael to bring down the supper?"

"Yes, niņa. "

The girl sprang lightly up the rocks, followed by Russell. The Indianservants were some distance off, and as the young people ran through apine grove the bold officer of the United States squadron captured theCalifornian and kissed her on the mouth. She boxed his ears and escapedto the light. 

Benicia gave her orders, Raphael and the other Indians followed her withthe baskets, and spread the supper of tomales and salads, dulces andwine, on a large table-like rock, just above the threatening spray; thegirls sang each in turn, whilst the others nibbled the dainties DoņaEustaquia had provided, and the Americans wondered if it were not avision that would disappear into the fog bearing down upon them. 

A great white bank, writhing and lifting, rolling and bending, cameacross the ocean slowly, with majestic stealth, hiding the swingingwaves on which it rode so lightly, shrouding the rocks, enfolding themen and women, wreathing the cypresses, rushing onward to the pines. 

"We must go, " said Doņa Eustaquia, rising. "There is danger to stay. Thelungs, the throat, my children. Look at the poor old cypresses. "

The fog was puffing through the gaunt arms, festooning the rigid hands. It hung over the green heads, it coiled about the gray trunks. The sterndefeated trees looked like the phantoms of themselves, a long silentbattalion of petrified ghosts. Even Benicia's gay spirit was oppressed, and during the long ride homeward through the pine woods she had littleto say to her equally silent companion. 

IX

Doņa Eustaquia seldom gave balls, but once a week she opened her salasto the more intellectual people of the town. A few Americans were everattendant; General Vallejo often came from Sonoma to hear the latestAmerican and Mexican news in her house; Castro rarely had been absent;Alvarado, in the days of his supremacy, could always be found there, andshe was the first woman upon whom Pio Pico called when he deigned tovisit Monterey. A few young people came to sit in a corner with Benicia, but they had little to say. 

The night after the picnic some fifteen or twenty people were gatheredabout Doņa Eustaquia in the large sala on the right of the hall; a fewothers were glancing over the Mexican papers in the little sala on theleft. The room was ablaze with many candles standing, above the headsof the guests, in twisted silver candelabra, the white walls reflectingtheir light. The floor was bare, the furniture of stiff mahogany andhorse-hair, but no visitor to that quaint ugly room ever thought oflooking beyond the brilliant face of Doņa Eustaquia, the lovely eyes ofher daughter, the intelligence and animation of the people she gatheredabout her. As a rule Doņa Modeste Castro's proud head and strange beautyhad been one of the living pictures of that historical sala, but she wasnot there to-night. 

As Captain Brotherton and Lieutenant Russell entered, Doņa Eustaquia waswaging war against Mr. Larkin. 

"And what hast thou to say to that proclamation of thy little Americanhero, thy Commodore"--she gave the word a satirical roll, impossible totranscribe--"who is heir to a conquest without blood, who struts intohistory as the Commander of the United States Squadron of the Pacific, holding a few hundred helpless Californians in subjection? O warlikename of Sloat! O heroic name of Stockton! O immortal Frémont, princeof strategists and tacticians, your country must be proud of you! Yournewspapers will glorify you! Sometime, perhaps, you will have a littlehistory bound in red morocco all to yourselves; whilst Castro--" shesprang to her feet and brought her open palm down violently upon thetable, "Castro, the real hero of this country, the great man ready todie a thousand deaths for the liberty of the Californians, a man who wasmade for great deeds and born for fame, he will be left to rust and rotbecause we have no newspapers to glorify him, and the Gringos send whatthey wish to their country! Oh, profanation! That a great man should becovered from sight by an army of red ants!"

"By Jove!" said Russell, "I wish I could understand her! Doesn't shelook magnificent?"

Captain Brotherton made no reply. He was watching her closely, gatheringthe sense of her words, full of passionate admiration for the woman. Hertall majestic figure was quivering under the lash of her fiery temper, quick to spring and strike. The red satin of her gown and the diamondson her finely moulded neck and in the dense coils of her hair grew dimbefore the angry brilliancy of her eyes. 

The thin sensitive lips of Mr. Larkin curled with their accustomedhumour, but he replied sincerely, "Yes, Castro is a hero, a great man ona small canvas--"

"And they are little men on a big canvas!" interrupted Doņa Eustaquia. 

Mr. Larkin laughed, but his reply was non-committal. "Remember, theyhave done all that they have been called upon to do, and they have doneit well. Who can say that they would not be as heroic, if opportunityoffered, as they have been prudent?"

Doņa Eustaquia shrugged her shoulders disdainfully, but resumed herseat. "You will not say, but you know what chance they would have withCastro in a fair fight. But what chance has even a great man, when atthe head of a few renegades, against the navy of a big nation? ButFrémont! Is he to cast up his eyes and draw down his mouth to the world, whilst the man who acted for the safety of his country alone, who showedforesight and wisdom, is denounced as a violator of internationalcourtesy?"

"No, " said one of the American residents who stood near, "history willright all that. Some day the world will know who was the great and whothe little man. "

"Some day! When we are under our stones! This swaggering CommodoreStockton adores Frémont and hates Castro. His lying proclamation will beread in his own country--"

The door opened suddenly and Don Fernando Altimira entered the room. "Have you heard?" he cried. "All the South is in arms! The DepartmentalAssembly has called the whole country to war, and men are flocking tothe standard! Castro has sworn that he will never give up the countryunder his charge. Now, Mother of God! let our men drive the usurper fromthe country. "

Even Mr. Larkin sprang to his feet in excitement. He rapidly translatedthe news to Brotherton and Russell. 

"Ah! There will be a little blood, then, " said the younger officer. "Itwas too easy a victory to count. "

Every one in the room was talking at once. Doņa Eustaquia smote herhands together, then clasped and raised them aloft. 

"Thanks to God!" she cried. "California has come to her senses at last!"

Altimira bent his lips to her ear. "I go to fight the Americans, " hewhispered. 

She caught his hand between both her own and pressed it convulsively toher breast. "Go, " she said, "and may God and Mary protect thee. Go, myson, and when thou returnest I will give thee Benicia. Thou art a sonafter my heart, a brave man and a good Catholic. "

Benicia, standing near, heard the words. For the first time Russell sawthe expression of careless audacity leave her face, her pink colourfade. 

"What is that man saying to your mother?" he demanded. 

"She promise me to him when he come back; he go to join General Castro. "

"Benicia!" He glanced about. Altimira had left the house. Every one wastoo excited to notice them. He drew her across the hall and into thelittle sala, deserted since the startling news had come. "Benicia, " hesaid hurriedly, "there is no time to be lost. You are such a butterfly Ihardly know whether you love me or not. "

"I no am such butterfly as you think, " said the girl, pathetically. "Ioften am very gay, for that is my spirit, seņor; but I cry sometimes inthe night. "

"Well, you are not to cry any more, my very darling first!" He took herin his arms and kissed her, and she did not box his ears. "I may beordered off at any moment, and what may they not do with you while I amgone? So I have a plan! Marry me to-morrow!"

"Ay! Seņor!"

"To-morrow. At your friend Blandina's house. The Hernandez like theAmericans; in fact, as we all know, Tallant is in love with Blandina andthe old people do not frown. They will let us marry there. "

"Ay! Cielo santo! What my mother say? She kill me!"

"She will forgive you, no matter how angry she may be at first. Sheloves you--almost as much as I do. "

The girl withdrew from his arms and walked up and down the room. Herface was very pale, and she looked older. On one side of the room hunga large black cross, heavily mounted with gold. She leaned her faceagainst it and burst into tears. "Ay, my home! My mother!" she criedunder her breath. "How I can leave you? Ay, triste de mi!" She turnedsuddenly to Russell, whose face was as white as her own, and put to himthe question which we have not yet answered. "What is this love?" shesaid rapidly. "I no can understand. I never feel before. Always I laughwhen men say they love me; but I never laugh again. In my heart issomething that shake me like a lion shake what it go to kill, and makeme no care for my mother or my God--and you are a Protestant! I havelove my mother like I have love that cross; and now a man come--astranger! a conqueror! a Protestant! an American! And he twist my heartout with his hands! But I no can help. I love you and I go. "

X

The next morning, Doņa Eustaquia looked up from her desk as Beniciaentered the room. "I am writing to Alvarado, " she said. "I hope to bethe first to tell him the glorious news. Ay! my child, go to thy altarand pray that the bandoleros may be driven wriggling from the land likesnakes out of a burning field!"

"But, mother, I thought you had learned to like the Gringos. "

"I like the Gringos well enough, but I hate their flag! Ay! I will pullit down with my own hands if Castro and Pico roll Stockton and Frémontin the dust!"

"I am sorry for that, my mother, for I am going to marry an Americanto-day. "

Her mother laughed and glanced over the closely written page. 

"I am going to marry the Lieutenant Russell at Blandina's house thismorning. "

"Ay, run, run. I must finish my letter. "

Benicia left the sala and crossing her mother's room entered her own. From the stout mahogany chest she took white silk stockings and satinslippers, and sitting down on the floor put them on. Then she opened thedoors of her wardrobe and looked for some moments at the many prettyfrocks hanging there. She selected one of fine white lawn, half coveredwith deshalados, and arrayed herself. She took from the drawer of thewardrobe a mantilla of white Spanish lace, and draped it about her headand shoulders, fastening it back above one ear with a pink rose. Aroundher throat she clasped a string of pearls, then stood quietly in themiddle of the room and looked about her. In one corner was a littlebrass bedstead covered with a heavy quilt of satin and lace. Thepillow-cases were almost as fine and elaborate as her gown. In theopposite corner was an altar with little gold candlesticks and an ivorycrucifix. The walls and floor were bare but spotless. The ugly wardrobebuilt into the thick wall never had been empty: Doņa Eustaquia'sgenerosity to the daughter she worshipped was unbounded. 

Benicia drew a long hysterical breath and went over to the window. Itlooked upon a large yard enclosed by the high adobe wall upon which herlovers so often had sat and sung to her. No flowers were in the garden, not even a tree. It was as smooth and clean as the floor of a ballroom. About the well in the middle were three or four Indian servantsquarrelling good-naturedly. The house stood on the rise of one of thecrescent's horns. Benicia looked up at the dark pine woods on thehill. What days she had spent there with her mother! She whirled aboutsuddenly and taking a large fan from the table returned to the sala. 

Doņa Eustaquia laughed. "Thou silly child, to dress thyself like abride. What nonsense is this?"

"I will be a bride in an hour, my mother. "

"Go! Go, with thy nonsense! I have spoiled thee! What other girl inMonterey would dare to dress herself like this at eleven in the morning?Go! And do not ruin that mantilla, for thou wilt not get another. Thouart going to Blandina's, no? Be sure thou goest no farther! I would notlet thee go there alone were it not so near. And be sure thou speakestto no man in the street. "

"No, mamacita, I will speak to no man in the street, but one awaits mein the house. Hasta luego. " And she flitted out of the door and up thestreet. 

XI

A few hours later Doņa Eustaquia sat in the large and cooler salawith Captain Brotherton. He read Shakespeare to her whilst she fannedherself, her face aglow with intelligent pleasure. She had not broachedto him the uprising in the South lest it should lead to bitter words. Although an American and a Protestant, few friends had ever stood soclose to her. 

He laid down the book as Russell and Benicia entered the room. DoņaEustaquia's heavy brows met. 

"Thou knowest that I do not allow thee to walk with on the street, " shesaid in Spanish. 

"But, mamacita, he is my husband. We were married this morning atBlandina's, " Excitement had tuned Benicia's spirit to its accustomedpitch, and her eyes danced with mischief. Moreover, although sheexpected violent reproaches, she knew the tenacious strength of hermother's affection, and had faith in speedy forgiveness. 

Brotherton opened his eyes, but Doņa Eustaquia moved back her headimpatiently. "That silly joke!" Then she smiled at her own impatience. What was Benicia but a spoiled child, and spoiled children would disobeyat times. "Welcome, my son, " she said to Russell, extending her hand. "We celebrate your marriage at the supper to-night, and the Captainhelps us, no? my friend. "

"Let us have chicken with red pepper and tomato sauce, " cried Russell. "And rice with saffron; and that delightful dish with which Iremonstrate all night--olives and cheese and hard-boiled eggs and redpeppers all rolled up in corn-meal cakes. "

"Enchiladas? You have them! Now, both you go over to the corner and talknot loud, for I wish to hear my friend read. "

Russell, lifting his shoulders, did as he was bidden. Benicia, with agay laugh, kissed her mother and flitted like a butterfly about theroom, singing gay little snatches of song. 

"Oh, mamacita, mamacita, " she chanted. "Thou wilt not believe thou hastlost thy little daughter. Thou wilt not believe thou hast a son. Thouwilt not believe I shall sleep no more in the little brass bed--"

"Benicia, hold thy saucy tongue! Sit down!" And this Benicia finallyconsented to do, although smothered laughter came now and again from thecorner. 

Dona Eustaquia sat easily against the straight back of her chair, looking very handsome and placid as Brotherton read and expounded "AsYou Like It" to her. Her gown of thin black silk threw out the finegray tones of her skin; about her neck and chest was a heavy chain ofCalifornian gold; her dense lustreless hair was held high with a shellcomb banded with gold; superb jewels weighted her little white hands; inher small ears were large hoops of gold studded with black pearls. Shewas perfectly contented in that hour. Her woman's vanity was at peaceand her eager mind expanding. 

The party about the supper table in the evening was very gay. The longroom was bare, but heavy silver was beyond the glass doors of thecupboard; a servant stood behind each chair; the wines were as fineas any in America, and the favourite dishes of the Americans had beenprepared. Even Brotherton, although more nervous than was usual withhim, caught the contagion of the hour and touched his glass more thanonce to that of the woman whose overwhelming personality had more thanhalf captured a most indifferent heart. 

After supper they sat on the corridor, and Benicia sang her mockinglove-songs and danced El Son to the tinkling of her own guitar. 

"Is she not a light-hearted child?" asked her mother. "But she has herserious moments, my friend. We have been like the sisters. Every path ofthe pine woods we walk together, arm in arm. We ride miles on the beachand sit down on the rocks for hours and try to think what the sealssay one to the other. Before you come I have friends, but no othercompanion; but it is good for me you come, for she think only offlirting since the Americans take Monterey. Mira! Look at her flash theeyes at Seņor Russell. It is well he has the light heart like herself. "

Brotherton made no reply. 

"Give to me the guitar, " she continued. 

Benicia handed her the instrument and Doņa Eustaquia swept the chordsabsently for a moment then sang the song of the troubadour. Her richvoice was like the rush of the wind through the pines after the lighttrilling of a bird, and even Russell sat enraptured. As she sang thecolour came into her face, alight with the fire of youth. Her low noteswere voluptuous, her high notes rang with piercing sadness. As shefinished, a storm of applause came from Alvarado Street, which pulsedwith life but a few yards below them. 

"No American woman ever sang like that, " said Brotherton. He rose andwalked to the end of the corridor. "But it is a part of Monterey. "

"Most enchanting of mothers-in-law, " said Russell, "you have made itdoubly hard for us to leave you; but it grows late and my wife and Imust go. Good night, " and he raised her hand to his lips. 

"Good night, my son. "

"Mamacita, good night, " and Benicia, who had fluttered into the houseand found a reboso, kissed her mother, waved her hand to Brotherton, andstepped from the corridor to the street. 

"Come here, seņorita!" cried her mother. "No walk to-night, for I havenot the wish to walk myself. "

"But I go with my husband, mamma. "

"Oh, no more of that joke without sense! Seņor Russell, go home, thatshe have reason for one moment. "

"But, dear Doņa Eustaquia, won't you understand that we are reallymarried?"

Doņa Eustaquia's patience was at an end. She turned to Brotherton andaddressed a remark to him. Russell and Benicia conferred a moment, thenthe young man walked rapidly down the street. 

"Has he gone?" asked Doņa Eustaquia. "Then let us go in the house, forthe fog comes from the bay. "

They went into the little sala and sat about the table. Doņa Eustaquiapicked up a silver dagger she used as a paper cutter and tapped a bookwith it. 

"Ay, this will not last long, " she said to Brotherton. "I much am afraidyour Commodore send you to the South to fight with our men. "

"I shall return, " said Brotherton, absently. His eyes were fixed on thedoor. 

"But it will not be long that you will be there, my friend. Many peopleare not killed in our wars. Once there was a great battle at PointRincon, near Santa Barbara, between Castro and Carillo. Carillo havebeen appointed governor by Mejico, and Alvarado refuse to resign. Theyfight for three days, and Castro manage so well he lose only one man, and the others run away and not lose any. "

Brotherton laughed. "I hope all our battles may be as bloodless, " hesaid, and then drew a short breath. 

Russell, accompanied by Don Jorje and Doņa Francesca Hernandez and thepriest of Monterey, entered the room. 

Doņa Eustaquia rose and greeted her guests with grace and hospitality. 

"But I am glad to see you, my father, my friends. And you always arewelcome, Seņor Russell; but no more joke. Where is our Blandina? Sitdown--Why, what is it?"

The priest spoke. 

"I have that to tell you, Doņa Eustaquia, which I fear will give yougreat displeasure. I hoped not to be the one to tell it. I was weak toconsent, but these young people importuned me until I was weary. DoņaEustaquia, I married Benicia to the Seņor Russell to-day. "

Doņa Eustaquia's head had moved forward mechanically, her eyes staringincredulously from the priest to the other members of the apprehensivegroup. Suddenly her apathy left her, her arm curved upward like the neckof a snake; but as she sprang upon Benicia her ferocity was that of atiger. 

"What!" she shrieked, shaking the girl violently by the shoulder. "What!ingrate! traitor! Thou hast married an American, a Protestant!"

Benicia burst into terrified sobs. Russell swung the girl from hermother's grasp and placed his arm around her. 

"She is mine now, " he said. "You must not touch her again. "

"Yours! Yours!" screamed Doņa Eustaquia, beside herself. "Oh, Mother ofGod!" She snatched the dagger from the table and, springing backward, plunged it into the cross. 

"By that sign I curse thee, " she cried. "Accursed be the man who hasstolen my child! Accursed be the woman who has betrayed her mother andher country! God! God!--I implore thee, let her die in her happiesthour. "

XII

On August twelfth Commodore Hull arrived on the frigate _Warren_, fromMazatlan, and brought the first positive intelligence of the declarationof war between Mexico and the United States. Before the middle ofthe month news came that Castro and Pico, after gallant defence, butoverwhelmed by numbers, had fled, the one to Sonora, the other to BajaCalifornia. A few days after, Stockton issued a proclamation to theeffect that the flag of the United States was flying over every townin the territory of California; and Alcalde Colton announced that therancheros were more than satisfied with the change of government. 

A month later a mounted courier dashed into Monterey with a note fromthe Alcalde of Los Angeles, wrapped about a cigarito and hidden in hishair. The note contained the information that all the South was inarms again, and that Los Angeles was in the hands of the Californians. Russell was ordered to go with Captain Mervine, on the _Savannah_, to join Gillespie at San Pedro; Brotherton was left at Monterey withLieutenant Maddox and a number of men to quell a threatened uprising. Later came the news of Mervine's defeat and the night of Talbot fromSanta Barbara; and by November California was in a state of generalwarfare, each army receiving new recruits every day. 

Doņa Eustaquia, hard and stern, praying for the triumph of her people, lived alone in the old house. Benicia, praying for the return of herhusband and the relenting of her mother, lived alone in her little houseon the hill. Friends had interceded, but Doņa Eustaquia had closed herears. Brotherton went to her one day with the news that LieutenantRussell was wounded. 

"I must tell Benicia, " he said, "but it is you who should do that. "

"She betray me, my friend. "

"Oh, Eustaquia, make allowance for the lightness of youth. She barelyrealized what she did. But she loves him now, and suffers bitterly. Sheshould be with you. "

"Ay! She suffer for another! She love a strange man--an American--betterthan her mother! And it is I who would die for her! Ay, you coldAmericans! Never you know how a mother can love her child. "

"The Americans know how to love, seņora. And Benicia was thoroughlyspoiled by her devoted mother. She was carried away by her wild spirits, nothing more. "

"Then much better she live on them now. "

Doņa Eustaquia sat with her profile against the light. It looked severeand a little older, but she was very handsome in her rich black gown andthe gold chain about her strong throat. Her head, as usual, was held alittle back. Brotherton sat down beside her and took her hand. 

"Eustaquia, " he said, "no friendship between man and woman was everdeeper and stronger than ours. In spite of the anxiety and excitement ofthese last months we have found time to know each other very intimately. So you will forgive me if I tell you that the more a friend loves youthe more he must be saddened by the terrible iron in your nature. Onlythe great strength of your passions has saved you from hardening into anugly and repellent woman. You are a mother; forgive your child; rememberthat she, too, is about to be a mother--"

She caught his hand between both of hers with a passionate gesture. "Oh, my friend, " she said, "do not too much reproach me! You never have achild, you cannot know! And remember we all are not make alike. If youare me, you act like myself. If I am you, I can forgive more easy. ButI am Eustaquia Ortega, and as I am make, so I do feel now. No judge toohard, my friend, and--_infelez de mi!_ do not forsake me. "

"I will never forsake you, Eustaquia. " He rose suddenly. "I, too, am alonely man, if not a hard one, and I recognize that cry of the soul'sisolation. "

He left her and went up the hill to Benicia's little house, half hiddenby the cypress trees that grew before it. 

She was sitting in her sala working an elaborate deshalados on a baby'sgown. Her face was pale, and the sparkle had gone out of it; but sheheld herself with all her mother's pride, and her soft eyes were deeper. She rose as Captain Brotherton entered, and took his hand in both ofhers. "You are so good to come to me, and I love you for your friendshipfor my mother. Tell me how she is. "

"She is well, Benicia. " Then he exclaimed suddenly: "Poor little girl!What a child you are--not yet seventeen. "

"In a few months, seņor. Sit down. No? And I no am so young now. When wesuffer we grow more than by the years; and now I go to have the baby, that make me feel very old. "

"But it is very sad to see you alone like this, without your husband oryour mother. She will relent some day, Benicia, but I wish she would doit now, when you most need her. "

"Yes, I wish I am with her in the old house, " said the girl, pathetically, although she winked back the tears. "Never I can be happywithout her, even si _he_ is here, and you know how I love him. But Ihave love her so long; she is--how you say it?--like she is part of me, and when she no spik to me, how I can be happy with all myself when partis gone. You understand, seņor?"

"Yes, Benicia, I understand. " He looked through the bending cypresses, down the hill, upon the fair town. He had no relish for the task whichhad brought him to her. She looked up and caught the expression of hisface. 

"Seņor!" she cried sharply. "What you go to tell me?"

"There is a report that Ned is slightly wounded; but it is not serious. It was Altimira who did it, I believe. "

She shook from head to foot, but was calmer than he had expected. Shelaid the gown on a chair and stood up. "Take me to him. Si he is wound, I go to nurse him. "

"My child! You would die before you got there. I have sent a specialcourier to find out the truth. If Ned is wounded, I have arranged tohave him sent home immediately. "

"I wait for the courier come back, for it no is right I hurt the baby siI can help. But si he is wound so bad he no can come, then I go to him. It no is use for you to talk at all, seņor, I go. "

Brotherton looked at her in wonderment. Whence had the butterfly gone?Its wings had been struck from it and a soul had flown in. 

"Let me send Blandina to you, " he said. "You must not be alone. "

"I am alone till he or my mother come. I no want other. I love Blandinabefore, but now she make me feel tired. She talk so much and no sayanything. I like better be alone. "

"Poor child!" said Brotherton, bitterly, "truly do love and sufferingage and isolate. " He motioned with his hand to the altar in her bedroom, seen through the open door. "I have not your faith, I am afraid I havenot much of any; but if I cannot pray for you, I can wish with all thestrength of a man's heart that happiness will come to you yet, Benicia. "

She shook her head. "I no know; I no believe much happiness come inthis life. Before, I am like a fairy; but it is only because I no am_un_happy. But when the heart have wake up, seņor, and the knife havegone in hard, then, after that, always, I think, we are a little sad. "

XIII

General Kearney and Lieutenant Beale walked rapidly up and down beforethe tents of the wretched remnant of United States troops with which theformer had arrived overland in California. It was bitterly cold in spiteof the fine drizzling rain. Lonely buttes studded the desert, whosepalms and cacti seemed to spring from the rocks; high on one of them wasthe American camp. On the other side of a river flowing at the foot ofthe butte, the white tents of the Californians were scattered among thedark huts of the little pueblo of San Pasqual. 

"Let me implore you, General, " said Beale, "not to think of meetingAndres Pico. Why, your men are half starved; your few horses arebroken-winded; your mules are no match for the fresh trained mustangs ofthe enemy. I am afraid you do not appreciate the Californians. They arenumerous, brave, and desperate. If you avoid them now, as CommodoreStockton wishes, and join him at San Diego, we stand a fair chanceof defeating them. But now Pico's cavalry and foot are fresh andenthusiastic--in painful contrast to yours. And, moreover, they knowevery inch of the ground. "

Kearney impatiently knocked the ashes out of his pipe. He had littleregard for Stockton, and no intention of being dictated to by atruculent young lieutenant who spoke his mind upon all occasions. 

"I shall attack them at daybreak, " he said curtly. "I have one hundredand thirty good men; and has not Captain Gillespie joined me with hisbattalion? Never shall it be said that I turned aside to avoid a handfulof boasting Californians. Now go and get an hour's sleep before westart. "

The young officer shrugged his shoulders, saluted, and walked downthe line of tents. A man emerged from one of them, and he recognizedRussell. 

"Hello, Ned, " he said. "How's the arm?"

"'Twas only a scratch. Is Altimira down there with Pico, do you know? Heis a brave fellow! I respect that man; but we have an account to settle, and I hope it will be done on the battle-field. "

"He is with Pico, and he has done some good fighting. Most of theCalifornians have. They know how to fight and they are perfectlyfearless. Kearney will find it out to-morrow. He is mad to attack them. Why, his men are actually cadaverous. Bueno! as they say here; Stocktonsent me to guide him to San Diego. If he prefers to go through theenemy's lines, there is nothing for me to do but take him. "

"Yes, but we may surprise them. I wish to God this imitation war wereover!"

"It will be real enough before you get through. Don't worry. Well, goodnight. Luck to your skin. "

At daybreak the little army marched down the butte, shivering with cold, wet to the skin. Those on horseback naturally proceeded more rapidlythan those mounted upon the clumsy stubborn mules; and Captain Johnson, who led the advance guard of twelve dragoons, found himself, when hecame in sight of the enemy's camp, some distance ahead of the main bodyof Kearney's small army. To his surprise he saw that the Californianswere not only awake, but horsed and apparently awaiting him. Whether hewas fired by valour or desperation at the sight is a disputed point;but he made a sudden dash down the hill and across the river, almostflinging himself upon the lances of the Californians. 

Captain Moore, who was ambling down the hill on an old white horse atthe head of fifty dragoons mounted on mules, spurred his beast as hewitnessed the foolish charge of the advance, and arrived upon the fieldin time to see Johnson fall dead and to take his place. Pico, seeingthat reënforcements were coming, began to retreat, followed hotly byMoore and the horsed dragoons. Suddenly, however, Fernando Altimiraraised himself in his stirrups, looked back, laughed and galloped acrossthe field to General Pico. 

"Look!" he said. "Only a few men on horses are after us. The mules arestumbling half a mile behind. "

Pico wheeled about, gave the word of command, and bore down upon theAmericans. Then followed a hand-to-hand conflict, the Californianslancing and using their pistols with great dexterity, the Americansdoing the best they could with their rusty sabres and clubbed guns. 

They were soon reënforced by Moore's dragoons and Gillespie's battalion, despite the unwilling mules; but the brutes kicked and bucked at everypistol shot and fresh cloud of smoke. The poor old horses wheezed andpanted, but stood their ground when not flung out of position by thefrantic mules. The officers and soldiers of the United States army werea sorry sight, and in pointed contrast to the graceful Californians ontheir groomed steeds, handsomely trapped, curvetting and rearing andprancing as lightly as if on the floor of a circus. Kearney cursed hisown stupidity, and Pico laughed in his face. Beale felt satisfaction andcompunction in saturating the silk and silver of one fine saddle withthe blood of its owner. The point of the dying man's lance pierced hisface, but he noted the bleaching of Kearney's, as one dragoon afteranother was flung upon the sharp rocks over which his bewildered brutestumbled, or was caught and held aloft in the torturing arms of thecacti. 

On the edge of the battle two men had forgotten the Aztec Eagle and theStars and Stripes; they fought for love of a woman. Neither had had timeto draw his pistol; they fought with lance and sabre, thrusting andparrying. Both were skilful swordsmen, but Altimira's horse was farsuperior to Russell's, and he had the advantage of weapons. 

"One or the other die on the rocks, " said the Californian, "and si Ikill you, I marry Benicia. "

Russell made no reply. He struck aside the man's lance and wounded hiswrist. But Altimira was too excited to feel pain. His face was quiveringwith passion. 

It is not easy to parry a lance with a sabre, and still more difficultto get close enough to wound the man who wields it. Russell rosesuddenly in his stirrups, described a rapid half-circle with his weapon, brought it down midway upon the longer blade, and snapped the latter intwo. Altimira gave a cry of rage, and spurring his horse sought to ridehis opponent down; but Russell wheeled, and the two men simultaneouslysnatched their pistols from the holsters. Altimira fired first, but hishand was unsteady and his ball went through a cactus. Russell raisedhis pistol with firm wrist, and discharged it full in the face of theCalifornian. 

Then he looked over the field. Moore, fatally lanced, lay under a palm, and many of his men were about him. Gillespie was wounded, Kearney hadreceived an ugly thrust. The Californians, upon the arrival of the mainbody of the enemy's troops, had retreated unpursued; the mules attachedto one of the American howitzers were scampering over to the oppositeranks, much to the consternation of Kearney. The sun, looking over themountain, dissipated the gray smoke, and cast a theatrical light on thefaces of the dead. Russell bent over Altimira. His head was shattered, but his death was avenged. Never had an American troop suffered a morehumiliating defeat. Only six Californians lay on the field; and whenthe American surgeon, after attending to his own wounded, offered hisservices to Pico's, that indomitable general haughtily replied that hehad none. 

"By Jove!" said Russell to Beale that night, "you know yourCalifornians! I am prouder than ever of having married one! That army isof the stuff of which my mother-in-law is made!"

XIV

That was a gay Christmas at Monterey, despite the barricades in thestreet. News had come of the defeat of Kearney at San Pasqual, and theMontereņos, inflated with hope and pride, gave little thought to thefact that his forces were now joined with Stockton's at San Diego. 

On Christmas eve light streamed from every window, bonfires flared onthe hills; the streets were illuminated, and every one was abroad. Theclear warm night was ablaze with fireworks; men and women were in theirgala gowns; rockets shot upward amidst shrieks of delight which mingledoddly with the rolling of drums at muster; even the children caught theenthusiasm, religious and patriotic. 

"I suppose you would be glad to see even your friends driven out, " saidBrotherton to Doņa Eustaquia, as they walked through the brilliant towntoward the church: bells called them to witness the dramatic play of"The Shepherds. "

"I be glad to see the impertinent flag come down, " said she, frankly;"but you can make resignation from the army, and have a little store onAlvarado Street. You can have beautiful silks and crępes from America. Ibuy of you. "

"Thanks, " he said grimly. "You would put a dunce cap on poor America, and stand her in a corner. If I resign, Doņa Eustaquia, it will be tobecome a ranchero, not a shopkeeper. To tell the truth, I have littledesire to leave California again. "

"But you were make for the fight, " she said, looking up with some prideat the tall military figure, the erect head and strong features. "Younot were make to lie in the hammock and horseback all day. "

"But I should do a good deal else, seņora. I should raise cattle withsome method; and I should have a library--and a wife. "

"Ah! you go to marry?"

"Some day, I hope. It would be lonely to be a ranchero without a wife. "

"Truly. "

"What is the matter with those women?"

A group of old women stood by the roadside. Their forms were bent, theirbrown faces gnarled like apples. Some were a shapeless mass of fat, others were parchment and bone; about the head and shoulders of each wasa thick black shawl. Near them stood a number of young girls clad inmuslin petticoats, flowered with purple and scarlet. Bright satin shoeswere on their feet, cotton rebosas covered their pretty, pert littleheads. All were looking in one direction, whispering and crossingthemselves. 

Doņa Eustaquia glanced over her shoulder, then leaned heavily onBrotherton's arm. 

"It is Benicia, " she said. "It is because she was cursed and is withchild that they cross themselves. "

Brotherton held her arm closely and laid his hand on hers, but he spokesternly. 

"The curse is not likely to do her any harm. You prayed that she shoulddie when happiest, and you have done your best to make her wretched. "

She did not reply, and they walked slowly onward. Benicia followed, leaning on the arm of an Indian servant. Her friends avoided her, forthey bitterly resented Altimira's death. But she gave them littleregret. Since her husband could not be with her on this Christmas eve, she wished only for reconciliation with her mother. In spite of thecrowd she followed close behind Doņa Eustaquia and Brotherton, holdingher head proudly, but ready to fall at the feet of the woman sheworshipped. 

"My friend, " said Doņa Eustaquia, after a moment, "perhaps it is bestthat I do not forgive her. Were she happy, then might the curse cometrue. "

"She has enough else to make her unhappy. Besides, who ever heard ofa curse coming true? It has worked its will already for the matter ofthat. You kept your child from happiness with her husband during thebrief time she had him. The bitterness of death is a small matter besidethe bitterness of life. You should be satisfied. "

"You are hard, my friend. "

"I see your other faults only to respect and love them. "

"Does she look ill, Captain?"

"She cannot be expected to look like the old Benicia. Of course shelooks ill, and needs care. "

"Look over the shoulder. Does she walk heavily?"

"Very. But as haughtily as do you. "

"Talk of other things for a little while, my friend. "

"Truly there is much to claim the interest to-night. This may be an oldscene to you, but it is novel and fascinating to me. How lovely arethose stately girls, half hidden by their rebosas, telling their beadsas they hurry along. It is the very coquetry of religion. And those--Buthere we are. "

The church was handsomer without than within, for the clever oldpadres that built it had more taste than their successors. About thewhitewashed walls of the interior were poor copies of celebratedpaintings--the Passion of Christ, and an extraordinary group of nudewomen and grinning men representing the temptation of St. Anthony. In aglass case a beautiful figure of the Saviour reclined on a stiff couchclumsily covered with costly stuffs. The Virgin was dressed much likethe aristocratic ladies of Monterey, and the altar was a rainbow oftawdry colours. 

But the ceremonies were interesting, and Brotherton forgot Benicia forthe hour. After the mass the priest held out a small waxen image of theinfant Jesus, and all approached and kissed it. Then from without camethe sound of a guitar; the worshippers arose and ranged themselvesagainst the wall; six girls dressed as shepherdesses; a man representingLucifer; two others, a hermit and the lazy vagabond Bartola; a boy, thearchangel Gabriel, entered the church. They bore banners and marchedto the centre of the building, then acted their drama with religiousfervour. 

The play began with the announcement by Gabriel of the birth of theSaviour, and exhortations to repair to the manger. On the road camethe temptation of Lucifer; the archangel appeared once more; a violentaltercation ensued in which all took part, and finally the prince ofdarkness was routed. Songs and fanciful by-play, brief sermons, music, gay and solemn, diversified the strange performance. When all was over, the players were followed by an admiring crowd to the entertainmentawaiting them. 

"Is it not beautiful--our Los Pastores?" demanded Doņa Eustaquia, looking up at Brotherton, her fine face aglow with enthusiasm. "Do notyou feel the desire to be a Catholic, my friend?"

"Rather would I see two good Catholics united, dear seņora, " and heturned suddenly to Benicia, who also had remained in the church, almostat her mother's side. 

"Mamacita!" cried Benicia. 

Doņa Eustaquia opened her arms and caught the girl passionately to herheart; and Brotherton left the church. 

XV

The April flowers were on the hills. Beds of gold-red poppies andsilver-blue baby eyes were set like tiles amidst the dense greenundergrowth beneath the pines, and on the natural lawns about the whitehouses. Although hope of driving forth the intruder had gone forever inJanuary, Monterey had resumed in part her old gayety; despair had bredphilosophy. But Monterey was Monterey no longer. An American alcaldewith a power vested in no judge of the United States ruled over her; toadd injury to insult, he had started a newspaper. The town was full ofAmericans; the United States was constructing a fort on the hill; aboveall, worse than all, the Californians were learning the value of money. Their sun was sloping to the west. 

A thick India shawl hung over the window of Benicia's old room in hermother's house, shutting out the perfume of the hills. A carpet had beenthrown on the floor, candles burned in the pretty gold candlesticks thathad stood on the altar since Benicia's childhood. On the little brassbedstead lay Benicia, very pale and very pretty, her transparent skinfaintly reflecting the pink of the satin coverlet. By the bed sat an oldwoman of the people. Her ragged white locks were bound about by a filletof black silk; her face, dark as burnt umber, was seamed and lined likea withered prune; even her long broad nose was wrinkled; her dull eyeslooked like mud-puddles; her big underlip was pursed up as if she hadbeen speaking mincing words, and her chin was covered with a short whitestubble. Over her coarse smock and gown she wore a black cotton reboso. In her arms she held an infant, muffled in a white lace mantilla. 

Doņa Eustaquia came in and bent over the baby, her strong face alightwith joy. 

"Didst thou ever nurse so beautiful a baby?" she demanded. 

The old woman grunted; she had heard that question before. 

"See how pink and smooth it is--not red and wrinkled like other babies!How becoming is that mantilla! No, she shall not be wrapped in blankets, cap, and shawls. "

"She catch cold, most likely, " grunted the nurse. 

"In this weather? No; it is soft as midsummer. I cannot get cool. Ay, she looks like a rosebud lying in a fog-bank!" She touched the baby'scheek with her finger, then sat on the bed, beside her daughter. "And how dost thou feel, my little one? Thou wert a baby thyself butyesterday, and thou art not much more to-day. "

"I feel perfectly well, my mother, and--ay, Dios, so happy! Where isEdourdo?"

"Of course! Always the husband! They are all alike! Hast thou not thymother and thy baby?"

"I adore you both, mamacita, but I want Edourdo. Where is he?"

Her mother grimaced. "I suppose it is no use to protest. Well, my littleone, I think he is at this moment on the hill with Lieutenant Ord. "

"Why did he not come to see me before he went out?"

"He did, my daughter, but thou wert asleep. He kissed thee and stoleaway. "

"Where?"

"Right there on your cheek, one inch below your eyelashes. "

"When will he return?"

"Holy Mary! For dinner, surely, and that will be in an hour. "

"When can I get up?"

"In another week. Thou art so well! I would not have thee draw tooheavily on thy little strength. Another month and thou wilt not rememberthat thou hast been ill. Then we will go to the rancho, where thou andthy little one will have sun all day and no fog. "

"Have I not a good husband, mamacita?"

"Yes; I love him like my own son. Had he been unkind to thee, I shouldhave killed him with my own hands; but as he has his lips to thy littleslipper, I forgive him for being an American. "

"And you no longer wish for a necklace of American ears! Oh, mamma!"

Doņa Eustaquia frowned, then sighed. "I do not know the American headfor which I have not more like than hate, and they are welcome to theirears; but _the spirit_ of that wish is in my heart yet, my child. Ourcountry has been taken from us; we are aliens in our own land; it is theAmerican's. They--holy God!--permit us to live here!"

"But they like us better than their own women. "

"Perhaps; they are men and like what they have not had too long. "

"Mamacita, I am thirsty. "

"What wilt thou have? A glass of water?"

"Water has no taste. "

"I know!"

Doņa Eustaquia left the room and returned with an orange. "This will becool and pleasant on so warm a day. It is just a little sour, " she said;but the nurse raised her bony hand. 

"Do not give her that, " she said in her harsh voice. "It is too soon. "

"Nonsense! The baby is two weeks old. Why, I ate fruit a week afterchilding. Look how dry her mouth is! It will do her good. "

She pared the orange and gave it to Benicia, who ate it gratefully. 

"It is very good, mamita. You will spoil me always, but that is becauseyou are so good. And one day I hope you will be as happy as your littledaughter; for there are other good Americans in the world. No? mamma. Ithink--Mamacita!"

She sprang upward with a loud cry, the body curving rigidly; her softbrown eyes stared horribly; froth gathered about her mouth; she gaspedonce or twice, her body writhing from the agonized arms that strove tohold it, then fell limply down, her features relaxing. 

"She is dead, " said the nurse. 

"Benicia!" whispered Doņa Eustaquia. "Benicia!"

"You have killed her, " said the old woman, as she drew the mantillaabout the baby's face. 

Doņa Eustaquia dropped the body and moved backward from the bed. Sheput out her hands and went gropingly from the room to her own, and fromthence to the sala. Brotherton came forward to meet her. 

"Eustaquia!" he cried. "My friend! _My dear_! What has happened? What--"

She raised her hand and pointed to the cross. The mark of the dagger wasstill there. 

"Benicia!" she uttered. "The curse!" and then she fell at his feet. 

THE WASH-TUB MAIL

PART I

"Mariquita! Thou good-for-nothing, thou art wringing that smock inpieces! Thy seņora will beat thee! Holy heaven, but it is hot!"

"For that reason I hurry, old Faquita. Were I as slow as thou, I shouldcook in my own tallow. "

"Aha, thou art very clever! But I have no wish to go back to the ranchoand wash for the cooks. Ay, yi! I wonder will La Tulita ever give me herbridal clothes to wash. I have no faith that little flirt will marry theSeņor Don Ramon Garcia. He did not well to leave Monterey until afterthe wedding. And to think--Ay! yi!"

"Thou hast a big letter for the wash-tub mail, Faquita. "

"Aha, my Francesca, thou hast interest! I thought thou wast thinkingonly of the bandits. "

Francesca, who was holding a plunging child between her knees, activelyinspecting its head, grunted but did not look up, and the oracle ofthe wash-tubs, provokingly, with slow movements of her knottedcoffee-coloured arms, flapped a dainty skirt, half-covered with drawnwork, before she condescended to speak further. 

Twenty women or more, young and old, dark as pine cones, stooped or sat, knelt or stood, about deep stone tubs sunken in the ground at the footof a hill on the outskirts of Monterey. The pines cast heavy shadows onthe long slope above them, but the sun was overhead. The little whitetown looked lifeless under its baking red tiles, at this hour ofsiesta. On the blue bay rode a warship flying the American colours. Theatmosphere was so clear, the view so uninterrupted, that the youngerwomen fancied they could read the name on the prow: the town was on theright; between the bay and the tubs lay only the meadow, the road, thelake, and the marsh. A few yards farther down the road rose a hill wherewhite slabs and crosses gleamed beneath the trees. The roar of the surfcame refreshingly to their hot ears. It leaped angrily, they fancied, tothe old fort on the hill where men in the uniform of the United Statesmoved about with unsleeping vigilance. It was the year 1847. TheAmericans had come and conquered. War was over, but the invaders guardedtheir new possessions. 

The women about the tubs still bitterly protested against the downfallof California, still took an absorbing interest in all matters, domestic, social, and political. For those old women with grizzled locksescaping from a cotton handkerchief wound bandwise about their heads, their ample forms untrammelled by the flowing garment of calico, thosegirls in bright skirts and white short-sleeved smock and young hairbraided, knew all the news of the country, past and to come, many hoursin advance of the dons and doņas whose linen they washed in the greatstone tubs: the Indians, domestic and roving, were their faithfulfriends. 

"Sainted Mary, but thou art more slow than a gentleman that walks!"cried Mariquita, an impatient-looking girl. "Read us the letter. LaTulita is the prettiest girl in Monterey now that the Seņorita YsabelHerrera lies beneath the rocks, and Benicia Ortega has died of herchilding. But she is a flirt--that Tulita! Four of the Gringos are underher little slipper this year, and she turn over the face and roll in thedirt. But Don Ramon, so handsome, so rich--surely she will marry him. "

Faquita shook her head slowly and wisely. "There--come--yesterday--from--the--South--a--young--lieutenant--of--America. " Shepaused a moment, then proceeded leisurely, though less provokingly. "Hecome over the great American deserts with General Kearney last year andhelp our men to eat the dust in San Diego. He come only yesterday toMonterey, and La Tulita is like a little wild-cat ever since. She box myears this morning when I tell her that the Americans are bandoleros, andsay she never marry a Californian. And never Don Ramon Garcia, ay, yi!"

By this time the fine linen was floating at will upon the water, orlying in great heaps at the bottom of the clear pools. The sufferingchild scampered up through the pines with whoops of delight. Thewashing-women were pressed close about Faquita, who stood with thumbs onher broad hips, the fingers contracting and snapping as she spoke, wispsof hair bobbing back and forth about her shrewd black eyes and scoldingmouth. 

"Who is he? Where she meet him?" cried the audience. "Oh, thou oldcarreta! Why canst thou not talk faster?"

"If thou hast not more respect, Seņorita Mariquita, thou wilt hearnothing. But it is this. There is a ball last night at Doņa MariaAmpudia's house for La Tulita. She look handsome, that witch! Holy Mary!When she walk it was like the tule in the river. You know. Why she havethat name? She wear white, of course, but that frock--it is like thecobweb, the cloud. She has not the braids like the other girls, but thehair, soft like black feathers, fall down to the feet. And the eyes likeblue stars! You know the eyes of La Tulita. The lashes so long, andblack like the hair. And the sparkle! No eyes ever sparkle like those. The eyes of Ysabel Herrera look like they want the world and nevercan get it. Benicia's, pobrecita, just dance like the child's. But LaTulita's! They sparkle like the devil sit behind and strike fire outred-hot iron--"

"Mother of God!" cried Mariquita, impatiently, "we all know thou artdaft about that witch! And we know how she looks. Tell us the story. "

"Hush thy voice or thou wilt hear nothing. It is this way. La Tulitahave the castanets and just float up and down the sala, while all standback and no breathe only when they shout. I am in the garden in themiddle the house, and I stand on a box and look through the doors. Ay, the roses and the nasturtiums smell so sweet in that little garden!Well! She dance so beautiful, I think the roof go to jump off so she canfloat up and live on one the gold stars all by herself. Her little feetjust twinkle! Well! The door open and Lieutenant Ord come in. He havewith him another young man, not so handsome, but so straight, so sharpeye and tight mouth. He look at La Tulita like he think she belong toAmerica and is for him. Lieutenant Ord go up to Doņa Maria and say, sopolite: 'I take the liberty to bring Lieutenant'--I no can remember thatname, so American! 'He come to-day from San Diego and will stay with usfor a while. ' And Doņa Maria, she smile and say, very sweet, 'Very gladwhen I have met all of our conquerors. ' And he turn red and speak verybad Spanish and look, look, at La Tulita. Then Lieutenant Ord speak tohim in English and he nod the head, and Lieutenant Ord tell Doņa Mariathat his friend like be introduced to La Tulita, and she say, 'Verywell, ' and take him over to her who is now sit down. He ask her to waltzright away, and he waltz very well, and then they dance again, and oncemore. And then they sit down and talk, talk. God of my soul, but thecaballeros are mad! And Doņa Maria! By and by she can stand it no moreand she go up to La Tulita and take away from the American and say, 'Doyou forget--and for a bandolero--that you are engage to my nephew?' AndLa Tulita toss the head and say: 'How can I remember Ramon Garcia whenhe is in Yerba Buena? I forget he is alive. ' And Doņa Maria is veryangry. The eyes snap. But just then the little sister of La Tulita runinto the sala, the face red like the American flag. 'Ay, Herminia!' shejust gasp. 'The donas! The donas! It has come!'"

"The donas!" cried the washing-women, old and young. "Didst thou seeit, Faquita? Oh, surely. Tell us, what did he send? Is he a generousbridegroom? Were there jewels? And satins? Of what was the rosary?"

"Hush the voice or you will hear nothing. The girls all jump and claptheir hands and they cry: 'Come, Herminia. Come quick! Let us go andsee. ' Only La Tulita hold the head very high and look like the donas isnothing to her, and the Lieutenant look very surprise, and she talk tohim very fast like she no want him to know what they mean. But the girlsjust take her hands and pull her out the house. I am after. La Tulitalook very mad, but she cannot help, and in five minutes we are at theCasa Rivera, and the girls scream and clap the hands in the sala forDoņa Carmen she have unpack the donas and the beautiful things are onthe tables and the sofas and the chairs, Mother of God!"

"Go on! Go on!" cried a dozen exasperated voices. 

"Well! Such a donas. Ay, he is a generous lover. A yellow crepe shawlembroidered with red roses. A white one with embroidery so thick it canstand up. A string of pearls from Baja California. (Ay, poor YsabelHerrera!) Hoops of gold for the little ears of La Tulita. A big chainof California gold. A set of topaz with pearls all round. A rosary ofamethyst--purple like the violets. A big pin painted with the Ascension, and diamonds all round. Silks and satins for gowns. A white lacemantilla, Dios de mi alma! A black one for the visits. And thenight-gowns like cobwebs. The petticoats!" She stopped abruptly. 

"And the smocks?" cried her listeners, excitedly. "The smocks? They aremore beautiful than Blandina's? They were pack in rose-leaves--"

"Ay! yi! yi! yi!" The old woman dropped her head on her breast and wavedher arms. She was a study for despair. Even she did not suspect howthoroughly she was enjoying herself. 

"What! What! Tell us! Quick, thou old snail. They were not fine? Theyhad not embroidery?"

"Hush the voices. I tell you when I am ready. The girls are like crazy. They look like they go to eat the things. Only La Tulita sit on thechair in the door with her back to all and look at the windows of DoņaMaria. They look like a long row of suns, those windows. 

"I am the one. Suddenly I say: 'Where are the smocks?' And they all cry:'Yes, where are the smocks? Let us see if he will be a good husband. Doņa Carmen, where are the smocks?'

"Doņa Carmen turn over everything in a hurry. 'I did not think of thesmocks, ' she say. 'But they must be here. Everything was unpack in thisroom. ' She lift all up, piece by piece. The girls help and so do I. La Tulita sit still but begin to look more interested. We searcheverywhere--everywhere--for twenty minutes. There--are--no--smocks!"

"God of my life! The smocks! He did not forget!"

"He forget the smocks!"

There was an impressive pause. The women were too dumfounded to comment. Never in the history of Monterey had such a thing happened before. 

Faquita continued: "The girls sit down on the floor and cry. Doņa Carmenturn very white and go in the other room. Then La Tulita jump up andwalk across the room. The lashes fall down over the eyes that look likeshe is California and have conquer America, not the other way. Thenostrils just jump. She laugh, laugh, laugh. 'So!' she say, 'my rich andgenerous and ardent bridegroom, he forget the smocks of the donas. Heproclaim as if by a poster on the streets that he will be a bad husband, a thoughtless, careless, indifferent husband. He has vow by the starsthat he adore me. He has serenade beneath my window until I have beg formercy. He persecute my mother. And now he flings the insult of insultsin my teeth. And he with six married sisters!'

"The girls just sob. They can say nothing. No woman forgive that. Thenshe say loud, 'Ana, ' and the girl run in. 'Ana, ' she say, 'pack thisstuff and tell José and Marcos take it up to the house of the Seņor DonRamon Garcia. I have no use for it. ' Then she say to me: 'Faquita, walkback to Doņa Maria's with me, no? I have engagement with the American. 'And I go with her, of course; I think I go jump in the bay if she tellme; and she dance all night with that American. He no look at anothergirl--all have the eyes so red, anyhow. And Doņa Maria is crazy that hernephew do such a thing, and La Tulita no go to marry him now. Ay, thatwitch! She have the excuse and she take it. "

For a few moments the din was so great that the crows in a neighbouringgrove of willows sped away in fear. The women talked all at once, atthe top of their voices and with no falling inflections. So rich anassortment of expletives, secular and religious, such individuality yetsympathy of comment, had not been called upon for duty since the seventhof July, a year before, when Commodore Sloat had run up the Americanflag on the Custom-house. Finally they paused to recover breath. Mariquita's young lungs being the first to refill, she demanded ofFaquita:--

"And Don Ramon--when does he return?"

"In two weeks, no sooner. "

PART II

Two weeks later they were again gathered about the tubs. 

For a time after arrival they forgot La Tulita--now the absorbing topicof Monterey--in a new sensation. Mariquita had appeared with a basket ofunmistakable American underwear. 

"What!" cried Faquita, shrilly. "Thou wilt defile these tubs with thelinen of bandoleros? Hast thou had thy silly head turned with a kiss?Not one shirt shall go in this water. "

Mariquita tossed her head defiantly. "Captain Brotherton say the Indianwomen break his clothes in pieces. They know not how to wash anythingbut dish-rags. And does he not go to marry our Doņa Eustaquia?"

"The Captain is not so bad, " admitted Faquita. The indignation of theothers also visibly diminished: the Captain had been very kind the yearbefore when gloom lay heavy on the town. "But, " continued the autocrat, with an ominous pressing of her lips, "sure he must change three times aday. Is all that Captain Brotherton's?"

"He wear many shirts, " began Mariquita, when Faquita pounced upon thebasket and shook its contents to the grass. 

"Aha! It seems that the Captain has sometimes the short legs andsometimes the long. Sometimes he put the tucks in his arms, I suppose. What meaning has this? Thou monster of hypocrisy!"

The old women scowled and snorted. The girls looked sympathetic: morethan one midshipman had found favour in the lower quarter. 

"Well, " said Mariquita, sullenly, "if thou must know, it is the linen ofthe Lieutenant of La Tulita. Ana ask me to wash it, and I say I will. "

At this announcement Faquita squared her elbows and looked at Mariquitawith snapping eyes. 

"Oho, seņorita, I suppose thou wilt say next that thou knowest whatmeans this flirtation! Has La Tulita lost her heart, perhaps? And DonRamon--dost thou know why he leaves Monterey one hour after he comes?"Her tone was sarcastic, but in it was a note of apprehension. 

Mariquita tossed her head, and all pressed close about the rivals. 

"What dost thou know, this time?" inquired the girl, provokingly. "Hastthou any letter to read today? Thou dost forget, old Faquita, that Anais my friend--"

"Throw the clothes in the tubs, " cried Faquita, furiously. "Do we comehere to idle and gossip? Mariquita, thou hussy, go over to that tub bythyself and wash the impertinent American rags. Quick. No more talk. Thesun goes high. "

No one dared to disobey the queen of the tubs, and in a moment the womenwere kneeling in irregular rows, tumbling their linen into the water, the brown faces and bright attire making a picture in the colorouslandscape which some native artist would have done well to preserve. Fora time no sound was heard but the distant roar of the surf, the sighingof the wind through the pines on the hill, the less romantic grunts ofthe women and the swish of the linen in the water. Suddenly Mariquita, the proscribed, exclaimed from her segregated tub:--

"Look! Look!"

Heads flew up or twisted on their necks. A party of young people, attended by a dueņa, was crossing the meadow to the road. At the head ofthe procession were a girl and a man, to whom every gaze which shouldhave been intent upon washing-tubs alone was directed. The girl wore apink gown and a reboso. Her extraordinary grace made her look tallerthan she was; the slender figure swayed with every step. Her pink lipswere parted, her blue starlike eyes looked upward into the keen coldeyes of a young man wearing the uniform of a lieutenant of the UnitedStates army. 

The dominant characteristics of the young man's face, even then, wereambition and determination, and perhaps the remarkable future wasforeshadowed in the restless scheming mind. But to-day his deep-set eyeswere glowing with a light more peculiar to youth, and whenever bulgingstones afforded excuse he grasped the girl's hand and held it as longas he dared. The procession wound past the tubs and crossing the roadclimbed up the hill to the little wooded cemetery of the early fathers, the cemetery where so many of those bright heads were to lie forgottenbeneath the wild oats and thistles. 

"They go to the grave of Benicia Ortega and her little one, " saidFrancesca. "Holy Mary! La Tulita never look in a man's eyes like thatbefore. "

"But she have in his, " said Mariquita, wisely. 

"No more talk!" cried Faquita, and once more silence came to her own. But fate was stronger than Faquita. An hour later a little girl camerunning down, calling to the old woman that her grandchild, theconsolation of her age, had been taken ill. After she had hurried awaythe women fairly leaped over one another in their efforts to reachMariquita's tub. 

"Tell us, tell us, chiquita, " they cried, fearful lest Faquita'ssnubbing should have turned her sulky, "what dost thou know?"

But Mariquita, who had been biting her lips to keep back her story, opened them and spoke fluently. 

"Ay, my friends! Doņa Eustaquia and Benicia Ortega are not the only onesto wed Americans. Listen! La Tulita is mad for this man, who is no morehandsome than the palm of my hand when it has all day been in the water. Yesterday morning came Don Ramon. I am in the back garden of the CasaRivera with Ana, and La Tulita is in the front garden sitting under thewall. I can look through the doors of the sala and see and hear all. Such a handsome caballero, my friends! The gold six inches deep on theserape. Silver eagles on the sombrero. And the botas! Stamp with birdsand leaves, ay, yi! He fling open the gates so bold, and when he see LaTulita he look like the sun is behind his face. (Such curls, my friends, tied with a blue ribbon!) But listen!

"'Mi querida!' he cry, 'mi alma!' (Ay, my heart jump in my throat likehe speak to me. ) Then he fall on one knee and try to kiss her hand. Butshe throw herself back like she hate him. Her eyes are like the bay inwinter. And then she laugh. When she do that, he stand up and say withthe voice that shake:--

"'What is the matter, Herminia? Do you not love me any longer?'

"'I never love you, ' she say. 'They give me no peace until I say I marryyou, and as I love no one else--I do not care much. But now that youhave insult me, I have the best excuse to break the engagement, and I doit. '

"'I insult you?' He hardly can speak, my friends, he is so surprised andunhappy. 

"'Yes; did you not forget the smocks?'

"'The--smocks!' he stammer, like that. 'The smocks?'

"'No one can be blame but you, ' she say. 'And you know that no brideforgive that. You know all that it means. '

"'Herminia!' he say. 'Surely you will not put me; away for a littlething like that!'

"'I have no more to say, ' she reply, and then she get up and go in thehouse and shut the door so I cannot see how he feel, but I am very sorryfor him if he did forget the smocks. Well! That evening I help Ana waterthe flowers in the front garden, and every once in the while we lookthrough the windows at La Tulita and the Lieutenant. They talk, talk, talk. He look so earnest and she--she look so beautiful. Not like adevil, as when she talk to Don Ramon in the morning, but like an angel. Sure, a woman can be both! It depends upon the man. By and by Ana goaway, but I stay there, for I like look at them. After a while they getup and come out. It is dark in the garden, the walls so high, and thetrees throw the shadows, so they cannot see me. They walk up and down, and by and by the Lieutenant take out his knife and cut a shoot from therose-bush that climb up the house. 

"'These Castilian roses, ' he say, very soft, but in very bad Spanish, 'they are very beautiful and a part of Monterey--a part of you. Look, Iam going to plant this here, and long before it grow to be a big bush Icome back and you will wear its buds in your hair when we are married inthat lovely old church. Now help me, ' and then they kneel down and hestick it in the ground, and all their fingers push the earth around it. Then she give a little sob and say, 'You must go?'

"He lift her up and put his arms around her tight. 'I must go, ' he say. 'I am not my own master, you know, and the orders have come. But myheart is here, in this old garden, and I come back for it. ' And then sheput her arms around him and he kiss her, and she love him so I forget tobe sorry for Don Ramon. After all, it is the woman who should be happy. He hold her a long time, so long I am afraid Doņa Carmen come out tolook for her. I lift up on my knees (I am sit down before) and look inthe window and I see she is asleep, and I am glad. Well! After a whilethey walk up and down again, and he tell her all about his home faraway, and about some money he go to get when the law get ready, and howhe cannot marry on his pay. Then he say how he go to be a great generalsome day and how she will be the more beautiful woman in--how you callit?--Washington, I think. And she cry and say she does not care, sheonly want him. And he tell her water the rose-bush every day and thinkof him, and he will come back before it is large, and every time a budcome out she can know he is thinking of her very hard. "

"Ay, pobrecita!" said Francesca, "I wonder will he come back. Thesemen!"

"Surely. Are not all men mad for La Tulita?"

"Yes--yes, but he go far away. To America! Dios de mi alma! And men, they forget. " Francesca heaved a deep sigh. Her youth was far behindher, but she remembered many things. 

"He return, " said Mariquita, the young and romantic. 

"When does he go?"

Mariquita pointed to the bay. A schooner rode at anchor. "He go to YerbaBuena on that to-morrow morning. From there to the land of the American. Ay, yi! Poor La Tulita! But his linen is dry. I must take it to iron forI have it promised for six in the morning. " And she hastily gathered thearticles from the low bushes and hurried away. 

That evening as the women returned to town, talking gayly, despite thegreat baskets on their heads, they passed the hut of Faquita and pausedat the window to inquire for the child. The little one lay gasping onthe bed. Faquita sat beside her with bowed head. An aged crone brewedherbs over a stove. The dingy little house faced the hills and was dimlylighted by the fading rays of the sun struggling through the dark pinewoods. 

"Holy Mary, Faquita!" said Francesca, in a loud whisper. "Does Lisetadie?"

Faquita sprang to her feet. Her cross old face was drawn with misery. "Go, go!" she said, waving her arms, "I want none of you. "

The next evening she sat in the same position, her eyes fixed upon theshrinking features of the child. The crone had gone. She heard the dooropen, and turned with a scowl. But it was La Tulita that entered andcame rapidly to the head of the bed. The girl's eyes were swollen, herdress and hair disordered. 

"I have come to you because you are in trouble, " she said. "I, too, amin trouble. Ay, my Faquita!"

The old woman put up her arms and drew the girl down to her lap. She hadnever touched her idol before, but sorrow levels even social barriers. 

"Pobrecita!" she said, and the girl cried softly on her shoulder. 

"Will he come back, Faquita?"

"Surely, niņita. No man could forget you. "

"But it is so far. "

"Think of what Don Vicente do for Doņa Ysabel, mijita. "

"But he is an American. Oh, no, it is not that I doubt him. He loves me!It is so far, like another world. And the ocean is so big and cruel. "

"We ask the priest to say a mass. "

"Ah, my Faquita! I will go to the church to-morrow morning. How glad Iam that I came to thee. " She kissed the old woman warmly, and for themoment Faquita forgot her trouble. 

But the child threw out its arms and moaned. La Tulita pushed the hairout of her eyes and brought the medicine from the stove, where itsimmered unsavourily. The child swallowed it painfully, and Faquitashook her head in despair. At the dawn it died. As La Tulita laid herwhite fingers on the gaping eyelids, Faquita rose to her feet. Her uglyold face was transfigured. Even the grief had gone out of it. For amoment she was no longer a woman, but one of the most subtle creationsof the Catholic religion conjoined with racial superstitions. 

"As the moon dieth and cometh to life again, " she repeated with a sortof chanting cadence, "so man, though he die, will live again. Is itnot better that she will wander forever through forests where crystalstreams roll over golden sands, than grow into wickedness, and goout into the dark unrepenting, perhaps, to be bitten by serpents andscorched by lightning and plunged down cataracts?" She turned to LaTulita. "Will you stay here, seņorita, while I go to bid them makemerry?"

The girl nodded, and the woman went out. La Tulita watched the proudhead and erect carriage for a moment, then bound up the fallen jaw ofthe little corpse, crossed its hands and placed weights on the eyelids. She pushed the few pieces of furniture against the wall, striving toforget the one trouble that had come into her triumphant young life. Butthere was little to do, and after a time she knelt by the window andlooked up at the dark forest upon which long shafts of light werestriking, routing the fog that crouched in the hollows. The town was asquiet as a necropolis. The white houses, under the black shadows of thehills, lay like tombs. Suddenly the roar of the surf came to her ears, and she threw out her arms with a cry, dropping her head upon them andsobbing convulsively. She heard the ponderous waves of the Pacificlashing the keel of a ship. 

She was aroused by shouting and sounds of merriment. She raised her headdully, but remembered in a moment what Faquita had left her to await. The dawn lay rosily on the town. The shimmering light in the pine woodswas crossed and recrossed by the glare of rockets. Down the street camethe sound of singing voices, the words of the song heralding the flightof a child-spirit to a better world. La Tulita slipped out of the backdoor and went to her home without meeting the procession. But before sheshut herself in her room she awakened Ana, and giving her a purse ofgold, bade her buy a little coffin draped with white and garlanded withwhite flowers. 

PART III

"Tell us, tell us, Mariquita, does she water the rose-tree every night?"

"Every night, ay, yi!"

"And is it big yet? Ay, but that wall is high! Not a twig can I see!"

"Yes, it grows!"

"And he comes not?"

"He write. I see the letters. "

"But what does he say?"

"How can I know?"

"And she goes to the balls and meriendas no more. Surely, they willforget her. It is more than a year now. Some one else will be LaFavorita. "

"She does not care. "

"Hush the voices, " cried Faquita, scrubbing diligently. "It is well thatshe stay at home and does not dance away her beauty before he come. Sheis like a lily. "

"But lilies turn brown, old Faquita, when the wind blow on them toolong. Dost thou think he will return?"

"Surely, " said Faquita, stoutly. "Could any one forget that angel?"

"Ay, these men, these men!" said Francesca, with a sigh. 

"Oh, thou old raven!" cried Mariquita. "But truly--truly--she has had noletter for three months. "

"Aha, seņorita, thou didst not tell us that just now. "

"Nor did I intend to. The words just fell from my teeth. "

"He is ill, " cried Faquita, angrily. "Ay, my probrecita! Sometimes Ithink Ysabel is more happy under the rocks. "

"How dost thou know he is ill? Will he die?" The wash-tub mail had madetoo few mistakes in its history to admit of doubt being cast upon theassertion of one of its officials. 

"I hear Captain Brotherton read from a letter to Doņa Eustaquia. Ay, they are happy!"

"When?"

"Two hours ago. "

"Then we know before the town--like always. "

"Surely. Do we not know all things first? Hist!"

The women dropped their heads and fumbled at the linen in the water. LaTulita was approaching. 

She came across the meadow with all her old swinging grace, the bluegown waving about her like the leaves of a California lily when the windrustled the forest. But the reboso framed a face thin and pale, and thesparkle was gone from her eyes. She passed the tubs and greeted the oldwomen pleasantly, walked a few steps up the hill, then turned as if inobedience to an afterthought, and sat down on a stone in the shade of awillow. 

"It is cool here, " she said. 

"Yes, seņorita. " They were not deceived, but they dared not stare ather, with Faquita's scowl upon them. 

"What news has the wash-tub mail to-day?" asked the girl, with anattempt at lightness. "Did an enemy invade the South this morning, andhave you heard it already, as when General Kearney came? Is GeneralCastro still in Baja California, or has he fled to Mexico? Has DoņaPrudencia Iturbi y Moncada given a ball this week at Santa Barbara? HaveDon Diego and Doņa Chonita--?"

"The young Lieutenant is ill, " blurted out one of the old women, thencowered until she almost fell into her tub. Faquita sprang forward andcaught the girl in her arms. 

"Thou old fool!" she cried furiously. "Thou devil! Mayst thou find atarantula in thy bed to-night. Mayst thou dream thou art roasting inhell. " She carried La Tulita rapidly across the meadow. 

"Ah, I thought I should hear there, " said the girl, with a laugh. "Thankheaven for the wash-tub mail. "

Faquita nursed her through a long illness. She recovered both healthand reason, and one day the old woman brought her word that the youngLieutenant was well again--and that his illness had been brief andslight. 

THE LAST

"Ay, but the years go quick!" said Mariquita, as she flapped a piece oflinen after taking it from the water. "I wonder do all towns sleep likethis. Who can believe that once it is so gay? The balls! The grandcaballeros! The serenades! The meriendas! No more! No more! Almost Iforget the excitement when the Americanos coming. I no am young anymore. Ay, yi!"

"Poor Faquita, she just died of old age, " said a woman who had beenyoung with Mariquita, spreading an article of underwear on a bush. "Herlife just drop out like her teeth. No one of the old women that taughtus to wash is here now, Mariquita. We are the old ones now, and we teachthe young, ay, yi!"

"Well, it is a comfort that the great grow old like the low people. Highbirth cannot keep the skin white and the body slim. Ay, look! Who canthink she is so beautiful before?"

A woman was coming down the road from the town. A woman, whompassing years had browned, although leaving the fine strong featuresuncoarsened. She was dressed simply in black, and wore a small Americanbonnet. The figure had not lost the slimness of its youth, but the walkwas stiff and precise. The carriage evinced a determined will. 

"Ay, who can think that once she sway like the tule!" said Mariquita, with a sigh. "Well, when she come to-day I have some news. A letter, weused to call it, dost thou remember, Brígida? Who care for the wash-tubmail now? These Americanos never hear of it, and our people--triste demi--have no more the interest in anything. "

"Tell us thy news, " cried many voices. The older women had never losttheir interest in La Tulita. The younger ones had heard her story manytimes, and rarely passed the wall before her house without looking atthe tall rose-bush which had all the pride of a young tree. 

"No, you can hear when she come. She will come to-day. Six months agoto-day she come. Ay, yi, to think she come once in six months all theseyears! And never until to-day has the wash-tub mail a letter for her. "

"Very strange she did not forget a Gringo and marry with a caballero, "said one of the girls, scornfully. "They say the caballeros were sobeautiful, so magnificent. The Americans have all the money now, but shebeen rich for a little while. "

"All women are not alike. Sometimes I think she is more happy with thememory. " And Mariquita, who had a fat lazy husband and a swarm of brownchildren, sighed heavily. "She live happy in the old house and is not sopoor. And always she have the rose-bush. She smile, now, sometimes, whenshe water it. "

"Well, it is many years, " said the girl, philosophically. "Here shecome. "

La Tulita, or Doņa Herminia, as she now was called, walked brisklyacross the meadow and sat down on the stone which had come to be calledfor her. She spoke to each in turn, but did not ask for news. She hadceased long since to do that. She still came because the habit held her, and because she liked the women. 

"Ah, Mariquita, " she said, "the linen is not as fine as when we wereyoung. And thou art glad to get the shirts of the Americans now. My poorFaquita!"

"Coarse things, " said Mariquita, disdainfully. Then a silence fell, so sudden and so suggestive that Doņa Herminia felt it and turnedinstinctively to Mariquita. 

"What is it?" she asked rapidly. "Is there news to-day? Of what?"

Mariquita's honest face was grave and important. 

"There is news, seņorita, " she said. 

"What is it?"

The washing-women had dropped back from the tubs and were listeningintently. 

"Ay!" The oracle drew a long breath. "There is war over there, you know, seņorita, " she said, making a vague gesture toward the Atlantic states. 

"Yes, I know. Is it decided? Is the North or the South victorious? I amglad that the wash-tub mail has not--"

"It is not that, seņorita. "

"Then what?"

"The Lieutenant--he is a great general now. "

"Ay!"

"He has won a great battle--And--they speak of his wife, seņorita. "

Doņa Herminia closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them andglanced slowly about her. The blue bay, the solemn pines, the goldenatmosphere, the cemetery on the hill, the women washing at the stonetubs--all was unchanged. Only the flimsy wooden houses of the Americansscattered among the adobes of the town and the aging faces of the womenwho had been young in her brief girlhood marked the lapse of years. There was a smile on her lips. Her monotonous life must have given herinsanity or infinite peace, and peace had been her portion. In a fewminutes she said good-by to the women and went home. She never went tothe tubs again. 

THE CONQUEST OF DOŅA JACOBA

I

A forest of willows cut by a forking creek, and held apart here andthere by fields of yellow mustard blossoms fluttering in their palegreen nests, or meadows carpeted with the tiny white and yellow flowersof early summer. Wide patches of blue where the willows ended, andimmense banks of daisies bordering fields of golden grain, bending andshimmering in the wind with the deep even sweep of rising tide. Then thelake, long, irregular, half choked with tules, closed by a marsh. Thevalley framed by mountains of purplish gray, dull brown, with patches ofvivid green and yellow; a solitary gray peak, barren and rocky, insharp contrast to the rich Californian hills; on one side fawn-colouredslopes, and slopes with groves of crouching oaks in their hollows;opposite and beyond the cold peak, a golden hill rising to a mount ofearthy green; still lower, another peak, red and green, mulberry andmould; between and afar, closing the valley, a line of pink-brownmountains splashed with blue. 

Such was a fragment of Don Roberto Duncan's vast rancho, Los Quervos, and on a plateau above the willows stood the adobe house, white andred-tiled, shaped like a solid letter H. On the deep veranda, sunkenbetween the short forearms of the H, Doņa Jacoba could stand and issuecommands in her harsh imperious voice to the Indians in the rancheriaamong the willows, whilst the long sala behind overflowed with the gaycompany her famous hospitality had summoned, the bare floor and uglyvelvet furniture swept out of thought by beautiful faces and floweredsilken gowns. 

Behind the sala was an open court, the grass growing close to the greatstone fountain. On either side was a long line of rooms, and above thesala was a library opening into the sleeping room of Doņa Jacoba on oneside, and into that of Elena, her youngest and loveliest daughter, onthe other. Beyond the house were a dozen or more buildings: the kitchen;a room in which steers and bullocks, sheep and pigs, were hanging;a storehouse containing provisions enough for a hotel; and themanufactories of the Indians. Somewhat apart was a large building witha billiard-room in its upper story and sleeping rooms below. From herwindow Elena could look down upon the high-walled corral with itsprancing horses always in readiness for the pleasure-loving guests, andupon the broad road curving through the willows and down the valley. 

The great house almost shook with life on this brilliant day of themonth of June, 1852. Don Roberto Duncan, into whose shrewd Scotch handsCalifornia had poured her wealth for forty years, had long ago takento himself a wife of Castilian blood; to-morrow their eldest remainingdaughter was to be married to a young Englishman, whose father had beena merchant in California when San Francisco was Yerba Buena. Not a roomwas vacant in the house. Young people had come from Monterey and SanFrancisco, Santa Barbara and Los Angeles. Beds had been put up in thelibrary and billiard-room, in the store-rooms and attics. The corral wasfull of strange horses, and the huts in the willows had their humblerguests. 

Francisca sat in her room surrounded by a dozen chattering girls. Thefloor beneath the feet of the Californian heiress was bare, and theheavy furniture was of uncarved mahogany. But a satin quilt covered thebed, lavish Spanish needlework draped chest and tables, and throughthe open window came the June sunshine and the sound of the splashingfountain. 

Francisca was putting the last stitches in her wedding-gown, and thegirls were helping, advising, and commenting. 

"Art thou not frightened, Panchita, " demanded one of the girls, "to goaway and live with a strange man? Just think, thou hast seen him but tentimes. "

"What of that?" asked Francisca, serenely, holding the rich corded silkat arm's length, and half closing her eyes as she readjusted the deepflounce of Spanish lace. "Remember, we shall ride and dance and playgames together for a week with all of you, dear friends, before I goaway with him. I shall know him quite well by that time. And did not myfather know him when he was a little boy? Surely, he cannot be a cruelman, or my father would not have chosen him for my husband. "

"I like the Americans and the Germans and the Russians, " said the girlwho had spoken, "particularly the Americans. But these English are sostern, so harsh sometimes. "

"What of that?" asked Francisca again. "Am I not used to my father?"

She was a singular-looking girl, this compound of Scotch and Spanish. Her face was cast in her father's hard mould, and her frame was largeand sturdy, but she had the black luxuriant hair of Spain, and muchgrace of gesture and expression. 

"I would not marry an Englishman, " said a soft voice. 

Francisca raised her eyebrows and glanced coldly at the speaker, a girlof perfect loveliness, who sat behind a table, her chin resting on herclasped hands. 

"Thou wouldst marry whom our father told thee to marry, Elena, " said hersister, severely. "What hast thou to say about it?"

"I will marry a Spaniard, " said Elena, rebelliously. "A Spaniard, and noother. "

"Thou wilt do what?" asked a cold voice from the door. The girls gave alittle scream. Elena turned pale, even Francisca's hands twitched. 

Doņa Jacoba was an impressive figure as she stood in the doorway; a tallunbowed woman with a large face and powerful penetrating eyes. A thinmouth covering white teeth separated the prominent nose and square chin. A braid of thick black hair lay over her fine bust, and a black silkhandkerchief made a turban for her lofty head. She wore a skirt of heavyblack silk and a shawl of Chinese crępe, one end thrown gracefully overher shoulder. 

"What didst thou say?" she demanded again, a sneer on her lips. 

Elena made no answer. She stared through the window at the servantslaying the table in the dining room on the other side of the court, herbreath shortening as if the room had been exhausted of air. 

"Let me hear no more of that nonsense, " continued her mother. "A strangeremark, truly, to come from the lips of a Californian! Thy father hassaid that his daughters shall marry men of his race--men who belong tothat island of the North; and I have agreed, and thy sisters are wellmarried. No women are more virtuous, more industrious, more religious, than ours; but our men--our young men--are a set of drinking gamblingvagabonds. Go to thy room and pray there until supper. "

Elena ran out of an opposite door, and Doņa Jacoba sat down on ahigh-backed chair and held out her hand for the wedding-gown. Sheexamined it, then smiled brilliantly. 

"The lace is beautiful, " she said. "There is no richer in California, and I have seen Doņa Trinidad Iturbi y Moncada's and Doņa ModesteCastro's. Let me see thy mantilla once more. "

Francisca opened a chest nearly as large as her bed, and shook out along square of superb Spanish lace. It had arrived from the city ofMexico but a few days before. The girls clapped their admiring hands, asif they had not looked at it twenty times, and Doņa Jacoba smoothed ittenderly with her strong hands. Then she went over to the chest andlifted the beautiful silk and crępe gowns, one by one, her sharp eyesdetecting no flaw. She opened another chest and examined the piles ofunderclothing and bed linen, all of finest woof, and deeply borderedwith the drawn work of Spain. 

"All is well, " she said, returning to her chair. "I see nothing more tobe done. Thy brother will bring the emeralds, and the English plate willcome before the week is over. "

"Is it sure that Santiago will come in time for the wedding?" askeda half-English granddaughter, whose voice broke suddenly at her owntemerity. 

But Doņa Jacoba was in a gracious mood. 

"Surely. Has not Don Roberto gone to meet him? He will be here at fourto-day. "

"How glad I shall be to see him!" said Francisca. "Just think, myfriends, I have not seen him for seven years. Not since he was elevenyears old. He has been on that cold dreadful island in the North allthis time. I wonder has he changed!"

"Why should he change?" asked Doņa Jacoba. "Is he not a Cortez and aDuncan? Is he not a Californian and a Catholic? Can a few years in anEnglish school make him of another race? He is seven years older, thatis all. "

"True, " assented Francisca, threading her needle; "of course he couldnot change. "

Doņa Jacoba opened a large fan and wielded it with slow curves of herstrong wrist. She had never been cold in her life, and even a June dayoppressed her. 

"We have another guest, " she said in a moment--"a young man, Don DarioCastaņares of Los Robles Rancho. He comes to buy cattle of my husband, and must remain with us until the bargain is over. "

Several of the girls raised their large black eyes with interest. "DonDario Castaņares, " said one; "I have heard of him. He is very rich andvery handsome, they say. "

"Yes, " said Doņa Jacoba, indifferently. "He is not ugly, but much toodark. His mother was an Indian. He is no husband, with all his leagues, for any Californian of pure Castilian blood. "

II

Elena had gone up to her room, and would have locked the door had shepossessed a key. As it was, she indulged in a burst of tears at theprospect of marrying an Englishman, then consoled herself with thethought that her best-beloved brother would be with her in a few hours. 

She bathed her face and wound the long black coils about her shapelyhead. The flush faded out of her white cheeks, and her eyelids were lessheavy. But the sadness did not leave her eyes nor the delicate curves ofher mouth. She had the face of the Madonna, stamped with the heritage ofsuffering; a nature so keenly capable of joy and pain that she drew bothlike a magnet, and would so long as life stayed in her. 

She curled herself in the window-seat, looking down the road for thegray cloud of dust that would herald her brother. But only black flocksof crows mounted screaming from the willows, to dive and rise again. Suddenly she became conscious that she was watched, and her gaze sweptdownward to the corral. A stranger stood by the gates, giving orders toa vaquero but looking hard at her from beneath his low-dropped sombrero. 

He was tall, this stranger, and very slight. His face was nearly as darkas an Indian's, but set with features so perfect that no one but DoņaJacoba had ever found fault with his skin. Below his dreaming ardenteyes was a straight delicate nose; the sensuous mouth was half partedover glistening teeth and but lightly shaded by a silken mustache. Abouthis graceful figure hung a dark red serape embroidered and fringedwith gold, and his red velvet trousers were laced, and his yellowriding-boots gartered, with silver. 

Elena rose quickly and pulled the curtain across the window; the bloodhad flown to her hair, and a smile chased the sadness from her mouth. Then she raised her hands and pressed the palms against the slope of theceiling, her dark upturned eyes full of terror. For many moments shestood so, hardly conscious of what she was doing, seeing only theimplacable eyes of her mother. Then down the road came the loud regularhoof-falls of galloping horses, and with an eager cry she flung asidethe curtain, forgetting the stranger. 

Down the road, half hidden by the willows, came two men. When theyreached the rancheria, Elena saw the faces: a sandy-haired hard-facedold Scotsman, with cold blue eyes beneath shaggy red brows, and a darkslim lad, every inch a Californian. Elena waved her handkerchief and thelad his hat. Then the girl ran down the stairs and over to the willows. Santiago sprang from his horse, and the brother and sister clungtogether kissing and crying, hugging each other until her hair fell downand his hat was in the dust. 

"Thou hast come!" cried Elena at last, holding him at arm's lengththat she might see him better, then clinging to him again with all herstrength. "Thou never wilt leave me again--promise me! Promise me, mySantiago! Ay, I have been so lonely. "

"Never, my little one. Have I not longed to come home that I might bewith you? O my Elena! I know so much. I will teach you everything. "

"Ay, I am proud of thee, my Santiago! Thou knowest more than any boy inCalifornia--I know. "

"Perhaps that would not be much, " with fine scorn. "But come, Elena mia, I must go to my mother; she is waiting. She looks as stern as ever; buthow I have longed to see her!"

They ran to the house, passing the stranger, who had watched them withfolded arms and scowling brows. Santiago rushed impetuously at hismother; but she put out her arm, stiff and straight, and held him back. Then she laid her hand, with its vice-like grip, on his shoulder, andled him down the sala to the chapel at the end. It was arranged for thewedding, with all the pomp of velvet altar-cloth and golden candelabra. He looked at it wonderingly. Why had she brought him to look upon thisbefore giving him a mother's greeting?

"Kneel down, " she said, "and repeat the prayers of thy Church--prayersof gratitude for thy safe return. "

The boy folded his hands deprecatingly. 

"But, mother, remember it is seven long years since I have said theCatholic prayers. Remember I have been educated in an English college, in a Protestant country. "

Her tall form curved slowly toward him, the blood blazed in her darkcheeks. 

"What!" she screamed incredulously. "Thou hast forgotten the prayers ofthy Church--the prayers thou learned at my knee?"

"Yes, mother, I have, " he said desperately. "I cannot--"

"God! God! Mother of God! My son says this to me!" She caught him by theshoulder again and almost hurled him from the room. Then she locked herhand about his arm and dragged him down the sala to his father's room. She took a greenhide reata from the table and brought it down upon hisback with long sweeps of her powerful arm, but not another word camefrom her rigid lips. The boy quivered with the shame and pain, but madeno resistance--for he was a Californian, and she was his mother. 

III

Joaquin, the eldest son, who had been hunting bear with a number of hisguests, returned shortly after his brother's arrival and was met at thedoor by his mother. 

"Where is Santiago?" he asked. "I hear he has come. "

"Santiago has been sent to bed, where he will remain for the present. Wehave an unexpected guest, Joaquin. He leans there against the tree--DonDario Castaņares. Thou knowest who he is. He comes to buy cattle of thyfather, and will remain some days. Thou must share thy room with him, for there is no other place--even on the billiard-table. "

Joaquin liked the privacy of his room, but he had all the hospitality ofhis race. He went at once to the stranger, walking a little heavily, for he was no longer young and slender, but with a cordial smile on hisshrewd warmly coloured face. 

"The house is at your service, Don Dario, " he said, shaking thenewcomer's hand. "We are honoured that you come in time for my sister'swedding. It distresses me that I cannot offer you the best room in thehouse, but, Dios! we have a company here. I have only the half of mypoor bed to offer you, but if you will deign to accept that--"

"I am miserable, wretched, to put you to such inconvenience--"

"Never think of such a thing, my friend. Nothing could give me greaterhappiness than to try to make you comfortable in my poor room. Will youcome now and take a siesta before supper?"

Dario followed him to the house, protesting at every step, and Joaquinthrew open the door of one of the porch rooms. 

"At your service, seņor--everything at your service. "

He went to one corner of the room and kicked aside a pile of saddles, displaying a small hillock of gold in ten-and fifty-dollar slugs. "Youwill find about thirty thousand dollars there. We sold some cattle adays ago. I beg that you will help yourself. It is all at your service. I will now go and send you some aguardiente, for you must be thirsty. "And he went out and left his guest alone. 

Dario threw himself face downward on the bed. He was in love, and thelady had kissed another man as if she had no love to spare. True, it wasbut her brother she had kissed, but would she have eyes for any one elseduring a stranger's brief visit? And how, in this crowded house, couldhe speak a word with her alone? And that terrible dragon of a mother!He sprang to his feet as an Indian servant entered with a glass ofaguardiente. When he had burnt his throat, he felt better. "I will stayuntil I have won her, if I remain a month, " he vowed. "It will be sometime before Don Roberto will care to talk business. "

But Don Roberto was never too occupied to talk business. After he hadtaken his bath and siesta, he sent a servant to request Don DarioCastaņares to come up to the library, where he spent most of his time, received all his visitors, reprimanded his children, and took hisafter-dinner naps. It was a luxurious room for the Californian of thatday. A thick red English carpet covered the floor; one side of the roomwas concealed by a crowded bookcase, and the heavy mahogany furniturewas handsomely carved, although upholstered with horse-hair. 

In an hour every detail of the transaction had been disposed of, andDario had traded a small rancho for a herd of cattle. The young man'sface was very long when the last detail had been arranged, but he hadforgotten that his host was as Californian as himself. Don Robertopoured him a brimming glass of angelica and gave him a hearty slap onthe back. 

"The cattle will keep for a few days, Don Dario, " he said, "and youshall not leave this house until the festivities are over. Not untila week from to-morrow--do you hear? I knew your father. We had many atransaction together, and I take pleasure in welcoming his son under myroof. Now get off to the young people, and do not make any excuses. "

Dario made none. 

IV

The next morning at eight, Francisca stood before the altar in thechapel, looking very handsome in her rich gown and soft mantilla. Thebridegroom, a sensible-looking young Englishman, was somewhat nervous, but Francisca might have been married every morning at eight o'clock. Behind them stood Don Roberto in a new suit of English broadcloth, andDoņa Jacoba in heavy lilac silk, half covered with priceless lace. Thesix bridesmaids looked like a huge bouquet, in their wide delicatelycoloured skirts. Their dark eyes, mischievous, curious, thoughtful, flashed more brilliantly than the jewels they wore. 

The sala and Don Roberto's room beyond were so crowded that some of theguests stood in the windows, and many could not enter the doors; everyfamily within a hundred leagues had come to the wedding. The veranda wascrowded with girls, the sparkling faces draped in black mantillas orbright rebosos, the full gay gowns fluttering in the breeze. Men injingling spurs and all the bravery of gold-laced trousers and shortembroidered jackets respectfully elbowed their way past brown and stoutold women that they might whisper a word into some pretty alert littleear. They had all ridden many leagues that morning, but there was nota trace of fatigue on any face. The court behind the sala was full ofIndian servants striving to catch a glimpse of the ceremony. 

Dario stood just within the front door, his eyes eagerly fixed uponElena. She looked like a California lily in her white gown; even herhead drooped a little as if a storm had passed. Her eyes were absent andheavy; they mirrored nothing of the solemn gayety of the morning; theysaw only the welts on her brother's back. 

Dario had not seen her since Santiago's arrival. She had not appeared atsupper, and he had slept little in consequence; in fact, he had spentmost of the night playing _monte_ with Joaquin and a dozen other youngmen in the billiard-room. 

During the bridal mass the padre gave communion to the young couple, andto those that had made confession the night before. Elena was not of thenumber, and during the intense silence she drew back and stood and kneltnear Dario. They were not close enough to speak, had they dared; but theCalifornian had other speech than words, and Dario and Elena made theirconfession that morning. 

During breakfast they were at opposite ends of the long table in thedining room, but neither took part in the songs and speeches, the toastsand laughter. Both had done some manoeuvring to get out of sight of theold people, and sit at one of the many other tables in the sala, on thecorridor, in the court; but Elena had to go with the bridesmaids, andJoaquin insisted upon doing honour to the uninvited guest. The Indianservants passed the rich and delicate, the plain and peppered, dishes, the wines and the beautiful cakes for which Doņa Jacoba and herdaughters were famous. The massive plate that had done duty forgenerations in Spain was on the table; the crystal had been cut inEngland. It was the banquet of a grandee, and no one noticed the silentlovers. 

After breakfast the girls flitted to their rooms and changed theirgowns, and wound rebosos or mantillas about their heads; the men put offtheir jackets for lighter ones of flowered calico, and the whole party, in buggies or on horseback, started for a bull-fight which was to takeplace in a field about a mile behind the house. Elena went in a buggywith Santiago, who was almost as pale as she. Dario, on horseback, rodeas near her as he dared; but when they reached the fence about the fieldcareless riders crowded between, and he could only watch her from afar. 

The vaqueros in their broad black hats shining with varnish, their blackvelvet jackets, their crimson sashes, and short, black velvet trouserslaced with silver cord over spotless linen, looked very picturesque asthey dashed about the field jingling their spurs and shouting at eachother. When the bulls trotted in and greeted each other pleasantly, the vaqueros swung their hissing reatas and yelled until the maddenedanimals wreaked their vengeance on each other, and the serious work ofthe day began. 

Elena leaned back with her fan before her eyes, but Santiago looked oneagerly in spite of his English training. 

"Caramba!" he cried, "but that old bull is tough. Look, Elena! Thelittle one is down. No, no! He has the big one. Ay! yi, yi! By Jove! heis gone--no, he has run off--he is on him again! He has ripped him up!Brava! brava!"

A cheer as from one throat made the mountains echo, but Elena still heldher fan before the field. 

"How canst thou like such bloody sport?" she asked disgustedly. "Thepoor animals! What pleasure canst thou take to see a fine brute kickingin his death-agony, his bowels trailing on the ground?"

"Fie, Elena! Art thou not a Californian? Dost thou not love the sport ofthy country? Why, look at the other girls! They are mad with excitement. By Jove! I never saw so many bright eyes. I wonder if I shall be toostiff to dance to-night. Elena, she gave me a beating! But tell me, little one, why dost thou not like the bull-fight? I feel like anotherman since I have seen it. "

"I cannot be pleased with cruelty. I shall never get used to see beastskilled for amusement. And Don Dario Castaņares does not like it either. He never smiled once, nor said 'Brava!'"

"Aha! And how dost thou know whether he did or not? I thought thy facewas behind that big black fan. "

"I saw him through the sticks. What does 'By Jove' mean, my Santiago?"

He enlightened her, then stood up eagerly. Another bull had been broughtin, and one of the vaqueros was to fight him. During the next two hoursSantiago gave little thought to his sister, and sometimes her longblack lashes swept above the top of her fan. When five or six bulls hadstamped and roared and gored and died, the guests of Los Quervos wenthome to chocolate and siesta, the others returned to their variousranchos. 

But Dario took no nap that day. Twice he had seen an Indian girl atElena's window, and as the house settled down to temporary calm, he sawthe girl go to the rancheria among the willows. He wrote a note, andfollowed her as soon as he dared. She wore a calico frock, exactly likea hundred others, and her stiff black hair cut close to her neck in thestyle enforced by Doņa Jacoba; but Dario recognized her imitation ofElena's walk and carriage. He was very nervous, but he managed to strollabout and make his visit appear one of curiosity. As he passed the girlhe told her to follow him, and in a few moments they were alone ina thicket. He had hard work to persuade her to take the note to hermistress, for she stood in abject awe of Doņa Jacoba; but love of Elenaand sympathy for the handsome stranger prevailed, and the girl went offwith the missive. 

The staircase led from Don Roberto's room to Doņa Jacoba's; but thelady's all-seeing eyes were closed, and the master was snoring in hislibrary. Malia tiptoed by both, and Elena, who had been half asleep, satup, trembling with excitement, and read the impassioned request for aninterview. She lifted her head and listened, panting a little. Thenshe ran to the door and looked into the library. Her father was soundasleep; there could he no doubt of that. She dared not write an answer, but she closed the door and put her lips to the girl's ear. 

"Tell him, " she murmured, horrified at her own boldness--"tell him totake me out for the contradanza tonight. There is no other chance. " Andthe girl went back and delivered the message. 

V

The guests and family met again at supper; but yards of linen and moundsof plate, spirited, quickly turning heads, flowered muslin gowns andsilken jackets, again separated Dario and Elena. He caught a glimpse nowand again of her graceful head turning on its white throat, or of hersad pure profile shining before her mother's stern old face. 

Immediately after supper the bride and groom led the way to the sala, the musicians tuned their violins and guitars, and after an hour'sexcited comment upon the events of the day the dancing began. DoņaJacoba could be very gracious when she chose, and she moved among herguests like a queen to-night, begging them to be happy, and electrifyingthem with her brilliant smile. She dispelled their awe of her withmagical tact, and when she laid her hand on one young beauty's shoulder, and told her that her eyes put out the poor candles of Los Quervos, thegirl was ready to fling herself on the floor and kiss the tyrant's feet. Elena watched her anxiously. Her father petted her in his harsh abruptway. If she had ever received a kiss from her mother, she did notremember it; but she worshipped the blinding personality of the woman, although she shook before the relentless will. But that her mother waspleased to be gracious tonight was beyond question, and she gave Dario aglance of timid encouragement, which brought him to her side at once. 

"At your feet, seņorita, " he said; "may I dare to beg the honour of thecontradanza?"

She bent her slender body in a pretty courtesy. "It is a small favour togrant a guest who deigns to honour us with his presence. "

He led her out, and when he was not gazing enraptured at the gracefulswaying and gliding of her body, he managed to make a few conventionalremarks. 

"You did not like bull-fighting, seņorita?"

"He watched me, " she thought. "No, seņor. I like nothing that is cruel. "

"Those soft eyes could never be cruel. Ay, you are so beautiful, seņorita. "

"I am but a little country girl, seņor. You must have seen far morebeautiful women in the cities. Have you ever been in Monterey?"

"Yes, seņorita, many times. I have seen all the beauties, even DoņaModeste Castro. Once, too--that was before the Americans came--I saw theSeņorita Ysabel Herrera, a woman so beautiful that a man robbed a churchand murdered a priest for her sake. But she was not so beautiful as you, seņorita. "

The blood throbbed in the girl's fair cheeks. "He must love me, " shetold herself, "to think me more beautiful than Ysabel Herrera. Joaquinsays she was the handsomest woman that ever was seen. "

"You compliment me, seņor, " she answered vaguely. "She had wonderfulgreen eyes. So has the Seņora Castro. Mine are only brown, like so manyother girls'. "

"They are the most beautiful eyes in California. They are like theMadonna's. I do not care for green eyes. " His black ones flashed theirlanguage to hers, and Elena wondered if she had ever been unhappy. Shebarely remembered where she was, forgot that she was a helpless bird ina golden cage. Her mate had flown through the open door. 

The contradanza ends with a waltz, and as Dario held her in his arms hislast remnant of prudence gave way. 

"Elena, Elena, " he murmured passionately, "I love thee. Dost thou notknow it? Dost thou not love me a little? Ay, Elena! I have not slept onehour since I saw thee. "

She raised her eyes to his face. The sadness still dwelt in theirdepths, but above floated the soft flame of love and trust. She had nocoquetry in her straightforward and simple nature. 

"Yes, " she whispered, "I love thee. "

"And thou art happy, querida mia? Thou art happy here in my arms?"

She let her cheek rest for a moment against his shoulder. "Yes, I amvery happy. "

"And thou wilt marry me?"

The words brought her back to reality, and the light left her face. 

"Ay, " she said, "why did you say that? It cannot ever be. "

"But it shall be! Why not? I will speak with Don Roberto in themorning. "

The hand that lay on his shoulder clutched him suddenly. "No, no, " shesaid hurriedly; "promise me that you will not speak to him for two orthree days at least. My father wants us all to marry Englishmen. He iskind, and he loves me, but he is mad for Englishmen. And we can be happymeanwhile. "

The music stopped, and he could only murmur his promises before leadingher back to her mother. 

He dared not take her out again, but he danced with no one else in spiteof many inviting eyes, and spent the rest of the night on the corridor, where he could watch her unobserved. The walls were so thick at LosQuervos that each window had a deep seat within and without. Darioensconced himself, and was comfortable, if tumultuous. 

VI

With dawn the dancing ended, and quiet fell upon Los Quervos. But attwelve gay voices and laughter came through every window. The family andguests were taking their cold bath, ready for another eighteen hours ofpleasure. 

Shortly after the long dinner, the iron-barred gates of the corral werethrown open and a band of horses, golden bronze in colour, with silvernmane and tail, silken embroidered saddles on their slender backs, trotted up to the door. The beautiful creatures shone in the sun likeburnished armour; they arched their haughty necks and lifted their smallfeet as if they were Californian beauties about to dance El Son. 

The girls wore short riding-skirts, gay sashes, and little roundhats. The men wore thin jackets of brightly coloured silk, gold-lacedknee-breeches, and silver spurs. They tossed the girls upon theirsaddles, vaulted into their own, and all started on a wild gallop forthe races. 

Dario, with much manoeuvring, managed to ride by Elena's side. It wasimpossible to exchange a word with her, for keen and mischievous earswere about them; but they were close together, and a kind of ecstasypossessed them both. The sunshine was so golden, the quivering visibleair so full of soft intoxication! They were filled with a recklessanimal joy of living--the divine right of youth to exist and be happy. The bars of Elena's cage sank into the warm resounding earth; she wantedto cry aloud her joy to the birds, to hold and kiss the air as itpassed. Her face sparkled, her mouth grew full. She looked at Dario, andhe dug his spurs into his horse's flanks. 

The representatives of many ranchos, their wives and daughters, awaitedthe party from Los Quervos. But none pushed his way between Dario andElena that day. And they both enjoyed the races; they were in a mood toenjoy anything. They became excited and shouted with the rest as thevaqueros flew down the field. Dario bet and lost a ranchita, then betand won another. He won a herd of cattle, a band of horses, a saddle-bagof golden slugs. Surely, fortune smiled on him from the eyes of Elena. When the races were over they galloped down to the ocean and over thecliffs and sands, watching the ponderous waves fling themselves on therocks, then retreat and rear their crests, to thunder on again. 

"The fog!" cried some one. "The fog!" And with shrieks of mock terrorthey turned their horses' heads and raced down the valley, the fog afterthem like a phantom tidal wave; but they outstripped it, and sprang fromtheir horses at the corridor of Los Quervos with shouts of triumph andlightly blown kisses to the enemy. 

After supper they found eggs piled upon silver dishes in the sala, andwith cries of "Cascaron! Cascaron!" they flung them at each other, thecologne and flour and tinsel with which the shells were filled delugingand decorating them. 

Doņa Jacoba again was in a most gracious mood, and leaned against thewall, an amused smile on her strong serene face. Her husband stood byher, and she indicated Elena by a motion of her fan. 

"Is she not beautiful to-night, our little one?" she asked proudly. "See how pink her cheeks are! Her eyes shine like stars. She is thehandsomest of all our children, viejo. "

"Yes, " he said, something like tenderness in his cold blue eyes, "thereis no prettier girl on twenty ranchos. She shall marry the finestEnglishman of them all. "

Elena threw a cascaron directly into Dario's mouth, and although thecologne scalded his throat, he heroically swallowed it, and revengedhimself by covering her black locks with flour. The guests, like thechildren they were, chased each other all over the house, up and downthe stairs; the men hid under tables, only to have a sly hand break acascaron on the back of their heads, and to receive a deluge down thespinal column. The bride chased her dignified groom out into the yard, and a dozen followed. Then Dario found his chance. 

Elena was after him, and as they passed beneath a tree he turned like aflash and caught her in his arms and kissed her. For a second she triedto free herself, mindful that her sisters had not kissed their loversuntil they stood with them in the chapel; but she was made for love, andin a moment her white arms were clinging about his neck. People wereshouting around them; there was time for but few of the words Dariowished to say. 

"Thou must write me a little note every day, " he commanded. "Thybrother's coat, one that he does not wear, hangs behind the door in myroom. To-morrow morning thou wilt find a letter from me in the pocket. Let me find one there, too. Kiss me again, consuelo de mi alma!" andthey separated suddenly, to speak no more that night. 

VII

The next morning, when Elena went to Joaquin's room to make the bed, she found Dario's note in the pocket of the coat, but she had had noopportunity to write one herself. Nor did she have time to read hisuntil after dinner, although it burned her neck and took away herappetite. When the meal was over, she ran down to the willows and readit there, then went straight to the favourite lounging-place of an oldvaquero who had adored her from the days when she used to trot about therancho holding his forefinger, or perch herself upon his shoulder andcommand him to gallop. 

He was smoking his pipe, and he looked up in some wonder as she stoodbefore him, flushed and panting, her eyes-darting apprehensive glances. 

"Pedro, " she said imperiously, "get down on thy hands and knees. "

Pedro was the colour of tanned leather and very hairy, but his facebeamed with good-nature. He put his pipe between his teeth and did ashe was bidden. Elena produced the pencil and paper she had managedto purloin from her father's table, and kneeling beside her faithfulvaquero, wrote a note on his back. It took her a long time to coin thatsimple epistle, for she never had written a love-letter before. ButPedro knelt like a rock, although his old knees ached. When the note wasfinished she thrust it into her gown, and patted Pedro on the head. 

"I love thee, my old man. I will make thee a new salve for thyrheumatism, and a big cake. "

As she approached the house her mother stood on the corridor watchingthe young people mount, and Elena shivered as she met a fiery andwatchful eye. Yesterday had been a perfect day, but the chill of feartouched this. She sprang on her horse and went with the rest to thegames. Her brother Joaquin kept persistently by her side, and Dariothought it best not to approach her. She took little interest in thegames. The young men climbed the greased pole amidst soft derisivelaughter. The greased pig was captured by his tail in a tumult ofexcitement, which rivalled the death of the bull, but Elena paid noattention. It was not until Dario, restive with inaction, entered thelists for the buried rooster, and by its head twisted it from the groundas his horse flew by, that she was roused to interest; and as many hadfailed, and as his was the signal victory of the day, he rode homesomewhat consoled. 

That night, as Dario and Elena danced the contradanza together, theyfelt the eyes of Dona Jacoba upon them, but he dared to whisper:--

"To-morrow morning I speak with thy father. Our wedding-day must be setbefore another sun goes down. "

"No, no!" gasped Elena; but for once Dario would not listen. 

VIII

As soon as Elena had left his room next morning, Dario returned and readthe note she had put in her brother's pocket. It gave him courage, hisdreamy eyes flashed, his sensitive mouth curved proudly. As soon asdinner was over he followed Don Roberto up to the library. The old manstretched himself out in the long brass and leather chair which had beenimported from England for his comfort, and did not look overjoyed whenhis guest begged a few moments' indulgence. 

"I am half asleep, " he said. "Is it about those cattle? Joaquin knows asmuch about them as I do. "

Dario had not been asked to sit down, and he stood before Don Robertofeeling a little nervous, and pressing his hand against the mantelpiece. 

"I do not wish to speak of cattle, seņor. "

"No? What then?" The old man's face was flushed with wine, and hisshaggy brows were drooping heavily. 

"It is--it is about Elena. "

The brows lifted a little. 

"Elena?"

"Yes, seņor. We love each other very much. I wish to ask your permissionthat we may be married. "

The brows went up with a rush; the stiff hairs stood out like a roofabove the cold angry eyes. For a moment Don Roberto stared at thespeaker as if he had not heard; then he sprang to his feet, his red facepurple. 

"Get out of my house, you damned vagabond!" he shouted. "Go as fast asGod Almighty'll let you. You marry my daughter, --you damned Indian! Iwouldn't give her to you if you were pure-blooded Castilian, much lessto a half-breed whelp. And you have dared to make love to her. Go! Doyou hear? Or I'll kick you down the stairs!"

Dario drew himself up and looked back at his furious host with a pridethat matched his own. The blood was smarting in his veins, but he madeno sign and walked down the stair. 

Don Roberto went at once in search of his wife. Failing to find her, hewalked straight into the sala, and taking Elena by the arm before theassembled guests, marched her upstairs and into her room, and locked thedoor with his key. 

Elena fell upon the floor and sobbed with rebellious mortification andterror. Her father had not uttered a word, but she knew the meaning ofhis summary act, and other feelings soon gave way to despair. That sheshould never see Dario Castaņares again was certain, and she wept andprayed with all the abandon of her Spanish nature. A picture of theVirgin hung over the bed, and she raised herself on her knees and liftedher clasped hands to it beseechingly. With her tumbled hair and whiteface, her streaming upturned eyes and drawn mouth, she looked more likethe Mater Dolorosa than the expressionless print she prayed to. 

"Mary! Mother!" she whispered, "have mercy on thy poor little daughter. Give him to me. I ask for nothing else in this world. I do not care forgold or ranchos, only to be his wife. I am so lonely, my mother, foreven Santiago thinks of so many other things than of me. I only want tobe loved, and no one else will ever love me who can make me love him. Ay! give him to me! give him to me!" And she threw herself on her faceonce more, and sobbed until her tears were exhausted. Then she draggedherself to the window and leaned over the deep seat. Perhaps she mighthave one glimpse of him as he rode away. 

She gave a little cry of agony and pleasure. He was standing by thegates of the corral whilst the vaqueros rounded up the cattle he hadbought. His arms were folded, his head hung forward. As he heard hercry, he lifted his face, and Elena saw the tears in his eyes. For themoment they gazed at each other, those lovers of California's long-ago, while the very atmosphere quivering between them seemed a palpablebarrier. Elena flung out her arms with a sudden passionate gesture; hegave a hoarse cry, and paced up and down like a race-horse curbed with aSpanish bit. How to have one last word with her? If she were behind thewalls of the fort of Monterey it would be as easy. He dared not speakfrom where he was. Already the horses were at the door to carry theeager company to a fight between a bull and a bear. But he could write anote if only he had the materials. It was useless to return to his room, for Joaquin was there; and he hoped never to see that library again. Butwas there ever a lover in whom necessity did not develop the genius ofinvention? Dario flashed upward a glance of hope, then took from hispocket a slip of the rice-paper used for making cigaritos. He burnt amatch, and with the charred stump scrawled a few lines. 

"Elena! Mine! Star of my life! My sweet! Beautiful and idolized. Farewell! Farewell, my darling! My heart is sad. God be with thee. 

"DARIO. "

He wrapped the paper about a stone, and tied it with a wisp of grass. With a sudden flexile turn of a wrist that had thrown many a reata, heflung it straight through the open window. Elena read the meaninglessphrases, then fell insensible to the floor. 

IX

It was the custom of Doņa Jacoba personally to oversee her entireestablishment every day, and she always went at a different hour, thatlaziness might never feel sure of her back. To-day she visited therancheria immediately after dinner, and looked through every hut withher piercing eyes. If the children were dirty, she peremptorily orderedtheir stout mammas to put them into the clean clothes which her bountyhad provided. If a bed was unmade, she boxed the ears of the owner andsent her spinning across the room to her task. But she found little toscold about; her discipline was too rigid. When she was satisfied thatthe huts were in order, she went down to the great stone tubs sunkenin the ground, where the women were washing in the heavy shade of thewillows. In their calico gowns they made bright bits of colour againstthe drooping green of the trees. 

"Maria, " she cried sharply, "thou art wringing that fine linen tooharshly. Dost thou wish to break in pieces the bridal clothes of thyseņorita? Be careful, or I will lay the whip across thy shoulders. "

She walked slowly through the willows, enjoying the shade. Her fine oldhead was held sternly back, and her shoulders were as square as heryoungest son's; but she sighed a little, and pressed a willow branchto her face with a caressing motion. She looked up to the graypeak standing above its fellows, bare, ugly, gaunt. She was not animaginative woman, but she always had felt in closer kinship with thatsolitary peak than with her own blood. As she left the wood and sawthe gay cavalcade about to start--the burnished horses, the dashingcaballeros, the girls with their radiant faces and jaunty habits--shesighed again. Long ago she had been the bride of a brilliant youngMexican officer for a few brief years; her youth had gone with his life. 

She avoided the company and went round to the buildings at the backof the house. Approving here, reproaching there, she walked leisurelythrough the various rooms where the Indians were making lard, shoes, flour, candles. She was in the chocolate manufactory when her husbandfound her. 

"Come--come at once, " he said. "I have good news for thee. "

She followed him to his room, knowing by his face that tragedy hadvisited them. But she was not prepared for the tale he poured forth withviolent interjections of English and Spanish oaths. She had detecteda flirtation between her daughter and the uninvited guest, and notapproving of flirtations, had told Joaquin to keep his eyes upon themwhen hers were absent; but that the man should dare and the girl shouldstoop to think of marriage wrought in her a passion to which herhusband's seemed the calm flame of a sperm-candle. 

"What!" she cried, her hoarse voice breaking. "What! A half-breedaspire to a Cortez!" She forgot her husband's separateness with trueCalifornian pride. "My daughter and the son of an Indian! Holy God! Andshe has dared!--she has dared! The little imbecile! The little--But, "and she gave a furious laugh, "she will not forget again. "

She caught the greenhide reata from the nail and went up the stair. Crossing the library with heavy tread, as if she would stamp her ragethrough the floor, she turned the key in the door of her daughter's roomand strode in. The girl still lay on the floor, although consciousnesshad returned. As Elena saw her mother's face she cowered pitifully. That terrible temper seldom dominated the iron will of the woman, butSantiago had shaken it a few days ago, and Elena knew that her turn hadcome. 

Doņa Jacoba shut the door and towered above her daughter, red spots onher face, her small eyes blazing, an icy sneer on her mouth. She did notspeak a word. She caught the girl by her delicate shoulder, jerked herto her feet, and lashed her with the heavy whip until screams mingledwith the gay laughter of the parting guests. When she had beaten heruntil her own arm ached, she flung her on the bed and went out andlocked the door. 

Elena was insensible again for a while, then lay dull and inert forhours. She had a passive longing for death. After the suffering and thehideous mortification of that day there seemed no other climax. Thecavalcade rode beneath her windows once more, with their untiredlaughter, their splendid vitality. They scattered to their rooms to dontheir bright evening gowns, then went to the dining room and feasted. 

After supper Francisca unlocked Elena's door and entered with a littletray on her hand. Elena refused to eat, but her sister's presence rousedher, and she turned her face to the wall and burst into tears. 

"Nonsense!" said Francisca, kindly. "Do not cry, my sister. What isa lover? The end of a little flirtation? My father will find thee ahusband--a strong fair English husband like mine. Dost thou not preferblondes to brunettes, my sister? I am sorry my mother beat thee, but shehas such a sense of her duty. She did it for thy good, my Elena. Let medress thee in thy new gown, the white silk with the pale blue flowers. It is high in the neck and long in the sleeves, and will hide the marksof the whip. Come down and play cascarones and dance until dawn andforget all about it. "

But Elena only wept on, and Francisca left her for more imperativeduties. 

The next day the girl still refused to eat, although Doņa Jacoba openedher mouth and poured a cup of chocolate down her throat. Late in theafternoon Santiago slipped into the room and bent over her. 

"Elena, " he whispered hurriedly. "Look! I have a note for thee. "

Elena sat upright on the bed, and he thrust a piece of folded paper intoher hand. "Here it is. He is in San Luis Obispo and says he will staythere. Remember it is but a few miles away. My--"

Elena sank back with a cry, and Santiago blasphemed in English. DoņaJacoba unlocked her daughter's hand, took the note, and led Santiagofrom the room. When she reached her own, she opened a drawer and handedhim a canvas bag full of gold. 

"Go to San Francisco and enjoy yourself, " she said. "Interfere nofarther between your sister and your parents, unless you prefer thatreata to gold. Your craft cannot outwit mine, and she will read nonotes. You are a foolish boy to set your sense against your mother's. Imay seem harsh to my children, but I strive on my knees for their good. And when I have made up my mind that a thing is right to do, you knowthat my nature is of iron. No child of mine shall marry a lazy vagabondwho can do nothing but lie in a hammock and bet and gamble and makelove. And a half-breed! Mother of God! Now go to San Francisco, and sendfor more money when this is gone. "

Santiago obeyed. There was nothing else for him to do. 

Elena lay in her bed, scarcely touching food. Poor child! her naturedemanded nothing of life but love, and that denied her, she couldfind no reason for living. She was not sport-loving like Joaquín, norpractical like Francisca, nor learned like Santiago, nor ambitiousto dance through life like her many nieces. She was but a clingingunreasoning creature, with warm blood and a great heart. But she nolonger prayed to have Dario given her. It seemed to her that after suchsuffering her saddened and broken spirit would cast its shadows over herhappiest moments, and she longed only for death. 

Her mother, becoming alarmed at her increasing weakness, called in anold woman who had been midwife and doctor of the county for half acentury. She came, a bent and bony woman who must have been majestic inher youth. Her front teeth were gone, her face was stained with darksplashes like the imprint of a pre-natal hand. Over her head she wore ablack shawl; and she looked enough like a witch to frighten her patientsinto eternity had they not been so well used to her. She prodded Elenaall over as if the girl were a loaf of bread and her knotted fingerssought a lump of flour in the dough. 

"The heart, " she said to Doņa Jacoba with sharp emphasis, her back teethmeeting with a click, as if to proclaim their existence. "I have noherbs for that, " and she went back to her cabin by the ocean. 

That night Elena lifted her head suddenly. From the hill opposite herwindow came the sweet reverberation of a guitar: then a voice, which, though never heard by her in song before, was as unmistakable as if ithad serenaded beneath her window every night since she had known DaríoCastaņares. 

 EL ULTIMO ADIĶS

 "Si dos con el alma Se amaron en vida, Y al fin se separan En vida las dos; Sabeis que es tan grande Le pena sentida Que con esa palabra Se dicen adios. Y en esa palabra Que breve murmura, Ni verse prometen Niamarse se juran; Que en esa palabra Se dicen adios. No hay queja mas honda, Suspiro mas largo; Que aquellas palabras Que dicen adios. Al fin ha llegado, La muerte en la vida; Al fin para entrambos Muramos los dos: Al fin ha llegado La hora cumplida, Del ultimo adios. Ya nunca en la vida, Gentil compaņera Ya nunca volveremos A vernos los dos: Por eso es tan triste Mi acento postrere, Por eso es tan triste El ultimo adios. "--

They were dancing downstairs; laughter floated through the open windows. Francisca sang a song of the bull-fight, in her strong high voice; thefrogs chanted their midnight mass by the creek in the willows; thecoyotes wailed; the owls hooted. But nothing could drown that message oflove. Elena lit a candle and held it at arm's length before the window. She knew that its ray went straight through the curtains to the singeron the hill, for his voice broke suddenly, then swelled forth inpassionate answer. He sat there until dawn singing to her; but the nextnight he did not come, and Elena knew that she had not been his onlyaudience. 

X

The week of festivity was over; the bridal pair, the relatives, thefriends went away. Quiet would have taken temporary possession of LosQuervos had it not been for the many passing guests lavishly entertainedby Don Roberto. 

And still Elena lay in her little iron bed, refusing to get out of it, barely eating, growing weaker and thinner every day. At the end of threeweeks Doņa Jacoba was thoroughly alarmed, and Don Roberto sent Joaquinto San Francisco for a physician. 

The man of science came at the end of a week. He asked many questions, and had a long talk with his patient. When he left the sick-room, hefound Don Roberto and Doņa Jacoba awaiting him in the library. They wereready to accept his word as law, for he was an Englishman, and had wonhigh reputation during his short stay in the new country. 

He spoke with curt directness. "My dear sir, your child is dying becauseshe does not wish to live. People who write novels call it dying of abroken heart; but it does not make much difference about the name. Your child is acutely sensitive, and has an extremely delicateconstitution--predisposition to consumption. Separation from the youngman she desires to marry has prostrated her to such an extent that sheis practically dying. Under existing circumstances she will not livetwo months, and, to be brutally frank, you will have killed her. Iunderstand that the young man is well-born on his father's side, andpossessed of great wealth. I see no reason why she should not marry him. I shall leave her a tonic, but you can throw it out of the window unlessyou send for the young man, " and he walked down the stair and made readyfor his departure. 

Don Roberto translated the verdict to his wife. She turned very gray, and her thin lips pressed each other. But she bent her head. "So be it, "she said; "I cannot do murder. Send for Dario Castaņares. "

"And tell him to take her to perdition, " roared the old man. "Never letme see her again. "

He went down the stair, filled a small bag with gold, and gave it to thedoctor. He found Joaquin and bade him go for Dario, then shut himself ina remote room, and did not emerge until late that day. 

Doņa Jacoba sent for the maid, Malia. 

"Bring me one of your frocks, " she said, "a set of your undergarments, apair of your shoes and stockings. " She walked about the room untilthe girl's return, her face terrible in its repressed wrath, its grayconsciousness of defeat. When Malia came with the garments she told herto follow, and went into Elena's room and stood beside the bed. 

"Get up, " she said. "Dress thyself in thy bridal clothes. Thou art goingto marry Dario Castaņares to-day. "

The girl looked up incredulously, then closed her eyes wearily. 

"Get up, " said her mother. "The doctor has said that we must let ourdaughter marry the half-breed or answer to God for her murder. " Sheturned to the maid: "Malia, go downstairs and make a cup of chocolateand bring it up. Bring, too, a glass of angelica. "

But Elena needed neither. She forgot her desire for death, hermisgivings of the future; she slipped out of bed, and would have taken apair of silk stockings from the chest, but her mother stopped her withan imperious gesture, and handed her the coarse shoes and stockings themaid had brought. Elena raised her eyes wonderingly, but drew themon her tender feet without complaint. Then her mother gave her theshapeless undergarments, the gaudy calico frock, and she put them on. When the maid returned with the chocolate and wine, she drank both. Theygave her colour and strength; and as she stood up and faced her mother, she had never looked more beautiful nor more stately in the silken gownsthat were hers no longer. 

[Illustration: "HE BENT DOWN AND CAUGHT HER IN HIS ARMS. "]

"There are horses' hoofs, " said Doņa Jacoba. "Leave thy father's houseand go to thy lover. "

Elena followed her from the room, walking steadily, although she wasbeginning to tremble a little. As she passed the table in the library, she picked up an old silk handkerchief of her father's and tied it abouther head and face. A smile was on her lips, but no joy could crowd thesadness from her eyes again. Her spirit was shadowed; her nature hadcome to its own. 

They walked through the silent house, and to Elena's memory came thepicture of that other bridal, when the very air shook with pleasure andthe rooms were jewelled with beautiful faces; but she would not haveexchanged her own nuptials for her sister's calm acceptance. 

When she reached the veranda she drew herself up and turned to hermother with all that strange old woman's implacable bearing. 

"I demand one wedding present, " she said. "The greenhide reata. I wishit as a memento of my mother. "

Doņa Jacoba, without the quiver of a muscle, walked into her husband'sroom and returned with the reata and handed it to her. Then Elena turnedher back upon her father's house and walked down the road through thewillows. Darío did not notice the calico frock or the old handkerchiefabout her head. He bent down and caught her in his arms and kissed her, then lifting her to his saddle, galloped down the road to San LuisObispo. Doņa Jacoba turned her hard old face to the wall. 

A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA[1]

[Footnote 1: Pronounced a-oo-lo-hia. ]

I

Dona Pomposa crossed her hands on her stomach and twirled her thumbs. Ared spot was in each coffee-coloured cheek, and the mole in her scantyeyebrow jerked ominously. Her lips were set in a taut line, and herangry little eyes were fixed upon a girl who sat by the window strumminga guitar, her chin raised with an air of placid impertinence. 

"Thou wilt stop this nonsense and cast no more glances at Juan Tornel!"commanded Doņa Pomposa. "Thou little brat! Dost thou think that I amone to let my daughter marry before she can hem? Thank God we have moresense than our mothers! No child of mine shall marry at fifteen. Nowlisten--thou shalt be locked in a dark room if I am kept awake againby that hobo serenading at thy window. To-morrow, when thou goest tochurch, take care that thou throwest him no glance. Dios de mi alma!I am worn out! Three nights have I been awakened by that _tw-a-n-g, tw-a-n-g. "_

"You need not be afraid, " said her daughter, digging her little heelinto the floor. "I shall not fall in love. I have no faith in men. "

Her mother laughed outright in spite of her anger. 

"Indeed, my Eulogia! Thou art very wise. And why, pray, hast thou nofaith in men?"

Eulogia tossed the soft black braid from her shoulder, and fixed herkeen roguish eyes on the old lady's face. 

"Because I have read all the novels of the Seņor Dumas, and I well knowall those men he makes. And they never speak the truth to women; alwaysthey are selfish, and think only of their own pleasure. If the womensuffer, they do not care; they do not love the women--only themselves. So I am not going to be fooled by the men. I shall enjoy life, but Ishall think of _myself_, not of the men. "

Her mother gazed at her in speechless amazement. She never had read abook in her life, and had not thought of locking from her daughterthe few volumes her dead husband had collected. Then she gasped withconsternation. 

"Por Dios, seņorita, a fine woman thou wilt make of thyself with suchideas! a nice wife and mother--when the time comes. What does PadroFlores say to that, I should like to know? It is very strange that hehas let you read those books. "

"I have never told him, " said Eulogia, indifferently. 

"What!" screamed her mother. "You never told at confession?"

"No, I never did. It was none of his business what I read. Reading is nosin. I confessed all--"

"Mother of God!" cried Doņa Pomposa, and she rushed at Eulogia withuplifted hand; but her nimble daughter dived under her arm with aprovoking laugh, and ran out of the room. 

That night Eulogia pushed aside the white curtain of her window andlooked out. The beautiful bare hills encircling San Luis Obispo wereblack in the silvered night, but the moon made the town light as day. The owls were hooting on the roof of the mission; Eulogia could see themflap their wings. A few Indians were still moving among the dark hutsoutside the walls, and within, the padre walked among his olive trees. Beyond the walls the town was still awake. Once a horseman dasheddown the street, and Eulogia wondered if murder had been done in themountains; the bandits were thick in their fastnesses. She did wishshe could see one. Then she glanced eagerly down the road beneathher window. In spite of the wisdom she had accepted from the Frenchromanticist, her fancy was just a little touched by Juan Tornel. Hisblack flashing eyes could look so tender, and he rode so beautifully. She twitched the curtain into place and ran across the room, her feetpattering on the bare floor, jumped into her little iron bed, and drewthe dainty sheet to her throat. A ladder had fallen heavily against theside of the house. 

She heard an agile form ascend and seat itself on the deep window-sill. Then the guitar vibrated under the touch of master fingers, and a richsweet tenor sang to her:--

EL CORAZON

 "El corazon del amor palpita, Al oir de tu dulce voz, Cuando mi sangre Se pone en agitaciķn, Tu eres la mas hermosa, Tu eres la luz del dia, Tu eres la gloria mia, Tu eres mi dulce bien. 

 "Negro tienes el cabello, Talle lineas hermosas, Mano blanca, pie precioso, No hay que decir en ti:--Tu eres la mas hermosa, Tu eres la luz del dia, Tu eres la prenda mía, Tu me harás morir. 

 "Que importa que noche y dia, En ti sola estoy pensando, El corazķn palpitante No cesa de repetir:-- Tu eres la mas hermosa, Tu eres la luz del dia, Tu eres la prenda mía, Tu me harás morir--Eulogia!"

Eulogia lay as quiet as a mouse in the daytime, not daring to applaud, hoping fatigue had sent her mother to sleep. Her lover tuned his guitarand began another song, but she did not hear it; she was listening tofootfalls in the garret above. With a presentiment of what was aboutto happen she sprang out of bed with a warning cry; but she was toolate. There was a splash and rattle on the window-seat, a smotheredcurse, a quick descent, a triumphant laugh from above. Eulogia stampedher foot with rage. She cautiously raised the window and passed her handalong the outer sill. This time she beat the casement with both hands:they were covered with warm ashes. 

"Well, my daughter, have I not won the battle?" said a voice behind her, and Eulogia sat down on the window-seat and swung her feet in silentwrath. 

Doņa Pomposa wore a rather short night-gown, and her feet were encasedin a pair of her husband's old boots. Her hair was twisted under a redsilk kerchief, and again she crossed her hands on her stomach, but thethumbs upheld a candle. Eulogia giggled suddenly. 

"What dost thou laugh at, seņorita? At the way I have served thy lover?Dost thou think he will come soon again?"

"No, mamma, you have proved the famous hospitality of the Californianswhich the Americans are always talking about. You need have no moreenvy of the magnificence of Los Quervos. " And then she kicked her heelsagainst the wall. 

"Oh, thou canst make sharp speeches, thou impertinent little brat; butJuan Tornel will serenade under thy window no more. Dios! the ashes mustlook well on his pretty mustachios. Go to bed. I will put thee to boardin the convent to-morrow. " And she shuffled out of the room, her amplefigure swinging from side to side like a large pendulum. 

II

The next day Eulogia was sitting on her window-seat, her chin resting onher knees, a volume of Dumas beside her, when the door was cautiouslyopened and her Aunt Anastacia entered the room. Aunt Anastacia wasvery large; in fact she nearly filled the doorway; she also disdainedwhalebones and walked with a slight roll. Her ankles hung over her feet, and her red cheeks and chin were covered with a short black down. Herhair was twisted into a tight knot and protected by a thick net, and shewore a loose gown of brown calico, patterned with large red roses. Butgood-nature beamed all over her indefinite features, and her little eyesdwelt adoringly upon Eulogia, who gave her an absent smile. 

"Poor little one, " she said in her indulgent voice. "But it was cruel inmy sister to throw ashes on thy lover. Not but what thou art too youngfor lovers, my darling, --although I had one at twelve. But times havechanged. My little one--I have a note for thee. Thy mother is out, andhe has gone away, so there can be no harm in reading it--"

"Give it to me at once"--and Eulogia dived into her aunt's pocket andfound the note. 

"Beautiful and idolized Eulogia. --Adios! Adios! I came a stranger tothy town. I fell blinded at thy feet. I fly forever from the scornfullaughter in thine eyes. Ay, Eulogia, how couldst thou? But no! I willnot believe it was thou! The dimples that play in thy cheeks, the sparksthat fly in thine eyes--Dios de mi vida! I cannot believe that they comefrom a malicious soul. No, enchanting Eulogia! Consolation of my soul!It was thy mother who so cruelly humiliated me, who drives me from thytown lest I be mocked in the streets. Ay, Eulogia! Ay, misericordia!Adios! Adios!

"JUAN TORNEL. "

Eulogia shrugged her shoulders. "Well, my mother is satisfied, perhaps. She has driven him away. At least, I shall not have to go to theconvent. "

"Thou art so cold, my little one, " said Aunt Anastacia, disapprovingly. "Thou art but fifteen years, and yet thou throwest aside a lover as ifhe were an old reboso. Madre de Dios! In your place I should have weptand beaten the air. But perhaps that is the reason all the young men arewild for thee. Not but that I had many lovers--"

"It is too bad thou didst not marry one, " interrupted Eulogia, maliciously. "Perhaps thou wouldst"--and she picked up her book--"ifthou hadst read the Seņor Dumas. "

"Thou heartless baby!" cried her indignant aunt, "when I love thee so, and bring thy notes at the risk of my life, for thou knowest that thymother would pull the hair from my head. Thou little brat! to say Icould not marry, when I had twenty--"

Eulogia jumped up and pecked her on the chin like a bird. "Twenty-five, my old mountain. I only joked with thee. Thou didst not marry becausethou hadst more sense than to trot about after a man. Is it not so, myold sack of flour? I was but angry because I thought thou hadst helpedmy mother last night. "

"Never! I was sound asleep. "

"I know, I know. Now trot away. I hear my mother coming, " and AuntAnastacia obediently left her niece to the more congenial company of theSeņor Dumas. 

III

The steep hills of San Luis Obispo shot upward like the sloping sides ofa well, so round was the town. Scarlet patches lay on the slopes--thewide blossoms of the low cacti. A gray-green peak and a mulberry peaktowered, kithless and gaunt, in the circle of tan-coloured hills brushedwith purple. The garden of the mission was green with fruit trees andsilver with olive groves. On the white church and long wing lay the redtiles; beyond the wall the dull earth huts of the Indians. Then thestraggling town with its white adobe houses crouching on the grass. 

Eulogia was sixteen. A year had passed since Juan Tornel serenadedbeneath her window, and, if the truth must be told, she had almostforgotten him. Many a glance had she shot over her prayer-book in themission church; many a pair of eyes, dreamy or fiery, had responded. Butshe had spoken with no man. After a tempestuous scene with her mother, during which Aunt Anastacia had wept profusely, a compromise had beenmade: Eulogia had agreed to have no more flirtations until she wassixteen, but at that age she should go to balls and have as many loversas she pleased. 

She walked through the olive groves with Padre Moraga on the morning ofher sixteenth birthday. The new padre and she were the best of friends. 

"Well, " said the good old man, pushing the long white hair from his darkface--it fell forward whenever he stooped--"well, my little one, thougoest to thy first ball to-night. Art thou happy?"

Eulogia lifted her shoulder. Her small nose also tilted. 

"Happy? There is no such thing as happiness, my father. I shall dance, and flirt, and make all the young men fall in love with me. I shallenjoy myself, that is enough. "

The padre smiled; he was used to her. 

"Thou little wise one!" He collected himself suddenly. "But thou artright to build thy hopes of happiness on the next world alone. " Thenhe continued, as if he merely had broken the conversation to say theAngelus: "And thou art sure that thou wilt be La Favorita? Truly, thouhast confidence in thyself--an inexperienced chit who has not half thebeauty of many other girls. "

"Perhaps not; but the men shall love me better, all the same. Beauty isnot everything, my father. I have a greater attraction than soft eyesand a pretty mouth. "

"Indeed! Thou baby! Why, thou art no bigger than a well-grown child, andthy mouth was made for a woman twice thy size. Where dost thou keep thatextraordinary charm?" Not but that he knew, for he liked her betterthan any girl in the town, but he felt it his duty to act the part ofcurb-bit now and again. 

"You know, my father, " said Eulogia, coolly; "and if you have any doubt, wait until to-morrow. "

The ball was given in the long sala of Doņa Antonia Ampudia, on the edgeof the rambling town. As the night was warm, the young people dancedthrough the low windows on to the wide corridor; and, if watchful eyesrelaxed their vigilance, stepped off to the grass and wandered amongthe trees. The brown old women in dark silks sat against the wall, asdowagers do to-day. Most of the girls wore bright red or yellow gowns, although softer tints blossomed here and there. Silken black hair wasbraided close to the neck, the coiffure finished with a fringe ofchenille. As they whirled in the dance, their full bright gowns lookedlike an agitated flower-bed suddenly possessed by a wandering tribe ofdusky goddesses. 

Eulogia came rather late. At the last moment her mother had wavered inher part of the contract, and it was not until Eulogia had sworn byevery saint in the calendar that she would not leave the sala, eventhough she stifled, that Doņa Pomposa had reluctantly consented to takeher. Eulogia's perfect little figure was clad in a prim white silk gown, but her cold brilliant eyes were like living jewels, her large mouth wasas red as the cactus patches on the hills, and a flame burned in eithercheek. In a moment she was surrounded by the young men who had beenwaiting for her. It might be true that twenty girls in the room weremore beautiful than she, but she had a quiet manner more effective thananimation, a vigorous magnetism of which she was fully aware, and a coolcoquetry which piqued and fired the young men, who were used to moresentimental flirtations. 

She danced as airily as a flower on the wind, but with untiringvitality. 

"Seņorita!" exclaimed Don Carmelo Peņa, "thou takest away my breath. Dost thou never weary?"

"Never. I am not a man. "

"Ay, seņorita, thou meanest--"

"That women were made to make the world go round, and men to play theguitar. "

"Ay, I can play the guitar. I will serenade thee to-morrow night. "

"Thou wilt get a shower of ashes for thy pains. Better stay at home, andprepare thy soul with three-card _monte_"

"Ay, seņorita, but thou art cruel! Does no man please thee?"

"_Men_ please me. How tiresome to dance with a woman!"

"And that is all the use thou hast for us? For us who would die forthee?"

"In a barrel of aguardiente? I prefer thee to dance with. To tell thetruth, thy step suits mine. "

"Ay, seņorita mia! thou canst put honey on thy tongue. God of my life, seņorita--I fling my heart at thy feet!"

"I fear to break it, seņor, for I have faith that it is made of thinglass. It would cut my feet. I like better this smooth floor. Who isthat standing by the window? He has not danced to-night?"

"Don Pablo Ignestria of Monterey. He says the women of San Luis are nothalf so beautiful nor so elegant as the women of Monterey; he says theyare too dark and too small. He does not wish to dance with any one; nordo any of the girls wish to dance with him. They are very angry. "

"I wish to dance with him. Bring him to me. "

"But, seņorita, I tell thee thou wouldst not like him. Holy heaven! Whydo those eyes flash so? Thou lookest as if thou wouldst fight with thylittle fists. "

"Bring him to me. "

Don Carmelo walked obediently over to Don Pablo, although burning withjealousy. 

"Seņor, at your service, " he said. "I wish to introduce you to the mostcharming seņorita in the room. "

"Which?" asked Ignestria, incuriously. 

Don Carmelo indicated Eulogia with a grand sweep of his hand. 

"That little thing? Why, there are a dozen prettier girls in the roomthan she, and I have not cared to meet any of them!"

"But she has commanded me to take you to her, seņor, and--look at themen crowding about her--do you think I dare to disobey?"

The stranger's dark gray eyes became less insensible. He was a handsomeman, with a tall figure, and a smooth strong face; but about him hungthe indolence of the Californian. 

"Very well, " he said, "take me to her. "

He asked her to dance, and after a waltz Eulogia said she was tired, andthey sat down within a proper distance of Doņa Pomposa's eagle eye. 

"What do you think of the women of San Luis Obispo?" asked Eulogia, innocently. "Are not they handsome?"

"They are not to be compared with the women of Monterey--since you askme. "

"Because they find the men of San Luis more gallant than the Seņor DonPablo Ignestria!"

"Do they? One, I believe, asked to have me introduced to her!"

"True, seņor. I wished to meet you that you might fall in love with me, and that the ladies of San Luis might have their vengeance. "

He stared at her. 

"Truly, seņorita, but you do not hide your cards. And why, then, shouldI fall in love with you?"

"Because I am different from the women of Monterey. "

"A good reason why I should not. I have been in every town inCalifornia, and I admire no women but those of my city. "

"And because you will hate me first. "

"And if I hate you, how can I love you?"

"It is the same. You hate one woman and love another. Each is the samepassion, only to a different person out goes a different side. Let theperson loved or hated change his nature, and the passion will change. "

He looked at her with more interest. 

"In truth I think I shall begin with love and end with hate, seņorita. But that wisdom was not born in your little head; for sixteen years, Ithink, have not sped over it, no? It went in, if I mistake not, throughthose bright eyes. "

"Yes, seņor, that is true. I am not content to be just like other girlsof sixteen. I want to _know_--_to know. _ Have you ever read any books, seņor?"

"Many. " He looked at her with a lively interest now. "What ones have youread?"

"Only the beautiful romances of the Seņor Dumas. I have seen no others, for there are not many books in San Luis. Have you read others?"

"A great many others. Two wonderful Spanish books--'Don Quixote de laMancha' and 'Gil Blas, ' and the romances of Sir Waltere Scote--a man ofEngland, and some lives of famous men, seņorita. A great man lent themto me--the greatest of our Governors--Alvarado. "

"And you will lend them to me?" cried Eulogia, forgetting her coquetry, "I want to read them. "

"Aha! Those cool eyes can flash. That even little voice can break intwo. By the holy Evangelists, seņorita, thou shalt have every book Ipossess. "

"Will the Seņorita Doņa Eulogia favour us with a song?"

Don Carmelo was bowing before her, a guitar in his hand, his wrathfuleyes fixed upon Don Pablo. 

"Yes, " said Eulogia. 

She took the guitar and sang a love-song in a manner which can best bedescribed as no manner at all; her expression never changed, her voicenever warmed. At first the effect was flat, then the subtle fascinationof it grew until the very memory of impassioned tones was florid andsurfeiting. When she finished, Ignestria's heart was hammering upon thesteel in which he fancied he had prisoned it. 

IV

"Well, " said Eulogia to Padre Moraga two weeks later, "am I not LaFavorita?"

"Thou art, thou little coquette. Thou hast a power over men which thoumust use with discretion, my Eulogia. Tell thy beads three times a dayand pray that thou mayest do no harm. "

"I wish to do harm, my father, for men have broken the hearts of womenfor ages--"

"Chut, chut, thou baby! Men are not so black as they are painted. Harmno one, and the world will be better that thou hast lived in it. "

"If I scratch, fewer women will be scratched, " and she raised hershoulders beneath the flowered muslin of her gown, swung her guitarunder her arm, and walked down the grove, the silver leaves shiningabove her smoky hair. 

The padre had bidden all the young people of the upper class to a picnicin the old mission garden. Girls in gay muslins and silk rebosos weresitting beneath the arches of the corridor or flitting under the treeswhere the yellow apricots hung among the green leaves. Languid andsparkling faces coquetted with caballeros in bright calico jackets andknee-breeches laced with silken cord, their slender waists girt withlong sashes hanging gracefully over the left hip. The water rilled inthe winding creek, the birds carolled in the trees; but above all rosethe sound of light laughter and sweet strong voices. 

They took their dinner behind the arches, at a table the length of thecorridor, and two of the young men played the guitar and sang, whilstthe others delighted their keen palates with the goods the padre hadprovided. 

Don Pablo sat by Eulogia, a place he very often managed to fill; but henever had seen her for a moment alone. 

"I must go soon, Eulogia, " he murmured, as the voices waxed louder. "Duty calls me back to Monterey. "

"I am glad to know thou hast a sense of thy duty. "

"Nothing but that would take me away from San Luis Obispo. But both mymother and--and--a dear friend are ill, and wish to see me. "

"Thou must go to-night. How canst thou eat and be gay when thy motherand--and--a dear friend are ill?"

"Ay, Eulogia! wouldst thou scoff over my grave? I go, but it is for theeto say if I return. "

"Do not tell me that thou adorest me here at the table. I shall blush, and all will be about my smarting ears like the bees down in the padre'shive. "

"I shall not tell thee that before all the world, Eulogia. All I askis this little favour: I shall send thee a letter the night I leave. Promise me that thou wilt answer it--to Monterey. "

"No, sir! Long ago, when I was twelve, I made a vow I would never writeto a man. I never break that vow. "

"Thou wilt break it for me, Eulogia. "

"And why for you, seņor? Half the trouble in the world has been made onpaper. "

"Oh, thou wise one! What trouble can a piece of paper make when it lieson a man's heart?"

"It can crackle when another head lies on it. "

"No head will ever lie here but--"

"Mine?"

"Eulogia!"

"To thee, Seņorita Doņa Eulogia, " cried a deep voice. "May the jewels inthine eyes shine by the stars when thou art above them. May the tearsnever dim them while they shine for us below, " and a caballero pushedback his chair, leaned forward, and touched her glass with his, thenwent down on one knee and drank the red wine. 

Eulogia threw him a little absent smile, sipped her wine, and went ontalking to Ignestria in her soft monotonous voice. 

"My friend--Graciosa La Cruz--went a few weeks ago to Monterey for avisit. You will tell her I think of her, no?"

"I will dance with her often because she is your friend--until I returnto San Luis Obispo. "

"Will that be soon, seņor?"

"I told thee that would be as soon as thou wished. Thou wilt answer myletter--promise me, Eulogia. "

"I will not, seņor. I intend to be wiser than other women. At the veryleast, my follies shall not burn paper. If you want an answer, you willreturn. "

"I will _not_ return without that answer. I never can see thee alone, and if I could, thy coquetry would not give me a plain answer. I mustsee it on paper before I will believe. "

"Thou canst wait for the day of resurrection for thy knowledge, then!"

V

Once more Aunt Anastacia rolled her large figure through Eulogia'sdoorway and handed her a letter. 

"From Don Pablo Ignestria, my baby, " she said. "Oh, what a man! what acaballero! And so smart. He waited an hour by the creek in the missiongardens until he saw thy mother go out, and then he brought the note tome. He begged to see thee, but I dared not grant that, niņita, for thymother will be back in ten minutes. "

"Go downstairs and keep my mother there, " commanded Eulogia, and AuntAnastacia rolled off, whilst her niece with unwonted nervousness openedthe letter. 

"Sweet of my soul! Day-star of my life! I dare not speak to thee of lovebecause, strong man as I am, still am I a coward before those mockingeyes. Therefore if thou laugh the first time thou readest that I lovethee, I shall not see it, and the second time thou mayest be more kind. Beautiful and idolized Eulogia, men have loved thee, but never will becast at thy little feet a heart stronger or truer than mine. Ay, dueņoadorada, I love thee! Without hope? No! I believe that thou lovest me, thou cold little one, although thou dost not like to think that theheart thou hast sealed can open to let love in. But, Eulogia! Star of myeyes! I love thee so I will break that heart in pieces, and give theeanother so soft and warm that it will beat all through the old house towhich I will take thee. For thou wilt come to me, thou little coquette?Thou wilt write to me to come back and stand with thee in the missionwhile the good padre asks the saints to bless us? Eulogia, thou hastsworn thou wilt write to no man, but thou wilt write to me, my littleone. Thou wilt not break the heart that lives in thine. 

"I kiss thy little feet. I kiss thy tiny hands. I kiss--ay, Eulogia!Adios! Adios!

"PABLO. "

Eulogia could not resist that letter. Her scruples vanished, and, afteran entire day of agonized composition, she sent these lines:--

"You can come back to San Luis Obispo. 

"EULOGIA AMATA FRANCISCA GUADALUPE CARILLO. "

VI

Another year had passed. No answer had come from Pablo Ignestria. Norhad he returned to San Luis Obispo. Two months after Eulogia had senther letter, she received one from Graciosa La Cruz, containing theinformation that Ignestria had married the invalid girl whose love forhim had been the talk of Monterey for many years. And Eulogia? Herflirtations had earned her far and wide the title of Doņa Coquetta, andshe was cooler, calmer, and more audacious than ever. 

"Dost thou never intend to marry?" demanded Doņa Pomposa one day, as shestood over the kitchen stove stirring red peppers into a saucepan fullof lard. 

Eulogia was sitting on the table swinging her small feet. "Why do youwish me to marry? I am well enough as I am. Was Elena Castaņares sohappy with the man who was mad for her that I should hasten to be aneglected wife? Poor my Elena! Four years, and then consumption anddeath. Three children and an indifferent husband, who was dying of lovewhen he could not get her. "

"Thou thinkest of unhappy marriages because thou hast just heard ofElena's death. But there are many others. "

"Did you hear of the present she left her mother?"

"No. " Doņa Pomposa dropped her spoon; she dearly loved a bit of gossip. "What was it?"

"You know that a year ago Elena went home to Los Quervos and begged DonRoberto and Doņa Jacoba on her knees to forgive her, and they did, andwere glad to do it. Doņa Jacoba was with her when she was so ill at thelast, and just before she died Elena said: 'Mother, in that chest youwill find a legacy from me. It is all of my own that I have in theworld, and I leave it to you. Do not take it until I am dead. ' And whatdo you think it was? The greenhide reata. "

"Mother of God! But Jacoba must have felt as if she were already inpurgatory. "

"It is said that she grew ten years older in the night. "

"May the saints be praised, my child can leave me no such gift. But allmen are not like Dario Castaņares. I would have thee marry an American. They are smart and know how to keep the gold. Remember, I have littlenow, and thou canst not be young forever. "

"I have seen no American I would marry. "

"There is Don Abel Hudson. "

"I do not trust that man. His tongue is sweet and his face is handsome, but always when I meet him I feel a little afraid, although it goes awayin a minute. The Seņor Dumas says that a woman's instincts--"

"To perdition with Seņor Dumas! Does he say that a chit's instincts arebetter than her mother's? Don Abel throws about the money like rocks. He has the best horses at the races. He tells me that he has a house inYerba Buena--"

"San Francisco. And I would not live in that bleak and sandy waste. Didyou notice how he limped at the ball last night?"

"No. What of that? But I am not in love with Don Abel Hudson if thou artso set against him. It is true that no one knows just who he is, now Ithink of it. I had not made up my mind that he was the husband for thee. But let it be an American, my Eulogia. Even when they have no money theywill work for it, and that is what no Californian will do--"

But Eulogia had run out of the room: she rarely listened to the end ofher mother's harangues. She draped a reboso about her head, and wentover to the house of Graciosa La Cruz. Her friend was sitting by herbedroom window, trimming a yellow satin bed-spread with lace, andEulogia took up a half-finished sheet and began fastening the drawnthreads into an intricate pattern. 

"Only ten days more, my Graciosa, " she said mischievously. "Art thougoing to run back to thy mother in thy night-gown, like JosefitaOlvera?"

"Never will I be such a fool! Eulogia, I have a husband for thee. "

"To the tunnel of the mission with husbands! I shall be an old maid likeAunt Anastacia, fat, with black whiskers. "

Graciosa laughed. "Thou wilt marry and have ten children. "

"By every station in the mission I will not. Why bring more women intothe world to suffer?"

"Ay, Eulogia! thou art always saying things I cannot understand and thatthou shouldst not think about. But I have a husband for thee. He camefrom Los Angeles this morning, and is a friend of my Carlos. His name isnot so pretty--Tomas Garfias. There he rides now. "

Eulogia looked out of the window with little curiosity. A small youngman was riding down the street on a superb horse coloured like goldenbronze, with silver mane and tail. His saddle of embossed leather washeavily mounted with silver; the spurs were inlaid with gold and silver, and the straps of the latter were worked with gleaming metal threads. Hewore a light red serape, heavily embroidered and fringed. His botas ofsoft deerskin, dyed a rich green and stamped with Aztec Eagles, weretied at the knee by a white silk cord wound about the leg and finishedwith heavy silver tassels. His short breeches were trimmed with goldlace. As he caught Graciosa's eye he raised his sombrero, then rodethrough the open door of a neighbouring saloon and tossed off anAmerican drink without dismounting from his horse. 

Eulogia lifted her shoulders. "I like his saddle and his horse, but heis too small. Still, a new man is not disagreeable. When shall I meethim?"

"To-night, my Eulogia. He goes with us to Miramar. "

VII

A party of young people started that night for a ball at Miramar, thehome of Don Polycarpo Quijas. Many a caballero had asked the lady ofhis choice to ride on his saddle while he rode on the less comfortableaquera behind and guided his horse with arm as near her waist as hedared. Doņa Pomposa, with a small brood under her wing, started last ofall in an American wagon. The night was calm, the moon was high, theparty very gay. 

Abel Hudson and the newcomer, Don Tomas Garfias, sat on either side ofEulogia, and she amused herself at the expense of both. 

"Don Tomas says that he is handsomer than the men of San Luis, " she saidto Hudson. "Do not you think he is right? See what a beautiful curl hismustachios have, and what a droop his eyelids. Holy Mary!--how thatyellow ribbon becomes his hair! Ay, seņor! Why have you come to dazzlethe eyes of the poor girls of San Luis Obispo?"

"Ah, seņorita, " said the little dandy, "it will do their eyes good tosee an elegant young man from the city. And they should see my sister. She would teach them how to dress and arrange their hair. "

"Bring her to teach us, seņor, and for reward we will find her a talland modest husband such as the girls of San Luis Obispo admire. DonAbel, why do you not boast of your sisters? Have you none, nor mother, nor father, nor brother? I never hear you speak of them. Maybe you growalone out of the earth. "

Hudson's gaze wandered to the canon they were approaching. "I am alone, seņorita; a lonely man in a strange land. "

"Is that the reason why you are such a traveller, seņor? Are you neverafraid, in your long lonely rides over the mountains, of that dreadfulbandit, John Power, who murders whole families for the sack of gold theyhave under the floor? I hope you always carry plenty of pistols, seņor. "

"True, dear seņorita. It is kind of you to put me on my guard. I neverhad thought of this man. "

"This devil, you mean. When last night I saw you come limping into theroom--"

"Ay, yi, yi, Dios!" "Maria!" "Dios de mi alma!" "Dios de mi vida!""Cielo santo!"

A wheel had given way, and the party was scattered about the road. 

No one was hurt, but loud were the lamentations. No Californian had everwalked six miles, and the wheel was past repair. But Abel Hudson came tothe rescue. 

"Leave it to me, " he said. "I pledge myself to get you there, " and hewent off in the direction of a ranch-house. 

"Ay! the good American! The good American!" cried the girls. "Eulogia!how canst thou be so cold to him? The handsome stranger with the kindheart!"

"His heart is like the Sacramento Valley, veined with gold instead ofblood. " "Holy Mary!" she cried some moments later, "what is he bringing?The wagon of the country!"

Abel Hudson was standing erect on the low floor of a wagon drawn by twostrong black mules. The wagon was a clumsy affair, --a large wooden framecovered with rawhide, and set upon a heavy axle. The wheels were made ofsolid sections of trees, and the harness was of greenhide. An Indian boysat astride one of the mules. On either side rode a vaquero, with hisreata fastened to the axle-tree. 

"This is the best I can do, " said Hudson. "There is probably not anotherAmerican wagon between San Luis and Miramar. Do you think you can standit?"

The girls shrugged their pretty shoulders. The men swore into theirmustachios. Doņa Pomposa groaned at the prospect of a long ride in aspringless wagon. But no one was willing to return, and when Eulogiajumped lightly in, all followed, and Hudson placed them as comfortablyas possible, although they were obliged to sit on the floor. 

The wagon jolted down the caņon, the mules plunging, the vaquerosshouting; but the moon glittered like a silvered snow peak, the wildgreen forest was about them, and even Eulogia grew a little sentimentalas Abel Hudson's blue eyes bent over hers and his curly head cut offDoņa Pomposa's view. 

"Dear seņorita, " he said, "thy tongue is very sharp, but thou hast akind heart. Hast thou no place in it for Abel Hudson?"

"In the sala, seņor--where many others are received--with mamma and AuntAnastacia sitting in the corner. "

He laughed. "Thou wilt always jest! But I would take all the rooms, andturn every one out, even to Doņa Pomposa and Doņa Anastacia!"

"And leave me alone with you! God of my soul! How I should yawn!"

"Oh, yes, Doņa Coquetta, I am used to such pretty little speeches. Whenyou began to yawn I should ride away, and you would be glad to see mewhen I returned. "

"What would you bring me from the mountains, seņor?"

He looked at her steadily. "Gold, seņorita. I know of many rich veins. I have a little caņon suspected by no one else, where I pick out a sackfull of gold in a day. Gold makes the life of a beloved wife very sweet, seņorita. "

"In truth I should like the gold better than yourself, seņor, " saidEulogia, frankly. "For if you will have the truth--Ay! Holy heaven! Thisis worse than the other!"

A lurch, splash, and the party with shrill cries sprang to their feet;the low cart was filling with water. They had left the caņon and werecrossing a slough; no one had remembered that it would be high tide. Thegirls, without an instant's hesitation, whipped their gowns up roundtheir necks; but their feet were wet and their skirts draggled. Theymade light of it, however, as they did of everything, and drove up toMiramar amidst high laughter and rattling jests. 

Doņa Luisa Quijas, a handsome shrewd-looking woman, magnificentlydressed in yellow satin, the glare and sparkle of jewels on her neck, came out upon the corridor to meet them. 

"What is this? In a wagon of the country! An accident? Ay, Dios de mivida, the slough! Come in--quick! quick! I will give you dry clothes. Trust these girls to take care of their gowns. Mary! What wet feet!Quick! quick! This way, or you will have red noses to-morrow, " and sheled them down the corridor, past the windows through which they couldsee the dancers in the sala, and opened the door of her bedroom. 

"There, my children, help yourselves, " and she pulled out the capaciousdrawers of her chest. "All is at your service. " She lifted out an armfulof dry underclothing, then went to the door of an adjoining room andlistened, her hand uplifted. 

"Didst thou have to lock him up?" asked Doņa Pomposa, as she drew on apair of Doņa Luisa's silk stockings. 

"Yes! yes! And such a time, my friend! Thou knowest that after I fooledhim the last time he swore I never should have another ball. But, Diosde mi alma! I never was meant to be bothered with a husband, and have Inot given him three children twenty times handsomer than himself? Is notthat enough? By the soul of Saint Luis the Bishop, I will continue topromise, and then get absolution at the mission, but I will not perform!Well, he was furious, my friend; he had spent a sack of gold on thatball, and he swore I never should have another. So this time I invitedmy guests, and told him nothing. At seven to-night I persuaded him intohis room, and locked the door. But, madre de Dios! Diego had forgottento screw down the window, and he got out. I could not get him back, Pomposa, and his big nose was purple with rage. He swore that he wouldturn every guest away from the door; he swore that he would be takinga bath on the corridor when they came up, and throw insults in theirfaces. Ay, Pomposa! I went down on my knees. I thought I should not havemy ball--such cakes as I had made, and such salads! But Diego saved me. He went into Don Polycarpo's room and cried 'Fire!' Of course the oldman ran there, and then we locked him in. Diego had screwed down thewindow first. Dios de mi vida! but he is terrible, that man! What have Idone to be punished with him?"

"Thou art too handsome and too cruel, my Luisa. But, in truth, he is anold wild-cat. The saints be praised that he is safe for the night. Didhe swear?"

"Swear! He has cursed the skin off his throat and is quiet now. Come, mylittle ones, are you ready? The caballeros are dry in Diego's clothes bythis time, and waiting for their waltzes;" and she drove them throughthe door into the sala with a triumphant smile on her dark sparklingface. 

The rest of the party had been dancing for an hour, and all gatheredabout the girls to hear the story of the accident, which was toldwith many variations. Eulogia as usual was craved for dances, but shecapriciously divided her favours between Abel Hudson and Don TomasGarfias. During the intervals, when the musicians were silent and thegirls played the guitar or threw cascarones at their admirers, she satin the deep window-seat watching the ponderous waves of the Pacific hurlthemselves against the cliffs, whilst Hudson pressed close to her side, disregarding the insistence of Garfias. Finally, the little Don from theCity of the Angels went into the dining room to get a glass of angelica, and Hudson caught at his chance. 

"Seņorita, " he exclaimed, interrupting one of her desultory remarks, "for a year I have loved you, and, for many reasons, I have not dared totell you. I must tell you now. I have no reason to think you care morefor me than for a dozen other men, but if you will marry me, seņorita, I will build you a beautiful American house in San Luis Obispo, and youcan then be with your friends when business calls me away. "

"And where will you live when you are away from me?" asked Eulogia, carelessly. "In a cave in the mountains? Be careful of the bandits. "

"Seņorita, " he replied calmly, "I do not know what you mean by thethings you say sometimes. Perhaps you have the idea that I am anotherperson--John Power, or Pio Lenares, for instance. Do you wish me tobring you a certificate to the effect that I am Abel Hudson? I can doso, although I thought that Californians disdained the written formand trusted to each other's honour, even to the selling of cattle andlands. "

"You are not a Californian. "

"Ah, seņorita--God! what is that?"

A tremendous knocking at the outer door sounded above the clear sopranoof Graciosa La Cruz. 

"A late guest, no doubt. You are white like the wall. I think the lowceilings are not so good for your health, seņor, as the sharp air of themountains. Ay, Dios!" The last words came beneath her breath, andshe forgot Abel Hudson. The front doors had been thrown open, and acaballero in riding-boots and a dark scrape wound about his tall figurehad entered the room and flung his sombrero and saddle-bags into acorner. It was Pablo Ignestria. 

"At your feet, seņora, " he said to Doņa Luisa, who held out both hands, welcome on her charming face. "I am an uninvited guest, but when Iarrived at San Luis and found that all the town had come to one of DoņaLuisa's famous balls, I rode on, hoping that for friendship's sake shewould open her hospitable doors to a wanderer, and let him dance off thestiffness of a long ride. "

"You are welcome, welcome, Pablo, " said Doņa Luisa. "Go to the diningroom and get a glass of aguardiente; then come back and dance untildawn. "

Ignestria left the room with Diego Quijas, but returned in a few momentsand walked directly over to Eulogia, ignoring the men who stood abouther. 

"Give me this dance, " he whispered eagerly. "I have something to say tothee. I have purposely come from Monterey to say it. "

Eulogia was looking at him with angry eyes, her brain on fire. Butcuriosity triumphed, and she put her hand on his shoulder as themusicians swept their guitars with lithe fingers, scraped their violins, and began the waltz. 

"Eulogia!" exclaimed Ignestria; "dost thou suspect why I have returned?"

"Why should I suspect what I have not thought about?"

"Ay, Eulogia! Art thou as saucy as ever? But I will tell thee, belovedone. The poor girl who bore my name is dead, and I have come to beg ananswer to my letter. Ay, little one, I _feel_ thy love. Why couldst thounot have sent me one word? I was so angry when passed week after weekand no answer came, that in a fit of spleen I married the poor sickgirl. And what I suffered, Eulogia, after that mad act! Long ago I toldmyself that I should have come back for my answer, that you had swornyou would write no letter; I should have let you have your littlecaprices, but I did not reason until--"

"I answered your letter!" exclaimed Eulogia, furiously. "You know thatI answered it! You only wished to humble me because I had sworn I wouldwrite to no man. Traitor! I hate you! You were engaged to the girl allthe time you were here. "

"Eulogia! Believe! Believe!"

"I would not believe you if you kissed the cross! You said to yourself, 'That little coquette, I will teach her a lesson. To think the littlechit should fancy an elegant Montereņo could fall in love with her!' Ah!ha! Oh, Dios! I hate thee, thou false man-of-the-world! Thou art thevery picture of the men I have read about in the books of the SeņorDumas; and yet I was fooled by thy first love-word! But I never lovedyou. Never, never! It was only a fancy--because you were from Monterey. I am glad you did not get my letter, for I hate you! Mother of Christ! Ihate you!"

He whirled her into the dining room. No one else was there. He kissedher full on the mouth. 

"Dost thou believe me now?" he asked. 

She raised her little hand and struck him on the face, but the sting wasnot hotter than her lips had been. 

"May the saints roll you in perdition!" she cried hoarsely. "May theythrust burning coals into the eyes that lied to me! May the devils biteoff the fingers that made me shame myself! God! God! I hate you! I--I, who have fooled so many men, to have been rolled in the dust by you!"

He drew back and regarded her sadly. 

"I see that it is no use to try to convince you, " he said; "and I haveno proof to show that I never received your letter. But while the starsjewel the heavens, Eulogia, I shall love thee and believe that thoulovest me. "

He opened the door, and she swept past him into the sala. Abel Hudsonstepped forward to offer his arm, and for the moment Pablo forgotEulogia. 

"John Power!" he cried. 

Hudson, with an oath, leaped backward, sprang upon the window-seat, andsmashing the pane with his powerful hand disappeared before the startledmen thought of stopping him. 

"Catch him! Catch him!" cried Ignestria, excitedly. "It is John Power. He stood me up a year ago. "

He whipped his pistol from the saddle-bags in the corner, and openingthe door ran down the road, followed by the other men, shouting andfiring their pistols into the air. But they were too late. Power hadsprung upon Ignestria's horse, and was far on his way. 

VIII

The next day Eulogia went with her mother and Aunt Anastacia to pay avisit of sympathy to Doņa Jacoba at Los Quervos. Eulogia's eyes were notso bright nor her lips so red as they had been the night before, andshe had little to say as the wagon jolted over the rough road, past thecypress fences, then down between the beautiful tinted hills of LosQuervos. Doņa Pomposa sat forward on the high seat, her feet danglingjust above the floor, her hands crossed as usual over her stomach, asudden twirl of thumbs punctuating her remarks. She wore a loose blackgown trimmed with ruffles, and a black reboso about her head. AuntAnastacia was attired in a like manner, but clutched the side of thewagon with one hand and an American sunshade with the other. 

"Poor Jacoba!" exclaimed Doņa Pomposa; "her stern heart is heavy thisday. But she has such a sense of her duty, Anastacia. Only that makesher so stern. "

"O-h-h-h, y-e-e-s. " When Aunt Anastacia was preoccupied or excited, these words came from her with a prolonged outgoing and indrawing. 

"I must ask her for the recipe for those cakes--the lard ones, Anastacia. I have lost it. "

"O-h-h, y-e-e-s. I love those cakes. Madre de Dios! It is hot!"

"I wonder will she give Eulogia a mantilla when the chit marries. Shehas a chest full. "

"Surely. Jacoba is generous. "

"Poor my friend! Ay, her heart--Holy Mary! What is that?"

She and Aunt Anastacia stumbled to their feet. The sound of pistol shotswas echoing between the hills. Smoke was rising from the willow forestthat covered the centre of the valley. 

The Indian whipped up his horses with an excited grunt, the two oldwomen reeling and clutching wildly at each other. At the same time theynoticed a crowd of horsemen galloping along the hill which a sudden turnin the road had opened to view. 

"It is the Vigilantes, " said Eulogia, calmly, from the front seat. "Theyare after John Power and Pio Lenares and their lieutenants. After thatawful murder in the mountains the other day, the men of San Luis and theranchos swore they would hunt them out, and this morning they tracedthem to Los Quervos. I suppose they have made a barricade in thewillows, and the Vigilantes are trying to fire them out. "

"Heart of Saint Peter! Thou little brat! Why didst thou not tell us ofthis before, and not let us come here to be shot by flying bullets?"

"I forgot, " said Eulogia, indifferently. 

They could see nothing; but curiosity, in spite of fear, held them tothe spot. Smoke and cries, shouts and curses, came from the willows;flocks of agitated crows circled screaming through the smoke. The menon the hill, their polished horses and brilliant attire flashing in thesun, kept up a ceaseless galloping, hallooing, and waving of sombreros. The beautiful earth-green and golden hills looked upon a far differentscene from the gay cavalcades to which they were accustomed. Even DonRoberto Duncan, a black silk handkerchief knotted about his head, wasdashing, on his gray horse, up and down the valley between the hills andthe willows, regardless of chance bullets. And over all shone the sameold sun, indifferent alike to slaughter and pleasure. 

"Surely, Anastacia, all those bullets must shoot some one. "

"O--h--h, y--e--e--s. " Her sister was grasping the sunshade with bothhands, her eyes starting from her head, although she never removed theirgaze from the central volume of smoke. 

"Ay, we can sleep in peace if those murdering bandits are killed!"exclaimed Doņa Pomposa. "I have said a rosary every night for five yearsthat they might be taken. And, holy heaven! To think that we have beenpetting the worst of them as if he were General Castro or Juan Alvarado. To think, my Eulogia!--that thirsty wild-cat has had his arm about thywaist more times than I can count. "

"He danced very well--aha!"

Aunt Anastacia gurgled like an idiot. Doņa Pomposa gave a terrificshriek, which Eulogia cut in two with her hand. A man had crawled out ofthe brush near them. His face was black with powder, one arm hung limpat his side. Doņa Pomposa half raised her arm to signal the men on thehill, but her daughter gave it such a pinch that she fell back on theseat, faint for a moment. 

"Let him go, " said Eulogia. "Do you want to see a man cut in piecesbefore your eyes? You would have to say rosaries for the rest of yourlife. " She leaned over the side of the wagon and spoke to the dazed man, whose courage seemed to have deserted him. 

"Don Abel Hudson, you do not look so gallant as at the ball last night, but you helped us to get there, and I will save you now. Get into thewagon, and take care you crawl in like a snake that you may not beseen. "

"No--no!" cried the two older women, but in truth they were tooterrified not to submit. Power swung himself mechanically over thewheel, and lay on the floor of the wagon. Eulogia, in spite of aprotesting whimper from Aunt Anastacia, loosened that good dame's ampleouter skirt and threw it over the fallen bandit. Then the faithfulBenito turned his horse and drove as rapidly toward the town as therough roads would permit. They barely had started when they heard agreat shouting behind them, and turned in apprehension, whilst the manon the floor groaned aloud in his fear. But the Vigilantes rode bythem unsuspecting. Across their saddles they carried the blackened anddripping bodies of Lenares and his lieutenants; through the willowsgalloped the caballeros in search of John Power. But they did notfind him, then nor after. Doņa Pomposa hid him in her woodhouse untilmidnight, when he stole away and was never seen near San Luis again. Afew years later came the word that he had been assassinated by one ofhis lieutenants in Lower California, and his body eaten by wild hogs. 

IX

 "Al contado plasentero Del primer beso de amor, Un fuego devorador Que en mi pecho siento ardor. 

 "Y no me vuelvas a besar Por que me quema tu aliento, Ya desfayeserme siento, Mas enbriagada de amor. 

 "Si a cuantas estimas, das Beso en pruebas de amor; Si me amas hasme el favor De no besarme jamas. "

A caballero on a prancing horse sang beneath Eulogia's window, hisjingling spurs keeping time to the tinkling of his guitar. Eulogiaturned over in bed, pulling the sheet above her ears, and went to sleep. 

The next day, when Don Tomas Garfias asked her hand of her mother, DoņaCoquetta accepted him with a shrug of her shoulders. 

"And thou lovest me, Eulogia?" murmured the enraptured little dandy asDoņa Pomposa and Aunt Anastacia good-naturedly discussed the compositionof American pies. 

"No. "

"Ay! seņorita! Why, then, dost thou marry me? No one compels thee. "

"It pleases me. What affair of thine are my reasons if I consent tomarry you?"

"Oh, Eulogia, I believe thou lovest me! Why not? Many pretty girls havedone so before thee. Thou wishest only to tease me a little. "

"Well, do not let me see too much of you before the wedding-day, or Imay send you back to those who admire you more than I do. "

"Perhaps it is well that I go to San Francisco to remain three months, "said the young man, sulkily; he had too much vanity to be enraged. "Wiltthou marry me as soon as I return?"

"As well then as any other time. "

Garfias left San Luis a few days later to attend to important businessin San Francisco, and although Doņa Pomposa and Aunt Anastacia began atonce to make the wedding outfit, Eulogia appeared to forget that sheever had given a promise of marriage. She was as great a belle as ever, for no one believed that she would keep faith with any man, much lesswith such a ridiculous scrap as Garfias. Her flirtations were morecalmly audacious than ever, her dancing more spirited; in every frolicshe was the leader. 

Suddenly Doņa Pomposa was smitten with rheumatism. She groaned by nightand shouted by day. Eulogia, whose patience was not great, organizeda camping party to the sulphur springs of the great rancho, Paso desRobles. The young people went on horseback; Doņa Pomposa and AuntAnastacia in the wagon with the tents and other camping necessities. Groans and shrieks mingled with the careless laughter of girls andcaballeros, who looked upon rheumatism as the inevitable sister of oldage; but when they entered the park-like valley after the ride over thebeautiful chrome mountains, Doņa Pomposa declared that the keen dry airhad already benefited her. 

That evening, when the girls left their tents, hearts fluttered, andgay muslin frocks waved like agitated banners. Several Americans werepitching their tents by the spring. They proved to be a party of miningengineers from San Francisco, and although there was only one youngman among them, the greater was the excitement. Many of the girls werebeautiful, with their long braids and soft eyes, but Eulogia, inher yellow gown, flashed about like a succession of meteors, as theAmericans drew near and proffered their services to Doņa Pomposa. 

The young man introduced himself as Charles Rogers. He was agood-looking little fellow, in the lighter American style. Hiswell-attired figure was slim and active, his mouse-coloured hair shortand very straight, his shrewd eyes were blue. After a few moments'critical survey of the charming faces behind Doņa Pomposa, he went offamong the trees, and returning with a bunch of wild flowers walkedstraight over to Eulogia and handed them to her. 

She gave him a roguish little courtesy. "Much thanks, seņor. You mustscuse my English; I no spik often. The Americanos no care for theflores?"

"I like them well enough, but I hope you will accept these. "

"Si, seņor. " She put them in her belt. "You like California?"

"Very much. It is full of gold, and, I should say, excellent foragriculture. "

"But it no is beautiful country?"

"Oh, yes, it does very well, and the climate is pretty fair in someparts. "

"You living in San Francisco?"

"I am a mining engineer, and we have got hold of a good thing nearhere. "

"The mine--it is yours?"

"Only a part of it. "

"The Americanos make all the money now. "

"The gold was put here for some one to take out. You Californians hadthings all your own way for a hundred years, but you let it stay there. "

"Tell me how you take it out. "

He entered into a detailed and somewhat technical description, but herquick mind grasped the meaning of unfamiliar words. 

"You like make the money?" she asked, after he had finished. 

"Of course. What else is a man made for? Life is a pretty small affairwithout money. "

"We no have much now, but we live very happy. The Americanos love themoney, though. Alway I see that. "

"Americans have sense. "

He devoted himself to her during the ten days of their stay, and hisbusiness shrewdness and matter-of-fact conversation attracted thekeen-witted girl, satiated with sighs and serenades. Always eager forknowledge, she learned much from him of the Eastern world. She did notwaste a glance on her reproachful caballeros, but held long practicalconversations with Rogers under the mending wing of Doņa Pomposa, whoapproved of the stranger, having ascertained his abilities and prospectsfrom the older men of his party. 

On the morning of their return to San Luis Obispo, Rogers and Eulogiawere standing somewhat apart, whilst the vaqueros rounded up the horsesthat had strayed at will through the valley. Rogers plucked one of thepurple autumn lilies and handed it to her. 

"Seņorita, " he said, "suppose you marry me. It is a good thing for a manto be married in a wild country like this; he is not so apt to gambleand drink. And although I've seen a good many pretty girls, I've seen noone so likely to keep me at home in the evening as yourself. What do yousay?"

Eulogia laughed. His wooing interested her. 

"I promise marry another man; not I think much I ever go to do it. "

"Well, let him go, and marry me. "

"I no think I like you much better. But I spose I must get marry someday. Here my mother come. Ask her. I do what she want. "

Doņa Pomposa was trotting toward them, and while she struggled for herlost breath Eulogia repeated the proposal of the American, twanging herguitar the while. 

The old lady took but one moment to make up her mind. "The American, "she said rapidly in Spanish. "Garfias is rich now, but in a few yearsthe Americans will have everything. Garfias will be poor; this man willbe rich. Marry the American, " and she beamed upon Rogers. 

Eulogia shrugged her shoulders and turned to her practical wooer. 

"My mother she say she like you the best. "

"Then I may look upon that little transaction as settled?"

"Si you like it. "

"_Which_ art thou going to marry, Eulogia?" asked one of the girls thatnight, as they rode down the mountain. 

"Neither, " said Eulogia, serenely. 

X

Eulogia had just passed through an animated interview with her mother. Doņa Pomposa had stormed and Eulogia had made an occasional reply in hercool monotonous voice, her gaze absently fixed on the gardens of themission. 

"Thou wicked little coquette!" cried Doņa Pomposa, her voice almostworn out. "Thou darest repeat to me that thou wilt not marry the SeņorRogers!"

"I will not. It was amusing to be engaged to him for a time, but now Iam tired. You can give him what excuse you like, but tell him to go. "

"And the clothes I have made--the chests of linen with the beautifuldeshalados that nearly put out Aunt Anastacia's eyes! The new silkgowns! Dias de mi vida! The magnificent bed-spread with the lace as deepas my hand!"

"They will keep until I do marry. Besides, I need some new clothes. "

"Dost thou indeed, thou little brat! Thou shalt not put on a smock ora gown in that chest if thou goest naked! But thou shalt marry him, Isay!"

"No. "

"Oh, thou ice-hearted little devil!" Even Doņa Pomposa's stomach wastrembling with rage, and her fingers were jumping. "Whom then wilt thoumarry? Garfias?"

"No. "

"Thou wilt be an old maid like Aunt Anastacia. "

"Perhaps. "

"O--h--h--Who is this?"

A stranger in travelling scrape and riding-boots had dashed up to thehouse, and flung himself from his horse. He knocked loudly on the opendoor, then entered without waiting for an invitation, and made a deepreverence to Doņa Pomposa. 

"At your service, seņora. At your service, seņorita. I come from theSeņor Don Tomas Garfias. Word has reached him that the Seņorita Eulogiais about to marry an American. I humbly ask you to tell me if this betrue or not. I have been told in town that the wedding is set for theday after to-morrow. "

"Ask her!" cried Doņa Pomposa, tragically, and she swung herself to theother end of the room. 

"Seņorita, at your feet. "

"You can tell your friend that I have no more intention of marrying theAmerican than I have of marrying him. "

"Seņorita! But he expected to return next week and marry you. "

"We expect many things in this world that we do not get. "

"But--a thousand apologies for my presumption, seņorita--why did you notwrite and tell him?"

"I never write letters. "

"But you could have sent word by some friend travelling to SanFrancisco, seņorita. "

"He would find it out in good time. Why hurry?"

"Ay, seņorita, well are you named Doņa Coquetta. You are famous even toSan Francisco. I will return to my poor friend. At your service, seņora. At your service, seņorita, " and he bowed himself out, and galloped away. 

Doņa Pomposa threw herself into her chair, and wept aloud. 

"Mother of God! I had thought to see her married to a thrifty American!What have I done to be punished with so heartless a child? And theAmericans will have all the money! The little I have will go, too! Weshall be left sitting in the street. And we might have a wooden house inSan Francisco, and go to the theatre! Oh, Mother of God, why dost thounot soften the heart of the wicked--"

Eulogia slipped out of the window, and went into the mission gardens. She walked slowly through the olive groves, lifting her arms to partthe branches where the little purple spheres lay in their silver nests. Suddenly she came face to face with Pablo Ignestria. 

Her cynical brain informed her stormy heart that any woman must succumbfinally to the one man who had never bored her. 

THE ISLE OF SKULLS

I

The good priests of Santa Barbara sat in grave conference on the longcorridor of their mission. It was a winter's day, and they basked inthe sun. The hoods of their brown habits peaked above faces lean andascetic, fat and good-tempered, stern, intelligent, weak, commanding. One face alone was young. 

But for the subject under discussion they would have been at peace withthemselves and with Nature. In the great square of the mission theIndians they had Christianized worked at many trades. The great aqueductalong the brow of one of the lower hills, the wheat and corn fields onthe slopes, the trim orchards and vegetable gardens in the caņons of thegreat bare mountains curving about the valley, were eloquent evidence oftheir cleverness and industry. From the open door of the church came thesound of lively and solemn tunes: the choir was practising for mass. Theday was as peaceful as only those long drowsy shimmering days before theAmericans came could be. And yet there was dissent among the padres. 

Several had been speaking together, when one of the older men raised hishand with cold impatience. 

"There is only one argument, " he said. "We came here, came to thewilderness out of civilization, for one object only--to lead the heathento God. We have met with a fair success. Shall we leave these miserableislanders to perish, when we have it in our power to save?"

"But no one knows exactly where this island is, Father Jiméno, " repliedthe young priest. "And we know little of navigation, and may perishbefore we find it. Our lives are more precious than those of savages. "

"In the sight of God one soul is of precisely the same value as another, Father Carillo. "

The young priest scowled. "We can save. They cannot. "

"If we refuse to save when the power is ours, then the savage in hisextremest beastiality has more hope of heaven than we have. "

Father Carillo looked up at the golden sun riding high in the dark bluesky, down over the stately oaks and massive boulders of the valley wherequail flocked like tame geese. He had no wish to leave his paradise, andas the youngest and hardiest of the priests, he knew that he would beordered to take charge of the expedition. 

"It is said also, " continued the older man, "that once a ship from theContinent of Europe was wrecked among those islands--"

"No? No?" interrupted several of the priests. 

"It is more than probable that there were survivors, and that theirdescendants live on this very island to-day. Think of it, my brother!Men and women of our own blood, perhaps, living like beasts of thefield! Worshipping idols! Destitute of morality! Can we sit here in hopeof everlasting life while our brethren perish?"

"No!" The possibility of rescuing men of European blood had quencheddissent. Even Carillo spoke as spontaneously as the others. 

As he had anticipated, the expedition was put in his charge. DonGuillermo Iturbi y Moncada, the magnate of the South, owned a smallschooner, and placed it at the disposal of the priests. 

Through the wide portals of the mission church, two weeks later, rolledthe solemn music of high mass. The church was decorated as for afestival. The aristocrats of the town knelt near the altar, the peopleand Indians behind. 

Father Carillo knelt and took communion, the music hushing suddenly torise in more sonorous volume. Then Father Jiméno, bearing a cross andchanting the rosary, descended the altar steps and walked toward thedoors. On either side of him a page swung a censer. Four women neophytesrose from among the worshippers, and shouldering a litter on whichrested a square box containing an upright figure of the Holy Virginfollowed with bent heads. The Virgin's gown was of yellow satin, coveredwith costly Spanish lace; strands of Baja Californian pearls bedeckedthe front of her gown. Behind this resplendent image came the otherpriests, two and two, wearing their white satin embroidered robes, chanting the sacred mysteries. Father Carillo walked last and alone. Histhin clever face wore an expression of nervous exaltation. 

As the procession descended the steps of the church, the bells rangout a wild inspiring peal. The worshippers rose, and forming in linefollowed the priests down the valley. 

When they reached the water's edge, Father Jiméno raised the cross abovehis head, stepped with the other priests into a boat, and was rowed tothe schooner. He sprinkled holy water upon the little craft; then FatherCarillo knelt and received the blessing of each of his brethren. Whenhe rose all kissed him solemnly, then returned to the shore, where thewhole town knelt. The boat brought back the six Indians who were to givegreeting and confidence to their kinsmen on the island, and the schoonerwas ready to sail. As she weighed anchor, the priests knelt in a rowbefore the people, Father Jiméno alone standing and holding the crossaloft with rigid arms. 

Father Carillo stood on deck and watched the white mission under themountain narrow to a thread, the kneeling priests become dots ofreflected light. His exaltation vanished. He was no longer the chieffigure in a picturesque panorama. He set his lips and his teeth behindthem. He was a very ambitious man. His dreams leapt beyond Californiato the capital of Spain. If he returned with his savages, he might makesuccess serve as half the ladder. But would he return?

Wind and weather favoured him. Three days after leaving Santa Barbarahe sighted a long narrow mountainous island. He had passed another ofdifferent proportions in the morning, and before night sighted stillanother, small and oval. But the lofty irregular mass, some ten mileslong and four miles wide, which he approached at sundown, was the one hesought. The night world was alight under the white blaze of the moon;the captain rode into a small harbour at the extreme end of the islandand cast anchor, avoiding reefs and shoals as facilely as by midday. Father Carillo gave his Indians orders to be ready to march at dawn. 

The next morning the priest arrayed himself in his white satin garments, embroidered about the skirt with gold and on the chest with a purplecross pointed with gold. The brown woollen habit of his voyage was leftbehind. None knew better than he the value of theatric effect upon thebenighted mind. His Indians wore gayly striped blankets of their ownmanufacture, and carried baskets containing presents and civilized food. 

Bearing a large gilt cross, Father Carillo stepped on shore, wavedfarewell to the captain, and directed his Indians to keep faithfully inthe line of march: they might come upon the savages at any moment. Theytoiled painfully through a long stretch of white sand, then passed intoa grove of banana trees, dark, cold, noiseless, but for the rumble ofthe ocean. When they reached the edge of the grove, Father Carilloraised his cross and commanded the men to kneel. Rumour had told himwhat to expect, and he feared the effect on his simple and superstitiouscompanions. He recited a chaplet, then, before giving them permission torise, made a short address. 

"My children, be not afraid at what meets your eyes. The ways of allmen are not our ways. These people have seen fit to leave their deadunburied on the surface of the earth. But these poor bones can do youno more harm than do those you have placed beneath the ground in SantaBarbara. Now rise and follow me, nor turn back as you fear the wrath ofGod. "

He turned and strode forward, with the air of one to whom fear had nomeaning; but even he closed his eyes for a moment in horror. The poorcreatures behind mumbled and crossed themselves and clung to each other. The plain was a vast charnel-house. The sun, looking over the brow of aneastern hill, threw its pale rays upon thousands of crumbling skeletons, bleached by unnumbered suns, picked bare by dead and gone generations ofcarrion, white, rigid, sinister. Detached skulls lay in heaps, grinningderisively. Stark digits pointed threateningly, as if the old warriorsstill guarded their domain. Other frames lay face downward, as thoughthe broken teeth had bitten the dust in battle. Slender forms lay prone, their arms encircling cooking utensils, beautiful in form and colour. Great bowls and urns, toy canoes, mortars and pestles, of serpentine, sandstone, and steatite, wrought with a lost art, --if, indeed, the arthad ever been known beyond this island, --and baked to richest dyes, wereplaced at the head and feet of skeletons more lofty in stature thantheir fellows. 

Father Carillo sprinkled holy water right and left, bidding his Indianschant a rosary for the souls which once had inhabited these appallingtenements. The Indians obeyed with clattering teeth, keeping their eyesfixed stonily upon the ground lest they stumble and fall amid yawningribs. 

The ghastly tramp lasted two hours. The sun spurned the hill-top andcast a flood of light upon the ugly scene. The white bones grew whiter, dazzling the eyes of the living. They reached the foot of a mountain andbegan a toilsome ascent through a dark forest. Here new terrors awaitedthem. Skeletons sat propped against trees, grinning out of the dusk, gleaming in horrid relief against the mass of shadow. Father Carillo, with one eye over his shoulder, managed by dint of command, threats, andsoothing words to get his little band to the top of the hill. Once, when revolt seemed imminent, he asked them scathingly if they wished toretrace their steps over the plain unprotected by the cross, and theyclung to his skirts thereafter. When they reached the summit, they laydown to rest and eat their luncheon, Father Carillo reclining carefullyon a large mat: his fine raiment was a source of no little anxiety. Noskeletons kept them company here. They had left the last many yardsbelow. 

"Anacleto, " commanded the priest, at the end of an hour, "crawl forwardon thy hands and knees and peer over the brow of the mountain. Then comeback and tell me if men like thyself are below. "

Anacleto obeyed, and returned in a few moments with bulging eyes and abroad smile of satisfaction. People were in the valley--a small band. They wore feathers like birds, and came and went from the base of thehill. There were no wigwams, no huts. 

Father Carillo rose at once. Bidding his Indians keep in the background, he walked to the jutting brow of the hill, and throwing a rapid glancedownward came to a sudden halt. With one hand he held the cross wellaway from him and high above his head. The sun blazed down on theburnished cross; on the white shining robes of the priest; on his calmbenignant face thrown into fine relief by the white of the fallingsleeve. 

In a moment a low murmur arose from the valley, then a sudden silence. Father Carillo, glancing downward, saw that the people had prostratedthemselves. 

He began the descent, holding the cross aloft, chanting solemnly; hisIndians, to whom he had given a swift signal, following and lifting uptheir voices likewise. The mountain on this side was bare, as if fromfire, the incline shorter and steeper. The priest noted all things, although he never forgot his lines. 

Below was a little band of men and women. A broad plain swept from themountain's foot, a forest broke its sweep, and the ocean thundered near. The people were clad in garments made from the feathered skins of birds, and were all past middle age. The foot of the mountain was perforatedwith caves. 

When he stood before the trembling awe-struck savages, he spoke to themkindly and bade them rise. They did not understand, but lifted theirheads and stared appealingly. He raised each in turn. As they oncemore looked upon his full magnificence, they were about to prostratethemselves again when they caught sight of the Indians. Those darkstolid faces, even that gay attire, they could understand. Glancingaskance at the priest, they drew near to their fellow-beings, touchedtheir hands to the strangers' breasts, and finally kissed them. 

Father Carillo was a man of tact. 

"My children, " he said to his flock, "do you explain as best you-can tothese our new friends what it is we have come to do. I will go into theforest and rest. "

He walked swiftly across the plain, and parting the clinging branchesof two gigantic ferns, entered the dim wood. He laid the heavy crossbeneath a tree, and strolled idly. It was a forest of fronds. Lofty ferntrees waved above wide-leaved palms. Here and there a little marsh withcrowding plant life held the riotous groves apart. Down the mountain upwhich the forest spread tumbled a creek over coloured rocks, then woundits way through avenues, dark in the shadows, sparkling where thesunlight glinted through the tall tree-tops. Red lilies were everywhere. The aisles were vocal with whispering sound. 

The priest threw himself down on a bed of dry leaves by the creek. Aftera time his eyes closed. He was weary, and slept. 

He awoke suddenly, the power of a steadfast gaze dragging his brain fromits rest. A girl sat on a log in the middle of the creek. Father Carillostared incredulously, believing himself to be dreaming. The girl'sappearance was unlike anything he had ever seen. Like the other membersof her tribe, she wore a garment of feathers, and her dark face was castin the same careless and gentle mould; but her black eyes had a certainintelligence, unusual to the Indians of California, and the hair thatfell to her knees was the colour of flame. Apparently she was not morethan eighteen years old. 

Father Carillo, belonging to a period when bleached brunettes wereunknown, hastily crossed himself. 

"Who are you?" he asked. 

His voice was deep and musical. It had charmed many a woman's heart, despite the fact that he had led a life of austerity and sought nowoman's smiles. But this girl at the sound of it gave a loud cry andbounded up the mountain, leaping through the brush like a deer. 

[Illustration: "HE AWOKE SUDDENLY, THE POWER OF A STEADFAST GAZEDRAGGING HIS BRAIN FROM ITS REST. "]

The priest rose, drank of the bubbles in the stream, and retraced hissteps. He took up the burden of the cross again and returned to thevillage. There he found the savage and the Christianized sittingtogether in brotherly love. The islanders were decked with the rosariespresented to them, and the women in their blankets were swollen withpride. All had eaten of bread and roast fowl, and made the strangersofferings of strange concoctions in magnificent earthen dishes. As thepriest appeared the heathen bowed low, then gathered about him. Theirawe had been dispelled, and they responded to the magnetism of his voiceand smile. He knew many varieties of the Indian language, and succeededin making them understand that he wished them to return with him, andthat he would make them comfortable and happy. They nodded their headsvigorously as he spoke, but pointed to their venerable chief, who sat atthe entrance of his cave eating of a turkey's drumstick. Father Carillowent over to the old man and saluted him respectfully. The chief nodded, waved his hand at a large flat stone, and continued his repast, hisstrong white teeth crunching bone as well as flesh. The priest spreadhis handkerchief on the stone, seated himself, and stated the purposeof his visit. He dwelt at length upon the glories of civilization. Thechief dropped his bone after a time and listened attentively. When thepriest finished, he uttered a volley of short sentences. 

"Good. We go. Great sickness come. All die but us. Many, many, many. Weare strong no more. No children come. We are old--all. One young girlnot die. The young men die. The young women die. The children die. Nomore will come. Yes, we go. "

"And this young girl with the hair--" The priest looked upward. The sunhad gone. He touched the gold of the cross, then his own hair. 

"Dorthe, " grunted the old man, regarding his bare drumstick regretfully. 

"Who is she? Where did she get such a name? Why has she that hair?"

Out of another set of expletives Father Carillo gathered that Dorthe wasthe granddaughter of a man who had been washed ashore after a storm, andwho had dwelt on the island until he died. He had married a woman ofthe tribe, and to his daughter had given the name of Dorthe--or so theIndians had interpreted it--and his hair, which was like the yellowfire. This girl had inherited both. He had been very brave and muchbeloved, but had died while still young. Their ways were not his ways, Father Carillo inferred, and barbarism had killed him. 

The priest did not see Dorthe again that day. When night came, he wasgiven a cave to himself. He hung up his robes on a jutting point ofrock, and slept the sleep of the weary. At the first shaft of dawn herose, intending to stroll down to the beach in search of a bay where hecould bathe; but as he stepped across the prostrate Californians, asleepat the entrance of his cave, he paused abruptly, and changed his plans. 

On the far edge of the ocean the rising diadem of the sun sent greatbubbles of colour up through a low bank of pale green cloud to the graynight sky and the sulky stars. And, under the shadow of the cacti andpalms, in rapt mute worship, knelt the men and women the priest had cometo save, their faces and clasped hands uplifted to the waking sun. 

Father Carillo awoke his Indians summarily. 

"Gather a dozen large stones and build an altar--quick!" he commanded. 

The sleepy Indians stumbled to their feet, obeyed orders, and in a fewmoments a rude altar was erected. The priest propped the cross on theapex, and, kneeling with his Indians, slowly chanted a mass. The savagesgathered about curiously; then, impressed by the solemnity of thepriest's voice and manner, sank to their knees once more, althoughdirecting to the sun an occasional glance of anxiety. When the priestrose, he gave them to understand that he was deeply gratified by theirresponse to the religion of civilization, and pointed to the sun, nowfull-orbed, amiably swimming in a jewelled mist. Again they prostratedthemselves, first to him, then to their deity, and he knew that theconquest was begun. 

After breakfast they were ready to follow him. They had cast theirfeathered robes into a heap, and wore the blankets, one and all. StillDorthe had not appeared. The chief sent a man in search of her, andwhen, after some delay, she entered his presence, commanded her to makeherself ready to go with the tribe. For a time she protested angrily. But when she found that she must go or remain alone, she reluctantlyjoined the forming procession, although refusing to doff her birdgarment, and keeping well in the rear that she might not again look uponthat terrible presence in white and gold, that face with its strangepallor and piercing eyes. Father Carillo, who was very much bored, wouldhave been glad to talk to her, but recognized that he must keep hisdistance if he wished to include her among his trophies. 

The natives knew of a shorter trail to the harbour, and one of them ledthe way, Father Carillo urging his footsteps, for the green cloud ofdawn was now high and black and full. A swift wind was rustling thetree-tops and tossing the ocean white. As they skirted the plain of thedead, the priest saw a strange sight. The wind had become a gale. Itcaught up great armfuls of sand from the low dunes, and hurled them uponthe skeletons, covering them from sight. Sometimes a gust would snatchthe blanket from one to bury another more deeply; and for a moment theold bones would gleam again, to be enveloped in the on-rushing pillar ofwhirling sand. Through the storm leaped the wild dogs, yelping dismally. 

When the party reached the stretch beyond the banana grove, they saw theschooner tossing and pulling at her anchor. The captain shouted to themto hurry. The boat awaiting them at the beach was obliged to make threetrips. Father Carillo went in the first boat; Dorthe remained for thelast. She was the last, also, to ascend the ladder at the ship's side. As she put her foot on deck, and confronted again the pale face andshining robes of the young priest, she screamed, and leapt from thevessel into the waves. The chief and his tribe shouted their entreatiesto return. But she had disappeared, and the sky was black. The captainrefused to lower the boat again. He had already weighed anchor, and hehurriedly represented that to remain longer in the little bay, with itsreefs and rocks, its chopping waves, would mean death to all. The priestwas obliged to sacrifice the girl to the many lives in his keep. 

II

Dorthe darted through the hissing waves, undismayed by the darkness orthe screaming wind; she and the ocean had been friends since her babydays. When a breaker finally tossed her on the shore, she scrambled tothe bank, then stood long endeavouring to pierce the rain for sight ofthe vessel. But it was far out in the dark. Dorthe was alone on theisland. For a time she howled in dismal fashion. She was wholly withoutfear, but she had human needs and was lonesome. Then reason told herthat when the storm was over the ship would return to seek her; and shefled and hid in the banana grove. The next morning the storm had passed;but the ship was nowhere to be seen, and she started for home. 

The wind still blew, but it had veered. This time it caught the sandfrom the skeletons, and bore it rapidly back to the dunes. Dorthewatched the old bones start into view. Sometimes a skull would thrustitself suddenly forth, sometimes a pair of polished knees; and once along finger seemed to beckon. But it was an old story to Dorthe, and shepursued her journey undisturbed. 

She climbed the mountain, and went down into the valley and lived alone. Her people had left their cooking utensils. She caught fish in thecreek, and shot birds with her bow and arrow. Wild fruits and nuts wereabundant. Of creature comforts she lacked nothing. But the days werelong and the island was very still. For a while she talked aloud inthe limited vocabulary of her tribe. After a time she entered intocompanionship with the frogs and birds, imitating their speech. Restlessness vanished, and she existed contentedly enough. 

Two years passed. The moon flooded the valley one midnight. Dorthe layon the bank of the creek in the fern forest. She and the frogs had heldlong converse, and she was staring up through the feathery branches, waving in the night wind, at the calm silver face which had ignored herovertures. Upon this scene entered a man. He was attenuated and ragged. Hair and beard fell nearly to his waist. He leaned on a staff, andtottered like an old man. 

He stared about him sullenly. "Curse them!" he said aloud. "Why couldthey not have died and rotted before we heard of them?"

Dorthe, at the sound of a human voice, sprang to her feet with a cry. The man, too, gave a cry--the ecstatic cry of the unwilling hermit wholooks again upon the human face. 

"Dorthe! Thou? I thought thou wast dead--drowned in the sea. "

Dorthe had forgotten the meaning of words, but her name came to herfamiliarly. Then something stirred within her, filling her eyes withtears. She went forward and touched the stranger, drawing her hand overhis trembling arms. 

"Do you not remember me, Dorthe?" asked the man, softly. "I am thepriest--was, for I am not fit for the priesthood now. I have forgottenhow to pray. "

She shook her head, but smiling, the instinct of gregariousnessawakening. 

He remembered his needs, and made a gesture which she understood. Shetook his hand, and led him from the forest to her cave. She struck firefrom flint into a heap of fagots beneath a swinging pot. In a littletime she set before him a savoury mess of birds. He ate of itravenously. Dorthe watched him with deep curiosity. She had never seenhunger before. She offered him a gourd of water, and he drank thirstily. When he raised his face his cheeks were flushed, his eyes brighter. 

He took her hand and drew her down beside him. 

"I must talk, " he said. "Even if you cannot understand, I must talk toa human being. I must tell some one the story of these awful years. Thevery thought intoxicates me. We were shipwrecked, Dorthe. The wind droveus out of our course, and we went to pieces on the rocks at the foot ofthis island. Until to-night I did not know that it was this island. Ialone was washed on shore. In the days that came I grew to wish that I, too, had perished. You know nothing of what solitude and savagery meanto the man of civilization--and to the man of ambition. Oh, my God! Idared not leave the shore lest I miss the chance to signal a passingvessel. There was scarcely anything to maintain life on that rockycoast. Now and again I caught a seagull or a fish. Sometimes I venturedinland and found fruit, running back lest a ship should pass. There Istayed through God knows how many months and years. I fell ill manytimes. My limbs are cramped and twisted with rheumatism. Finally, I grewto hate the place beyond endurance. I determined to walk to the otherend of the island. It was only when I passed, now and again, theunburied dead and the pottery that I suspected I might be on yourisland. Oh, that ghastly company! When night came, they seemed to riseand walk before me. I cried aloud and cursed them. My manhood has gone, I fear. I cannot tell how long that terrible journey lasted, --months andmonths, for my feet are bare and my legs twisted. What kind fate guidedme to you?"

He gazed upon her, not as man looks at woman, but as mortal looksadoringly upon the face of mortal long withheld. 

Dorthe smiled sympathetically. His speech and general appearance strucka long-dormant chord; but in her mind was no recognition of him. 

He fell asleep suddenly and profoundly. As Dorthe watched, she graduallyrecalled the appearance of the old who had lain screaming on the grounddrawing up their cramped limbs. She also recalled the remedy. Not farfrom the edge of the forest was a line of temascals, excavations coveredwith mud huts, into which her people had gone for every ill. She ran toone, and made a large fire within; the smoke escaped through an aperturein the roof. Then she returned, and, taking the emaciated figure in herarms, bore him to the hut and placed him in the corner farthest from thefire. She went out and closed the door, but thrust her head in from timeto time. He did not awaken for an hour. When he did, he thought he hadentered upon the fiery sequel of unfaith. The sweat was pouring fromhis body. The atmosphere could only be that of the nether world. As hisbrain cleared he understood, and made no effort to escape: he knewthe virtues of the temascal. As the intense heat sapped his remainingvitality he sank into lethargy. He was aroused by the shock of coldwater, and opened his eyes to find himself struggling in the creek, Dorthe holding him down with firm arms. After a moment she carried himback to the plain and laid him in the sun to dry. His rags still clungto him. She regarded them with disfavour, and fetched the Chief'sdiscarded plumage. As soon as he could summon strength he tottered intothe forest and made his toilet. As he was a foot and a half taller thanthe Chief had been, he determined to add a flounce as soon as his healthwould permit. Dorthe, however, looked approval when he emerged, and seta bowl of steaming soup before him. 

He took the temascal twice again, and at the end of a week the drasticcure had routed his rheumatism. Although far from strong, he felt twentyyears younger. His manhood returned, and with it his man's vanity. Hedid not like the appearance of his reflected image in the still pools ofthe wood. The long beard and head locks smote him sorely. He dislikedthe idea of being a fright, even though Dorthe had no standards ofcomparison; but his razors were at the bottom of the sea. 

After much excogitation he arrived at a solution. One day, when Dorthewas on the other side of the mountain shooting birds, --she would killnone of her friends in the fern forest, --he tore dried palm leaves intostrips, and setting fire to them singed his hair and beard to the roots. It was a long and tedious task. When it was finished the pool told himthat his chin and head were like unto a stubbled field. But he was youngand well-looking once more. 

He went out and confronted Dorthe. She dropped her birds, her bow andarrow, and stared at him. Then he saw recognition leap to her eyes; butthis time no fear. He was far from being the gorgeous apparition of manymoons ago. And, so quickly does solitude forge its links, she smiledbrightly, approvingly, and he experienced a glow of content. 

The next day he taught her the verbal synonym of many things, and shespoke the words after him with rapt attention. When he finished thelesson, she pounded, in a wondrous mortar, the dried flour of the bananawith the eggs of wild fowl, then fried the paste over the fire he hadbuilt. She brought a dish of nuts and showed him gravely how to crackthem with a stone, smiling patronizingly at his ready skill. When thedinner was cooked, she offered him one end of the dish as usual, but hethought it was time for another lesson. He laid a flat stone with palmleaves, and set two smaller dishes at opposite ends. Then with a flatstick he lifted the cakes from the fry-pan, and placed an equal numberon each plate. Dorthe watched these proceedings with expanded eyes, butmany gestures of impatience. She was hungry. He took her hand and ledher ceremoniously to the head of the table, motioning to her to beseated. She promptly went down on her knees, and dived at the cakes withboth hands. But again he restrained her. He had employed a part of hislarge leisure fashioning rude wood forks with his ragged pocket-knife. There were plenty of bone knives on the island. He sat himself opposite, and gave her a practical illustration of the use of the knife and fork. She watched attentively, surreptitiously whisking morsels of cake intoher mouth. Finally, she seized the implements of civilization beside herplate, and made an awkward attempt to use them. The priest tactfullydevoted himself to his own dinner. Suddenly he heard a cry of rage, andsimultaneously the knife and fork flew in different directions. Dortheseized a cake in each hand, and stuffed them into her mouth, her eyesflashing defiance. The priest looked at her reproachfully, then loweredhis eyes. Presently she got up, found the knife and fork, and made apatient effort to guide the food to its proper place by the new andtrying method This time the attempt resulted in tears--a wild thundershower. The priest went over, knelt beside her, and guided the knifethrough the cake, the fork to her mouth. Dorthe finished the meal, thenput her head on his shoulder and wept bitterly. The priest soothed her, and made her understand that she had acquitted herself with credit; andthe sun shone once more. 

An hour later she took his hand, and led him to the creek in the forest. 

"C--c--ruck! C--c--ruck!" she cried. 

"C--c--ruck! C--c--ruck!" came promptly from the rushes. She looked athim triumphantly. 

"Curruck, " he said, acknowledging the introduction. 

She laughed outright at his poor attempt, startling even him with thediscordant sound. She sprang to his side, her eyes rolling with terror. But he laughed himself, and in a few moments she was attempting toimitate him. Awhile later she introduced him to the birds; but heforbore to trill, having a saving sense of humour. 

The comrades of her solitude were deserted. She made rapid progress inhuman speech. Gradually her voice lost its cross between a croak and atrill and acquired a feminine resemblance to her instructor's. At theend of a month they could speak together after a fashion. When she madeher first sentence, haltingly but surely, she leaped to her feet andexecuted a wild war dance. They were on the plain of the dead. She flungher supple legs among the skeletons, sending the bones flying, herbright hair tossing about her like waves of fire. The priest watched herwith bated breath, half expecting to see the outraged warriors arise inwrath. The gaunt dogs that were always prowling about the plain fled indismay. 

The month had passed very agreeably to the priest. After the horrors ofhis earlier experience it seemed for a time that he had little more toask of life. Dorthe knew nothing of love; but he knew that if no shipcame, she would learn, and he would teach her. He had loved no woman, but he felt that in this vast solitude he could love Dorthe and be happywith her. In the languor of convalescence he dreamed of the hour when heshould take her in his arms and see the frank regard in her eyes for thelast time. The tranquil air was heavy with the perfumes of spring. Thepalms were rigid. The blue butterflies sat with folded wings. The birdshung their drowsy heads. 

But with returning strength came the desire for civilization, theawakening of his ambitions, the desire for intellectual activity. Hestood on the beach for hours at a time, straining his eyes for passingships. He kept a fire on the cliffs constantly burning. Dorthe'sinstincts were awakening, and she was vaguely troubled. The commoninheritance was close upon her. 

The priest now put all thoughts of love sternly from him. Love meant alifetime on the island, for he would not desert her, and to take her toSanta Barbara would mean the death of all his hopes. And yet in his wayhe loved her, and there were nights when he sat by the watch-fire andshed bitter tears. He had read the story of Juan and Haidée, by no meanswithout sympathy, and he wished more than once that he had the mind andnature of the poet; but to violate his own would be productive of miseryto both. He was no amorous youth, but a man with a purpose, and that, for him, was the end of it. But he spent many hours with her, talking toher of life beyond the island, a story to which she listened with eagerinterest. 

One night as he was about to leave her, she dropped her face into herhands and cried heavily. Instinctively he put his arms about her, andshe as instinctively clung to him, terrified and appealing. He kissedher, not once, but many times, intoxicated and happy. She broke from himsuddenly and ran to her cave; and he, chilled and angry, went to hiscamp-fire. 

It was a very brilliant night. An hour later he saw something skim thehorizon. Later still he saw that the object was closer, and that it wassteering for the harbour. He ran to meet it. 

Twice he stopped. The magnetism of the only woman that had ever awakenedhis love drew him back. He thought of her despair, her utter and, thistime, unsupportable loneliness; the careless girl with the risen sunwould be a broken-hearted woman. 

But he ran on. 

Spain beckoned. The highest dignities of the Church were his. He saw hispolitical influence a byword in Europe. He felt Dorthe's arms about him, her soft breath on his cheek, and uttered a short savage scream; but hewent on. 

When he reached the harbour three men had already landed. Theyrecognized him, and fell at his feet. And when he told them that he wasalone on the island, they reëmbarked without question. And he lived, andforgot, and realized his great ambitions. 

Thirty years later a sloop put into the harbour of the island forrepairs. Several of the men went on shore. They discovered footprints inthe sand. Wondering, for they had sailed the length of the island andseen no sign of habitation, they followed the steps. They came upon acurious creature which was scraping with a bone knife the blubber froma seal. At first they thought it was a bird of some unknown species, sosharp was its beak, so brilliant its plumage. But when they spoke to itand it sprang aside and confronted them, they saw that the creature wasan aged woman. Her face was like an old black apple, within whose skinthe pulp had shrunk and withered as it lay forgotten on the ground. Hertawny hair hung along her back like a ragged mat. There was no light inthe dim vacuous eyes. She wore a garment made of the unplucked skins ofbirds. They spoke to her. She uttered a gibberish unknown to them with avoice that croaked like a frog's, then went down on her creaking kneesand lifted her hands to the sun. 

THE HEAD OF A PRIEST

I

"Doņa Concepciķn had the greatest romance of us all; so she should notchide too bitterly. "

"But she has such a sense of her duty! Such a sense of her duty! Ay, Dios de mi alma! Shall we ever grow like that?"

"If we have a Russian lover who is killed in the far North, and we havea convent built for us, and teach troublesome girls. Surely, if one goesthrough fire, one can become anything--"

"Ay, yi! Look! Look!"

Six dark heads were set in a row along the edge of a secluded corner ofthe high adobe wall surrounding the Convent of Monterey. They lookedfor all the world like a row of charming gargoyles--every mouth wasopen--although there was no blankness in those active mischief-huntingeyes. Their bodies, propped on boxes, were concealed by the wall fromthe passer-by, and from the sharp eyes of dueņas by a group of treesjust behind them. Their section of the wall faced the Presidio, which inthe early days of the eighteenth century had not lost an adobe, and wasfull of active life. At one end was the house of the Governor of all theCalifornias, at another the church, which is all that stands to-day. Under other walls of the square were barracks, quarters for officers andtheir families, store-rooms for ammunition and general supplies in caseof a raid by hostile tribes (when all the town must be accommodatedwithin the security of those four great walls), and a large hall inwhich many a ball was given. The aristocratic pioneers of Californialoved play as well as work. Beyond were great green plains alive withcattle, and above all curved the hills dark with pines. Three soldiershad left the Presidio and were sauntering toward the convent. 

"It is Enrico Ortega!" whispered Eustaquia Carillo, excitedly. 

"And Ramon de Castro!" scarcely breathed Elena Estudillo. 

"And José Yorba!"

"Not Pepe Gomez? Ay, yi!"

"Nor Manuel Ameste!"

The only girl who did not speak stood at the end of the row. Her eyeswere fixed on the church, whose windows were dazzling with the reflectedsunlight of the late afternoon. 

The officers, who apparently had been absorbed in conversation and theirfragrant cigaritos, suddenly looked up and saw the row of handsome andmischievous faces. They ran forward, and dashed their sombreros into thedust before the wall. 

"At your feet, seņoritas! At your feet!" they cried. 

"Have they any?" whispered one. "How unreal they look! How symbolical!"

"The rose in your hair, Seņorita Eustaquia, for the love of Heaven!"cried Ortega, in a loud whisper. 

She detached the rose, touched it with her lips, and cast it to theofficer. He almost swallowed it in the ardour of his caresses. 

None of the girls spoke. That would have seemed to them the height ofimpropriety. But Elena extended her arm over the wall so that her littlehand hung just above young Castro's head. He leaped three times inthe air, and finally succeeded in brushing his mustache against thosecoveted finger-tips: rewarded with an approving but tantalizing laugh. Meanwhile, José Yorba had torn a silver eagle from his sombrero, andflung it to Lola de Castro, who caught and thrust it in her hair. 

"Ay, Dios! Dios! that the cruel wall divides us, " cried Yorba. 

"We will mount each upon the other's shoulder--"

"We will make a ladder from the limbs of the pines on the mountain--"

"_Seņoritas_!"

The six heads dropped from the wall like so many Humpty-Dumpties. Asthey flashed about the officers caught a glimpse of horror in twelveexpanded eyes. A tall woman, serenely beautiful, clad in a long graygown fastened at her throat with a cross, stood just within the trees. The six culprits thought of the tragic romance which had given them thehonour of being educated by Concepciķn de Arguello, and hoped for somesmall measure of mercy. The girl who had looked over the heads of theofficers, letting her gaze rest on the holy walls of the church, alonelooked coldly unconcerned, and encountered steadily the sombre eyes ofthe convent's mistress. 

"Was thy lover in the road below, Pilar?" asked Doņa Concepciķn, with what meaning five of the girls could not divine. For Pilar, theprettiest and most studious girl in the convent, cared for no man. 

Pilar's bosom rose once, but she made no reply. 

"Come, " said Doņa Concepciķn, and the six followed meekly in her wake. She led them to her private sala, a bare cold room, even in summer. Itwas uncarpeted; a few religious prints were on the whitewashed walls;there were eight chairs, and a table covered with books and papers. Thesix shivered. To be invited to this room meant the greatest of honoursor a lecture precursory to the severest punishment in the system of theconvent. Doņa Concepciķn seated herself in a large chair, but her guestswere not invited to relieve their weakened knees. 

"Did you speak--any of you?" she asked in a moment. 

Five heads shook emphatically. 

"But?"

Eustaquia, Elena, and Lola drew a long breath, then confessed theirmisdoings glibly enough. 

"And the others?"

"They had no chance, " said Eustaquia, with some sarcasm. 

"Thou wouldst have found a chance, " replied the Lady Superior, coldly. "Thou art the first in all naughtiness, and thy path in life will bestormy if thou dost not curb thy love of adventure and insubordination. "

She covered her face with her hand and regarded the floor for somemoments in silence. It was the first performance of the kind that hadcome to her knowledge, and she was at a loss what to do. Finally shesaid severely: "Go each to your bed and remain there on bread and waterfor twenty-four hours. Your punishment shall be known at the Presidio. And if it ever happens again, I shall send you home in disgrace. Nowgo. "

The luckless six slunk out of the room. Only Pilar stole a hasty glanceat the Lady Superior. Doņa Concepciķn half rose from her chair, andopened her lips as if to speak again; then sank back with a heavy sigh. 

The girls were serenaded that night; but the second song broke abruptly, and a heavy gate clanged just afterward. Concepciķn de Arguëllo wasstill young, but suffering had matured her character, and she knew howto deal sternly with those who infringed her few but inflexible rules. It was by no means the first serenade she had interrupted, for sheeducated the flower of California, and it was no simple matter toprevent communication between the girls in her charge and the ardentcaballeros. She herself had been serenaded more than once since thesudden death of her Russian lover; for she who had been the belle ofCalifornia for three years before the coming of Rezánof was not lightlyrelinquished by the impassioned men of her own race; but both at CasaGrande, in Santa Barbara, where she found seclusion until her conventwas built, and after her immolation in Monterey, she turned so cold anear to all men's ardours that she soon came to be regarded as a part offour gray walls. How long it took her to find actual serenity none butherself and the dead priests know, but the old women who are dying offto-day remember her as consistently placid as she was firm. She wasdeeply troubled by the escapade of the little wretches on the wall, although she had dealt with it summarily and feared no further outbreakof the sort. But she was haunted by a suspicion that there was morebehind, and to come. Pilar de la Torre and Eustaquia Carillo were thetwo most notable girls in the convent, for they easily took precedenceof their more indolent mates and were constantly racing for honours. There the resemblance ended. Eustaquia, with her small brilliant eyes, irregular features, and brilliant colour, was handsome rather thanbeautiful, but full of fire, fascination, and spirit. Half the Presidiowas in love with her, and that she was a shameless coquette she wouldhave been the last to deny. Pilar was beautiful, and although the closelong lashes of her eyes hid dreams, rather than fire, and her profileand poise of head expressed all the pride of the purest aristocracyCalifornia has had, nothing could divert attention from the beauty ofher contours of cheek and figure, and of her rich soft colouring. The officers in church stood up to look at her; and at the balls andmeriendas she attended in vacations the homage she received stifled andannoyed her. She was as cold and unresponsive as Concepciķn de Arguello. People shrugged their shoulders and said it was as well. Her mother, Doņa Brígida de la Torre of the great Rancho Diablo, twenty miles fromMonterey, was the sternest old lady in California. It was whispered thatshe had literally ruled her husband with a greenhide reata, and certainit was that two years after the birth of Pilar (the thirteenth, and onlyliving child) he had taken a trip to Mexico and never returned. It wasknown that he had sent his wife a deed of the rancho; and that was thelast she ever heard of him. Her daughter, according to her imperiousdecree, was to marry Ygnacio Piņa, the heir of the neighbouring rancho. Doņa Brígida anticipated no resistance, not only because her will hadnever been crossed, but because Pilar was the most docile of daughters. Pilar was Doņa Concepciķn's favourite pupil, and when at home spenther time reading, embroidering, or riding about the rancho, closelyattended. She rarely talked, even to her mother. She paid not theslightest attention to Ygnacio's serenades, and greeted him with scantcourtesy when he dashed up to the ranch-house in all the bravery of silkand fine lawn, silver and lace. But he knew the value of Doņa Brígida asan ally, and was content to amuse himself elsewhere. 

The girls passed their twenty-four hours of repressed energy aspatiently as necessity compelled. Pilar, alone, lay impassive in herbed, rarely opening her eyes. The others groaned and sighed and rolledand bounced about; but they dared not speak, for stern Sister Augustawas in close attendance. When the last lagging minute had gone and theywere bidden to rise, they sprang from the beds, flung on their clothes, and ran noisily down the long corridors to the refectory. DoņaConcepciķn stood at the door and greeted them with a forgiving smile. Pilar followed some moments later. There was something more thancoldness in her eyes as she bent her head to the Lady Superior, who drewa quick breath. 

"She feels that she has been humiliated, and she will not forgive, "thought Doņa Concepciķn. "Ay de mi! And she may need my advice andprotection. I should have known better than to have treated her like therest. "

After supper the girls went at once to the great sala of the convent, and sat in silence, with bent heads and folded hands and everyappearance of prayerful revery. 

It was Saturday evening, and the good priest of the Presidio churchwould come to confess them, that they might commune on the early morrow. They heard the loud bell of the convent gate, then the opening andshutting of several doors; and many a glance flashed up to the ceilingas the brain behind scurried the sins of the week together. It had beenarranged that the six leading misdemeanants were to go first and receivemuch sound advice, before the old priest had begun to feel the fatigueof the confessional. The door opened, and Doņa Concepciķn stood onthe threshold. Her face was whiter than usual, and her manner almostruffled. 

"It is Padre Domínguez, " she said. "Padre Estudillo is ill. If---if--anyof you are tired, or do not wish to confess to the strange priest, youmay go to bed. "

Not a girl moved. Padre Domínguez was twenty-five and as handsome asthe marble head of the young Augustus which stood on a shelf in theGovernor's sala. During the year of his work in Monterey more thanone of the older girls had met and talked with him; for he went intosociety, as became a priest, and holidays were not unfrequent. But, although he talked agreeably, it was a matter for comment that he lovedbooks and illuminated manuscripts more than the world, and that he wasas ambitious as his superior abilities justified. 

"Very well, " said Doņa Concepciķn, impatiently. "Eustaquia, go in. "

Eustaquia made short work of her confession. She was followed by Elena, Lola, Mariana, and Amanda. When the last appeared for a moment at thedoor, then courtesied a good night and vanished, Doņa Concepciķn did notcall the expected name, and several of the girls glanced up in surprise. Pilar raised her eyes at last and looked steadily at the LadySuperior. The blood rose slowly up the nun's white face, but she saidcarelessly:--

"Thou art tired, mijita, no? Wilt thou not go to bed?"

"Not without making my confession, if you will permit me. "

"Very well; go. "

Pilar left the room and closed the door behind her. Alone in the hall, she shook suddenly and twisted her hands together. But, although shecould not conquer her agitation, she opened the door of the chapelresolutely and entered. The little arched whitewashed room was almostdark. A few candles burned on the altar, shadowing the gorgeous imagesof Virgin and saints. Pilar walked slowly down the narrow body of thechapel until she stood behind a priest who knelt beside a table with hisback to the door. He wore the brown robes of the Franciscan, but hislean finely proportioned figure manifested itself through the shapelessgarment. He looked less like a priest than a masquerading athlete. Hisface was hidden in his hands. 

Pilar did not kneel. She stood immovable and silent, and in a momentit was evident that she had made her presence felt. The priest stirreduneasily. "Kneel, my daughter, " he said. But he did not look up. Pilarcaught his hands in hers and forced them down upon the table. Thepriest, throwing back his head in surprise, met the flaming glance ofeyes that dreamed no longer. He sprang to his feet, snatching back hishands. "Doņa Pilar!" he exclaimed. 

"I choose to make my confession standing, " she said. "I love you!"

The priest stared at her in consternation. 

"You knew it--unless you never think at all. You are the only man I haveever thought it worth while to talk to. You have seen how I have treatedothers with contempt, and that I have been happy with you--and we havehad more than one long talk together. You, too, have been happy--"

"I am a priest!"

"You are a Man and I am a Woman. "

"What is it you would have me do?"

"Fling off that hideous garment which becomes you not at all, and flywith me to my father in the City of Mexico. I hear from him constantly, and he is wealthy and will protect us. The barque, _Joven Guipuzcoanoa, _leaves Monterey within a week after the convent closes for vacation. "

The priest raised his clasped hands to heaven. "She is mad! She is mad!"he said. Then he turned on her fiercely. "Go! Go!" he cried. "I hateyou!"

"Ay, you love me! you love me!"

The priest slowly set his face. There was no gleam of expression toindicate whether the words that issued through his lips came from hissoul or from that section of his brain instinct with self-protection. Hespoke slowly:--

"I am a priest, and a priest I shall die. What is more, I shall denounceyou to Doņa Concepciķn, the clergy, and--to your mother. The words thathave just violated this chapel were not said under the seal of theconfessional, and I shall deal with them as I have said. You shall bepunished, that no other man's soul may be imperilled. "

Pilar threw out her hands wildly. It was her turn to stare; and her eyeswere full of horror and disgust. 

"What?" she cried. "You are a coward? A traitor? You not only dare notacknowledge that you love me, but you would betray me--and to my mother?Ah, Madre de Dios!"

"I do not love you. How dare you use such a word to me, --to me, ananointed priest! I shall denounce--and to-night. "

"_And I loved you_!"

He shrank a little under the furious contempt of her eyes. Her wholebody quivered with passion. Then, suddenly, she sprang forward andstruck him so violent a blow on his cheek that he reeled and clutchedthe table. But his foot slipped, and he went down with the table on topof him. She laughed into his red unmasked face. "You look what you aredown there, " she said, --"less than a man, and only fit to be a priest. Ihate you! Do your worst. "

She rushed out of the chapel and across the hall, flinging open the doorof the sala. As she stood there with blazing eyes and cheeks, shakingfrom head to foot, the girls gave little cries of amazement, and DoņaConcepciķn, shaking, came forward hastily; but she reached the door toolate. 

"Go to the priest, " cried Pilar. "You will find him on his backsquirming under a table, with the mark of my hand on his cheek. He has atale to tell you. " And she flung off the hand of the nun and ran throughthe halls, striking herself against the walls. 

Doņa Concepciķn did not leave her sala that night. The indignant youngaspirant for honours in Mexico had vowed that he would tell Doņa Brígidaand the clergy before dawn, and all her arguments had entered smartingears. She had finally ordered him to leave the convent and never darkenits doors again. "And the self-righteous shall not enter the Kingdom ofHeaven, " she had exclaimed in conclusion. "Who are you that you shouldjudge and punish this helpless girl and ruin a brilliant future? Andwhy? Because she was so inexperienced in men as to trust you. "

"She has committed a deadly sin, and shall suffer, " cried the young man, violently. It was evident that his outraged virtue as well as his facewas in flames. "Women were born to be good and meek and virtuous, toteach and to rear children. Such creatures as Pilar de la Torre shouldbe kept under lock and key until they are old and hideous. "

"And men were made strong, that they might protect women. But I havesaid enough. Go. "

Pilar appeared at the refectory table in the morning, but she exchangeda glance with no one, and ate little. She looked haggard, and it wasplain that she had not slept; but her manner was as composed as ever. When Doņa Concepciķn sent for her to come to the little sala, she wentat once. 

"Sit down, my child, " said the nun. "I said all I could to dissuade him, but he would not listen. I will protect thee if I can. Thou hast made aterrible mistake; but it is too late for reproaches. We must think ofthe future. "

"I have no desire to escape the consequences. I staked all and lost. And nothing can affect me now. He has proved a dog, a cur, a coward, abrute. I can suffer no more than when I made that discovery; and if mymother chooses to kill me, I shall make no resistance. "

"Thou art young and clever and will forget him. He is not worthremembering. He shall not go unpunished. I shall use my influence tohave him sent to the poorest hamlet in California. He is worthy to doonly the meanest work of the Church, and my influence with the clergy isstronger than his. But thou? I shall receive your mother when she comes, and beg her to leave you with me during the vacation. Then, later, whenher wrath is appeased, I will suggest that she send you to live for twoyears with your relatives at Santa Barbara. "

Pilar lifted her shoulders and stared out of the window. Suddenlyshe gave a start and trembled. The bell of the gate was pealingvociferously. Doņa Concepciķn sprang to her feet. 

"Stay here, " she said; "I will receive her in the grand sala. "

But her interview with Doņa Brígida lasted two minutes. 

"Give her to me!" cried the terrible old woman, her furious tonesringing through the convent. "Give her to me! I came not here to talkwith nuns. Stand aside!"

Doņa Concepciķn was forced to lead her to the little sala. She strodeinto the room, big and brown and bony, looking like an avenging Amazon, this mother of thirteen children. Her small eyes were blazing, and thethick wrinkles about them quivered. Her lips twitched, her cheeks burnedwith a dull dark red. In one hand she carried a greenhide reata. Withthe other she caught her daughter's long unbound hair, twisted it abouther arm like a rope, then brought the reata down on the unprotectedshoulders with all her great strength Doņa Concepciķn fled from theroom. Pilar made no sound. She had expected this, and had vowed that itshould not unseal her lips. The beating stopped abruptly. Doņa Brígida, still with the rope of hair about her arm, pushed Pilar through thedoor, out of the convent and its gates, then straight down the hill. Forthe first time the girl faltered. 

"Not to the Presidio!" she gasped. 

Her mother struck her shoulder with a fist as hard as iron, and Pilarstumbled on. She knew that if she refused to walk, her mother wouldcarry her. They entered the Presidio. Pilar, raising her eyes for onebrief terrible moment, saw that Tomaso, her mother's head vaquero, stoodin the middle of the square holding two horses, and that every man, woman, and child of the Presidio was outside the buildings. TheCommandante and the Alcalde were with the Governor and his staff, andPadre Estudillo. They had the air of being present at an importantceremony. 

Amidst a silence so profound that Pilar heard the mingled music of thepines on the hills above the Presidio and of the distant ocean, DoņaBrígida marched her to the very middle of the square, then by adexterous turn of her wrist forced her to her knees. With both hands sheshook her daughter's splendid silken hair from the tight rope intowhich she had coiled it, then stepped back for a moment that all mightappreciate the penalty a woman must pay who disgraced her sex. Thebreeze from the hills lifted the hair of Pilar, and it floated andwreathed upward for a moment--a warm dusky cloud. 

Suddenly the intense silence was broken by a loud universal hiss. Pilar, thinking that it was part of her punishment, cowered lower, then, obeying some impulse, looked up, and saw the back of the young priest. He was running. As her dull gaze was about to fall again, it encounteredfor a moment the indignant blue eyes of a red-haired, hard-featured, butdistinguished-looking young man, clad in sober gray. She knew him to bethe American, Malcolm Sturges, the guest of the Governor. But her mindrapidly shed all impressions but the wretched horror of her own plight. In another moment she felt the shears at her neck, and knew that herdisgrace was passing into the annals of Monterey, and that half herbeauty was falling from her. Then she found herself seated on the horsein front of her mother, who encircled her waist with an arm thatpressed her vitals like iron. After that there was an interval ofunconsciousness. 

When she awoke, her first impulse was to raise her head from hermother's bony shoulder, where it bumped uncomfortably. Her listlessbrain slowly appreciated the fact that she was not on her way to theRancho Diablo. The mustang was slowly ascending a steep mountain trail. But her head ached, and she dropped her face into her hands. Whatmattered where she was going? She was shorn, and disgraced, anddisillusioned, and unspeakably weary of body and soul. 

They travelled through dense forests of redwoods and pine, only thesoft footfalls of the unshod mustang or the sudden cry of the wild-catbreaking the primeval silence. It was night when Doņa Brígida abruptlydismounted, dragging Pilar with her. They were halfway up a rockyheight, surrounded by towering peaks black with rigid trees. Just infront of them was an opening in the ascending wall. Beside it, with hishand on a huge stone, stood the vaquero. Pilar knew that she had nothingto hope from him: her mother had beaten him into submission long since. Doņa Brígida, without a word, drove Pilar into the cave, and she and thevaquero, exerting their great strength to the full, pushed the stoneinto the entrance. There was a narrow rift at the top. The cave was asblack as a starless midnight. 

Then Doņa Brígida spoke for the first time:--

"Once a week I shall come with food and drink. There thou wilt stayuntil thy teeth fall, the skin bags from thy bones, and thou art sohideous that all men will run from thee. Then thou canst come forth andgo and live on the charity of the father to whom thou wouldst have takena polluted priest. "

Pilar heard the retreating footfalls of the mustangs. She was toostunned to think, to realize the horrible fate that had befallen her. She crouched down against the wall of the cave nearest the light, herear alert for the growl of a panther or the whir of a rattler's tail. 

II

The night after the close of school the Governor gave a grand ball, which was attended by the older of the convent girls who lived inMonterey or were guests in the capital. The dowagers sat against thewall, a coffee-coloured dado; the girls in white, the caballeros inblack silk small-clothes, the officers in their uniforms, danced to themusic of the flute and the guitar. When Elena Estudillo was alone in themiddle of the room dancing El Son and the young men were clapping andshouting and flinging gold and silver at her feet, Sturges and Eustaquiaslipped out into the corridor. It was a dark night, the dueņas werethinking of naught but the dance and the days of their youth, and theviolators of a stringent social law were safe for the moment. Achance word, dropped by Sturges in the dance, and Eustaquia's eagerinterrogations, had revealed the American's indignation at the barbaroustreatment of Pilar, and his deep interest in the beautiful victim. 

"Seņor, " whispered Eustaquia, excitedly, as soon as they reached theend of the corridor, "if you feel pity and perhaps love for my unhappyfriend, go to her rescue for the love of Mary. I have heard to-day thather punishment is far worse than what you saw. It is so terrible that Ihardly have dared--"

"Surely, that old fiend could think of nothing else, " said Sturges. "What is she made of, anyhow?"

"Ay, yi! Her heart is black like the redwood tree that has been burntout by fire. Before Don Enrique ran away, she beat him many times; but, after, she was a thousand times worse, for it is said that she lovedhim in her terrible way, and that her heart burnt up when she was leftalone--"

"But Doņa Pilar, seņorita?"

"Ay, yi! Benito, one of the vaqueros of Doņa Erigida, was in townto-day, and he told me (I bribed him with whiskey and cigaritos--theCommandante's, whose guest I am, ay, yi!)--he told me that Doņa Erigidadid not take my unhappy friend home, but--"

"Well?" exclaimed Sturges, who was a man of few words. 

Eustaquia jerked down his ear and whispered, "She took her to a cave inthe mountains and pushed her in, and rolled a huge stone as big as ahouse before the entrance, and there she will leave her till she isthirty--or dead!"

"Good God! Does your civilization, such as you've got, permit suchthings?"

"The mother may discipline the child as she will. It is not the businessof the Alcalde. And no one would dare interfere for poor Pilar, for shehas committed a mortal sin against the Church--"

"I'll interfere. Where is the cave?"

"Ay, seņor, I knew you would. For that I told you all. I know not wherethe cave is; but the vaquero--he is in town till to-morrow. But he fearsDoņa Erigida, seņor, as he fears the devil. You must tell him that notonly will you give him plenty of whiskey and cigars, but that you willsend him to Mexico. Doņa Brígida would kill him. "

"I'll look out for him. "

"Do not falter, seņor, for the love of God; for no Californian will goto her rescue. She has been disgraced and none will marry her. But youcan take her far away where no one knows--"

"Where is this vaquero to be found?"

"In a little house on the beach, under the fort, where his sweetheartlives. "

"Good night!" And he sprang from the corridor and ran toward the nearestgate. 

He found the vaquero, and after an hour's argument got his way. The man, who had wormed the secret out of Tomaso, had only a general idea of thesituation of the cave; but he confessed to a certain familiarity withthe mountains. He was not persuaded to go until Sturges had promised tosend not only himself but his sweetheart to Mexico. Doņa Brígida wasviolently opposed to matrimony, and would have none of it on her rancho. Sturges promised to ship them both off on the _Joven Guipuzcoanoa_, andto keep them comfortably for a year in Mexico. It was not an offer to berefused. 

They started at dawn. Sturges, following Benito's advice, bought a longgray cloak with a hood, and filled his saddle-bags with nourishing food. The vaquero sent word to Doņa Brígida that the horses he had brought into sell to the officers had escaped and that he was hastening down thecoast in pursuit. In spite of his knowledge of the mountains, it wasonly after two days of weary search in almost trackless forests, andmore than one encounter with wild beasts, that they came upon the cave. They would have passed it then but for the sharp eyes of Sturges, whodetected the glint of stone behind the branches which Doņa Brígida hadpiled against it. 

He sprang down, tossed the brush aside, and inserted his fingers betweenthe side of the stone and the wall of the cave. But he could not move italone, and was about to call Benito, who was watering the mustangs ata spring, when he happened to glance upward. A small white hand washanging over the top of the stone. Sturges was not a Californian, but hesprang to his feet and pressed his lips to that hand. It was cold andnerveless, and clasping it in his he applied his gaze to the rift abovethe stone. In a moment he distinguished two dark eyes and a gleam ofwhite brow above. Then a faint voice said:--

"Take me out! Take me out, seņor, for the love of God!"

"I have come for that. Cheer up, " said Sturges, in his best Spanish. "You'll be out in five minutes. "

"And then you'll bring me his head, " whispered Pilar. "Ay, Dios, what Ihave suffered! I have been years here, seņor, and I am nearly mad. "

"Well, I won't promise you his head, but I've thrashed the life out ofhim, if that will give you any satisfaction. I caught him in the woods, and I laid on my riding-whip until he bit the grass and yelled formercy. "

The eyes in the cave blazed with a light which reminded himuncomfortably of Doņa Erigida. 

"That was well! That was well!" said Pilar. "But it is not enough. Imust have his head. I never shall sleep again till then, seņor. Ay, Dios, what I have suffered!"

"Well, we'll see about the head later. To get you out of this is thefirst thing on the program. Benito!"

Benito ran forward, and together they managed to drag the stone aside. But Pilar retreated into the darkness and covered her face with herhands. 

"Ay, Dios! Dios! I cannot go out into the sunlight. I am old andhideous. "

"Make some coffee, " said Sturges to Benito. He went within and took herhands. "Come, " he said. "You have been here a week only. Your brain isa little turned, and no wonder. You've put a lifetime of sufferinginto that week. But I'm going to take care of you hereafter, and thatshe-devil will have no more to say about it. I'll either take you toyour father, or to my mother in Boston--whichever you like. "

Benito brought in the coffee and some fresh bread and dried meat. Pilarate and drank ravenously. She had found only stale bread and water inthe cave. When she had finished, she looked at Sturges with a moreintelligent light in her eyes, then thrust her straggling locks behindher ears. She also resumed something of her old dignified composure. 

"You are very kind, seņor, " she said graciously. "It is true that Ishould have been mad in a few more days. At first I did nothing but run, run, run--the cave is miles in the mountain; but since when I cannotremember I have huddled against that stone, listening--listening; and atlast you came. "

Sturges thought her more beautiful than ever. The light was streamingupon her now, and although she was white and haggard she looked far lesscold and unapproachable than when he had endeavoured in vain to win aglance from her in the church. He put his hand on her tangled hair. "Youshall suffer no more, " he repeated; "and this will grow again. And thatbeautiful mane--it is mine. I begged it from the Alcalde, and it is safein my trunk. "

"Ah, you love me!" she said softly. 

"Yes, I love you!" And then, as her eyes grew softer and she caught hishand in hers with an exclamation of passionate gratitude for his gallantrescue, he took her in his arms without more ado and kissed her. 

"Yes, I could love you, " she said in a moment. "For, though you are nothandsome, like the men of my race, you are true and good and brave: allI dreamed that a man should be until that creature made all men seemloathsome. But I will not marry you till you bring me his head--"

"Oh! come. So lovely a woman should not be so blood-thirsty. He has beenpunished enough. Besides what I gave him, he's been sent off to spendthe rest of his life in some hole where he'll have neither books norsociety--"

"It is not enough! When a man betrays a woman, and causes her to bebeaten and publicly disgraced--it will be written in the books of theAlcalde, seņor!--and shut up in a cave to suffer the tortures of thedamned in hell, he should die. "

"Well, I think he should myself, but I'm not the public executioner, andone can't fight a duel with a priest--"

"Seņor! Seņor! Quick! Pull, for the love of God!"

It was Benito who spoke, and he was pushing with all his might againstthe stone. "She comes--Doņa Brígida!" he cried. "I saw her far off justnow. Stay both in there. I will take the mustangs and hide them on theother side of the mountain and return when she is gone. That is the bestway. "

"We can all go--"

"No, no! She would follow; and then--ay, Dios de mi alma! No, it is bestthe seņorita be there when she comes; then she will go away quietly. "

They replaced the stone. Benito piled the brush against it, then madeoff with the mustangs. 

"Go far, " whispered Pilar. "Dios, if she sees you!"

"I shall not leave you again. And even if she enter, she need not seeme. I can stand in that crevice, and I will keep quiet so long as shedoes not touch you. "

Doņa Brígida was a half-hour reaching the cave, and meanwhile Sturgesrestored the lost illusions of Pilar. Not only did he make love to herwithout any of the rhetorical nonsense of the caballero, but he was bigand strong, and it was evident that he was afraid of nothing, not evenof Doņa Brígida. The dreams of her silent girlhood swirled in herimagination, but looked vague and shapeless before this vigorousreality. For some moments she forgot everything and was happy. But therewas a black spot in her heart, and when Sturges left her for a moment tolisten, it ached for the head of the priest. She had much bad as well asmuch good in her, this innocent Californian maiden; and the last weekhad forced an already well-developed brain and temperament close tomaturity. She vowed that she would make herself so dear to this fieryAmerican that he would deny her nothing. Then, her lust for vengeancesatisfied, she would make him the most delightful of wives. 

"She is coming!" whispered Sturges, "and she has the big vaquero withher. "

"Ay, Dios! If she knows all, what can we do?"

"I've told you that I have no love of killing, but I don't hesitate whenthere is no alternative. If she sees me and declares war, and I cannotget you away, I shall shoot them both. I don't know that it would keepme awake a night. Now, you do the talking for the present. "

Doņa Brígida rode up to the cave and dismounted. "Pilar!" she shouted, as if she believed that her daughter was wandering through the heart ofthe mountain. 

Pilar presented her eyes at the rift. 

"Ay, take me out! take me out!" she wailed, with sudden diplomacy. 

Her mother gave a short laugh, then broke off and sniffed. 

"What is this?" she cried. "Coffee? I smell coffee!"

"Yes, I have had coffee, " replied Pilar, calmly. "Benito has brought methat, and many dulces. "

"Dios!" shouted Doņa Brígida. "I will tie him to a tree and beat himtill he is as green as my reata--"

"Give me the bread!--quick, quick, for the love of Heaven! It is twodays since he has been, and I have nothing left, not even a drop ofcoffee. "

"Then live on the memory of thy dulces and coffee! The bread and watergo back with me. Three days from now I bring them again. Meanwhile, thoucanst enjoy the fangs at thy vitals. "

Pilar breathed freely again, but she cried sharply, "Ay, no! no!"

"Ay, yes! yes!"

Doņa Brígida stalked up and down, while Pilar twisted her handstogether, and Sturges mused upon his future wife's talent for dramaticinvention. Suddenly Doņa Brígida shouted: "Tomaso, come here! Thespring! A horse has watered here to-day--two horses! I see the littlehoof-mark and the big. " She ran back to the cave, dragging Tomaso withher. "Quick! It is well I brought my reata. Ten minutes, and I shallhave the truth. Pull there; I pull here. "

"The game is up, " whispered Sturges to Pilar. "And I have another plan. "He took a pistol from his hip-pocket and handed it to her. "You have acool head, " he said; "now is the time to use it. As soon as this stonegives way do you point that pistol at the vaquero's head, and don't letyour hand tremble or your eye falter as you value your liberty. I'lltake care of her. "

Pilar nodded. Sturges threw himself against the rock and pushed with allhis strength. In a moment it gave, and the long brown talons of Pilar'smother darted in to clasp the curve of the stone. Sturges was temptedto cut them off; but he was a sportsman, and liked fair play. The stonegave again, and this time he encountered two small malignant eyes. DoņaBrígida dropped her hands and screamed; but, before she could alter herplans, Sturges gave a final push and rushed out, closely followed byPilar. 

It was his intention to throw the woman and bind her, hand and foot; buthe had no mean opponent. Doņa Brígida's surprise had not paralyzed her. She could not prevent his exit, for she went back with the stone, but she had sprung to the open before he reached it himself, and wasstriking at him furiously with her reata. One glance satisfied Sturgesthat Pilar had covered the vaquero, and he devoted the next few momentsto dodging the reata. Finally, a well-directed blow knocked it from herhand, and then he flung himself upon her, intending to bear her to theground. But she stood like a rock, and closed with him, and they reeledabout the little plateau in the hard embrace of two fighting grizzlies. There could be no doubt about the issue, for Sturges was young and wiryand muscular; but Doņa Brígida had the strength of three women, and, moreover, was not above employing methods which he could not withdignity resort to and could with difficulty parry. She bit at him. Sheclawed at his back and shoulders. She got hold of his hair. And she wasso nimble that he could not trip her. She even roared in his ears, andonce it seemed to him that her bony shoulder was cutting through hisgarments and skin. But after a struggle of some twenty minutes, littleby little her embrace relaxed; she ceased to roar, even to hiss, herbreath came in shorter and shorter gasps. Finally, her knees trembledviolently, she gave a hard sob, and her arms fell to her sides. Sturgesdragged her promptly into the cave and laid her down. 

"You are a plucky old lady, and I respect you, " he said. "But here youmust stay until your daughter is safely out of the country. I shall takeher far beyond your reach, and I shall marry her. When we are well outat sea, Tomaso will come back and release you. If he attempts to do sosooner, I shall blow his head off. Meanwhile you can be as comfortablehere as you made your daughter; and as you brought a week's supply ofbread, you will not starve. "

The old woman lay and glared at him, but she made no reply. She might beviolent and cruel, but she was indomitable of spirit, and she would sueto no man. 

Sturges placed the bread and water beside her, then, aided by Tomaso, pushed the stone into place. As he turned about and wiped his brow, hemet the eyes of the vaquero. They were averted hastily, but not beforeSturges had surprised a twinkle of satisfaction in those usuallyimpassive orbs. He shouted for Benito, then took the pistol from Pilar, who suddenly looked tired and frightened. 

"You are a wonderful woman, " he said; "and upon my word, I believe youget a good deal of it from your mother. "

Benito came running, leading the mustangs. Sturges wrapped Pilar in thelong cloak, lifted her upon one of the mustangs, and sprang to his own. He ordered Tomaso and Benito to precede them by a few paces and to takethe shortest cut for Monterey. It was now close upon noon, and it wasimpossible to reach Monterey before dawn next day, for the mustangs wereweary; but the _Joven_ did not sail until ten o'clock. 

"These are my plans, " said Sturges to Pilar, as they walked theirmustangs for a few moments after a hard gallop. "When we reach the footof the mountain, Benito will leave us, go to your rancho, gather as muchof your clothing as he can strap on a horse, and join us at the barque. He will have a good hour to spare, and can get fresh horses at theranch. We will be married at Mazatlan. Thence we will cross Mexico tothe Gulf, and take passage for New Orleans. When we are in the UnitedStates, your new life will have really begun. "

"And Tomaso will surely bring my mother from that cave, seņor? I amafraid--I feel sure he was glad to shut her in there. "

"I will leave a note for the Governor. Your mother will be free withinthree days, and meanwhile a little solitary meditation will do hergood. "

When night came Sturges lifted Pilar from her horse to his, and pressedher head against his shoulder. "Sleep, " he said. "You are worn out. "

She flung her hand over his shoulder, made herself comfortable, and wasasleep in a moment, oblivious of the dark forest and the echoing criesof wild beasts. The strong arm of Sturges would have inspired confidenceeven had it done less in her rescue. Once only she shook and cried out, but with rage, not fear, in her tones. Her words were coherent enough:--

"His head! His head! Ay, Dios, what I have suffered!"

An hour before dawn Benito left them, mounted on the rested mustang andleading his own. The others pushed on, over and around the foothills, with what speed they could; for even here the trail was narrow, the pinewoods dense. It was just after dawn that Sturges saw Tomaso rein in hismustang and peer into the shrubbery beside the trail. When he reachedthe spot himself, he saw signs of a struggle. The brush was trampledfor some distance into the thicket, and several of the young trees werewrenched almost from their roots. 

"It has been a struggle between a man and a wild beast, seņor, "whispered Tomaso, for Filar still slept. "Shall I go in? The man maybreathe yet. "

"Go, by all means. "

Tomaso dismounted and entered the thicket. He came running back withblinking eyes. 

"Madre de Dios!" he exclaimed in a loud whisper. "It is the youngpriest--Padre Domínguez. It must have been a panther, for they spring atthe breast, and his very heart is torn out, seņor. Ay, yi!"

"Ah! You must inform the Church as soon as we have gone. Go on. "

They had proceeded a few moments in silence, when Sturges suddenlyreined in his mustang. 

"Tomaso, " he whispered, "come here. "

The vaquero joined him at once. 

"Tomaso, " said Sturges, "have you any objection to cutting off a deadman's head?"

"No, seņor. "

"Then go back and cut off that priest's and wrap it in a piece of hiscassock, and carry it the best way you can. "

Tomaso disappeared, and Sturges pushed back the gray hood and lookedupon the pure noble face of the girl he had chosen for wife. 

"I believe in gratifying a woman's whims whenever it is practicable, " hethought. 

But she made him a very good wife. 

LA PÉRDIDA

On her fourteenth birthday they had married her to an old man, and atsixteen she had met and loved a fire-hearted young vaquero. The oldhusband had twisted his skinny fingers around her arm and dragged herbefore the Alcalde, who had ordered her beautiful black braids cut closeto her neck, and sentenced her to sweep the streets. Carlos, the tempterof that childish unhappy heart, was flung into prison. Such were law andjustice in California before the Americans came. 

The haughty elegant women of Monterey drew their mantillas more closelyabout their shocked faces as they passed La Pérdida sweeping the dirtinto little heaps. The soft-eyed girls, lovely in their white orflowered gowns, peered curiously through the gratings of their homes atthe "lost one, " whose sin they did not understand, but whose sad faceand sorry plight appealed to their youthful sympathies. The caballeros, dashing up and down the street, and dazzling in bright silken jackets, gold embroidered, lace-trimmed, the sun reflected in the silver of theirsaddles, shot bold admiring glances from beneath their sombreros. No onespoke to her, and she asked no one for sympathy. 

She slept alone in a little hut on the outskirts of the town. With thedawn she rose, put on her coarse smock and black skirt, made herself atortilla, then went forth and swept the streets. The children mocked hersometimes, and she looked at them in wonder. Why should she be mocked orpunished? She felt no repentance; neither the Alcalde nor her husbandhad convinced her of her sin's enormity; she felt only bitter resentmentthat it should have been so brief. Her husband, a blear-eyed crippledold man, loathsome to all the youth and imagination in her, had beatenher and made her work. A man, young, strong, and good to look upon, hadcome and kissed her with passionate tenderness. Love had meant to herthe glorification of a wretched sordid life; a green spot and a patch ofblue sky in the desert. If punishment followed upon such happiness, must not the Catholic religion be all wrong in its teachings? Must notpurgatory follow heaven, instead of heaven purgatory?

She watched the graceful girls of the wealthy class flit to and fro onthe long corridors of the houses, or sweep the strings of the guitarbehind their gratings as the caballeros passed. Watchful old women werealways near them, their ears alert for every word. La Pérdida thankedGod that she had had no dueņa. 

One night, on her way home, she passed the long low prison where herlover was confined. The large crystal moon flooded the red-tiled roofprojecting over the deep windows and the shallow cells. The light sweetmusic of a guitar floated through iron bars, and a warm voice sang:--

 "Adios, adios, de ti al ausentarme, Para ir en poz de mi fatal estrella, Yo llevo grabada tu imagen bella, Aqui en mi palpitante corazon. 

 "Pero aunque lejos de tu lado me halle No olvides, no, que por tu amor deliro Enviáme siquiera un suspiro, Que dé consuelo, a mi alma en su dolor. 

 "Y de tu pecho la emociķn sentida Llegue hasta herir mi lacerado oido, Y arranque de mi pecho dolorido Un eco que repita, adios! adios!"

La Pérdida's blood leaped through her body. Her aimless hands struck thespiked surface of a cactus-bush, but she never knew it. When the songfinished, she crept to the grating and looked in. 

"Carlos!" she whispered. 

A man who lay on the straw at the back of the cell sprang to his feetand came forward. 

"My little one!" he said. "I knew that song would bring thee. I beggedthem for a guitar, then to be put into a front cell. " He forced hishands through the bars and gave her life again with his strong warmclasp. 

"Come out, " she said. 

"Ay! they have me fast. But when they do let me out, niņa, I will takethee in my arms; and whosoever tries to tear thee away again will havea dagger in his heart. Dios de mi vida! I could tear their flesh fromtheir bones for the shame and the pain they have given thee, thou poorlittle innocent girl!"

"But thou lovest me, Carlos?"

"There is not an hour I am not mad for thee, not a corner of my heartthat does not ache for thee! Ay, little one, never mind; life is long, and we are young. "

She pressed nearer and laid his hand on her heart. 

"Ay!" she said, "life is long. "

"Holy Mary!" he cried. "The hills are on fire!"

A shout went up in the town. A flame, midway on the curving hills, leaped to the sky, narrow as a ribbon, then swept out like a fan. Themoon grew dark behind a rolling pillar of smoke. The upcurved arms ofthe pines were burnt into a wall of liquid shifting red. The caballerossprang to their horses, and driving the Indians before them, fled to thehills to save the town. The indolent women of Monterey mingled theirscreams with the shrill cries of the populace and the hoarse shouts oftheir men. The prison sentries stood to their posts for a few moments;then the panic claimed them, and they threw down their guns and ran withthe rest to the hills. 

Carlos gave a cry of derision and triumph. "My little one, our hour hascome! Run and find the keys. "

The big bunch of keys had been flung hastily into a corner. A momentlater Carlos held the shaking form of the girl in his powerful arms. Slender and delicate as she was, she made no protest against thefierceness of that embrace. 

"But come, " he said. "We have only this hour for escape. When we aresafe in the mountains--Come!"

He lifted her in his arms and ran down the crooked street to a corralwhere an hidalgo kept his finest horses. Carlos had been the vaquero ofthe band. The iron bars of the great doors were down--only one horse wasin the corral; the others had carried the hidalgo and his friends to thefire. The brute neighed with delight as Carlos flung saddle and aquerainto place, then, with La Pérdida in his arms, sprang upon its back. Thevaquero dug his spurs into the shining flanks, the mustang reared, shookhis small head and silver mane, and bounded through the doors. 

A lean, bent, and wiry thing darted from the shadows and hung upon thehorse's neck. It was the husband of La Pérdida, and his little brownface looked like an old walnut. 

"Take me with thee!" he cried. "I will give thee the old man'sblessing, " and, clinging like a crab to the neck of the gallopingmustang, he drove a knife toward the heart of La Pérdida. The bladeturned upon itself as lightning sometimes does, and went through stringytissues instead of fresh young blood. 

Carlos plucked the limp body from the neck of the horse and flung itupon a cactus-bush, where it sprawled and stiffened among the spikes andthe blood-red flowers. But the mustang never paused; and as the firesdied on the hills, the mountains opened their great arms and shelteredthe happiness of two wayward hearts. 

LUKARI'S STORY

"Ay, seņor! So terreeblay thing! It is many years before--1837, Itheenk, is the year; the Americanos no have come to take California; butI remember like it is yesterday. 

"You see, I living with her--Doņa Juana Ybarra her name is--ever sinceI am little girl, and she too. It is like this: the padres make meChristian in the mission, and her family take me to work Ąn the house;I no living on the rancheria like the Indians who work outside. Bime byDoņa Juana marrying and I go live with her. Bime by I marrying too, andshe is comadre--godmother, you call, no?--to my little one, and steel Iliving with her, and in few years my husband and little one die andI love her children like they are my own, and her too; we grow oldtogether. 

"You never see the San Ysidro rancho? It is near to San Diego and havemany, many leagues. Don Carlos Ybarra, the husband de my seņora, is veryreech and very brave and proud--too brave and proud, ay, yi! We have abeeg adobe house with more than twenty rooms, and a corridor for thefront more than one hundred feets. Ou'side are plenty other houses wheremake all the things was need for eat and wear: all but the fine closes. They come from far, --from Boston and Mejico. All stand away from thehills and trees, right in the middle the valley, so can see the badIndians when coming. Far off, a mile I theenk, is the rancheria; no cansee from the house. No so far is the corral, where keeping the finehorses. 

"Ay, we have plenty to eat and no much to do in those days. Don Carlosand Doņa Juana are very devot the one to the other, so the family livingvery happy, and I am in the house like before and take care the littleones. Every night I braid my seņora's long black hair and tuck her inbed like she is a baby. She no grow stout when she grow more old, likeothers, but always is muy elegante. 

"Bime by the childrens grow up; and the two firs boys, Roldan andEnrique, marrying and living in San Diego. Then are left only the seņorand the seņora, one little boy, Carlos, and my two beautiful seņoritas, Beatriz and Ester. Ay! How pretty they are. Dios de mi alma! Where theyare now?

"Doņa Beatriz is tall like the mother, and sway when she walk, like yousee the tules in the little wind. She have the eyes very black and long, and look like she feel sleep till she get mad; then, Madre de Dios! theyopa wide and look like she is on fire inside and go to burn you too. Shehave the skin very white, but I see it hot like the blood go to burstout. Once she get furioso cause one the vaqueros hurch her horse, andshe wheep him till he yell like he is in purgatory and no have no onesay mass and get him out. But she have the disposition very sweet, andafter, she is sorry and make him a cake hersel; and we all loving herlike she is a queen, and she can do it all whatte she want. 

"Doņa Ester have the eyes more brown and soft, and the disposition moremild, but very feerm, and she having her own way more often than DoņaBeatriz. She no is so tall, but very gracerful too, and walk like shethink she is tall. All the Spanish so dignify, no? She maka very kindwith the Indians when they are seek, and all loving her, but no so muchlike Doņa Beatriz. 

"Both girls very industrioso, sewing and make the broidery; makebeautiful closes to wear at the ball. Ay, the balls! No have balls likethose in California now. Sometimes have one fifty miles away, but theyno care; jump on the horse and go, dance till the sun wake up and nofeel tire at all. Sometimes when is wedding, or rodeo, dance for oneweek, then ride home like nothing have happen. In the winter the familyliving in San Diego; have big house there and dance every night, horseback in day when no rain, and have so many races and games. Ay, yi!All the girls so pretty. No wear hats then; the reboso, no more, orthe mantilla; fix it so gracerful; and the dresses so bright colours, sometimes with flowers all over; the skirt make very fule, and the waisthave the point. And the closes de mens! Madre de Dios! The beautifulvelvet and silk closes, broider by silver and gold! And the saddles sofine! But you think I never go to tell you the story. 

"One summer we are more gay than ever. So many caballeros love myseņoritas, but I think they never love any one, and never go to marryat all. For a month we have the house fule; meriendas--peek-neeks, youcall, no? And races every day, dance in the night. Then all go to stayat another rancho; it is costumbre to visit the one to the other. I feelvery sorry for two so handsome caballeros, who are more devot than any. They looking very sad when they go, and I am sure they propose and nowas accep. 

"In the evening it is very quiet, and I am sweep the corridor when Ihear two horses gallop down the valley. I fix my hand--so--like thebarrel de gun, and look, and I see, riding very hard, Don Carmelo Pelajoand Don Rafael Arguello. The firs, he loving Doņa Beatriz, the other, hewant Doņa Ester. I go queeck and tell the girls, and Beatriz toss herhead and look very scornfule, but Ester blushing and the eyes look veryhappy. The young mens come in in few minutes and are well treat by DonCarlos and Doņa Juana, for like them very much and are glad si the girlsmarry with them. 

"After supper I am turn down the bed in my seņora's room when Ihear somebody spik very low ou'side on the corridor. I kneel on thewindow-seat and look out, and there I see Don Rafael have his arms rounDoņa Ester and kissing her and she no mine at all. I wonder how they getout there by themselfs, for the Spanish very streect with the girls andno 'low that. But the young peoples always very--how you say it?--smart, no? After while all go to bed, and I braid Doņa Juana's hair and shetell me Ester go to marry Don Rafael, and she feel very happy and I nosay one word. Then I go to Doņa Beatriz's bedroom; always I fix her forthe bed, too. Ester have other woman take care her, but Beatriz love me. She keeck me when she is little, and pull my hair, when I no give herthe dulces; but I no mine, for she have the good heart and so sweetspression when she no is mad and always maka very kind with me. I combher hair and I see she look very cross and I ask her why, and she sayshe hate mens, they are fools, and womens too. I ask her why she thinkthat, and she say she no can be spect have reason for all whatte shethink; and she throw her head aroun so I no can comb at all and keeckout her little foot. 

"'You no go to marry with Don Carlos?' I asking. 

"'No!' she say, and youbetcherlife her eyes flash. 'You think I marryinga singing, sighing, gambling, sleepy caballero? Si no can marry man I nomarry at all. Madre de Dios!' (She spik beautiful; but I no spik goodEenglish, and you no ondrestan the Spanish. )

"'But all are very much like, ' I say; 'and you no want die old maid, no?'

"'I no care!' and then she fling hersel roun on the chair and throw herarms roun me and cry and sob on my estomac. 'Ay, my Lukari!' she crywhen she can spik, ' I hate everybody! I am tire out to exista! I want tolive! I am tire stay all alone! Oh, I want--I no know what I want! Lifeis terreeblay thing, macheppa!'

"I no know at all whatte she mean, for have plenty peoples all the time, and she never walk, so I no can think why she feel tire; but I kissingher and smoothe her hair, for I jus love her, and tell her no cry. Bimeby she fine it some one she loving, and she is very young yet, --twenty, no more. 

"'I no stay here any longer, ' she say. 'I go to ask my father take me toMejico, where can see something cept hills and trees and missions andforts, and where perhaps--ay, Dios de mi alma!' Then she jump up andtake me by the shoulders and just throw me out the room and lock thedoor; but I no mine, for I am use to her. 

"Bueno, I think I go for walk, and bime by I come to the ranchería, andwhile I am there I hear terreeblay thing from old Pepe. He say he hearfor sure that the bad Indians--who was no make Christian by the padresand living very wild in the mountains--come killing all the whitepeoples on the ranchos. He say he know sure it is true, and tell me begDon Carlos send to San Diego for the soldiers come take care us. I feelso fright I hardly can walk back to the house, and I no sleep thatnight. In the morning firs thing I telling Don Carlos, but he say isnonsense and no will lissen. He is very brave and no care for nothing;fight the Indians and killing them plenty times. The two caballeros goaway after breakfas, and when they are gone I can see my seņora alone, and I telling her. She feel very fright and beg Don Carlos send for thesoldiers, but he no will. Ay, yi! Ester is fright too; but Beatriz laughand say she like have some excite and killing the Indians hersel. Afterwhile old Pepe come up to the house and tell he hear 'gain, but DonCarlos no will ask him even where he hear, and tell him to go back tothe rancheria where belong, and make the reatas; he is so old he no canmake anything else. 

"Bueno! The nex morning--bout nine o'clock--Don Carlos is at the corralwith two vaqueros and I am in the keetchen with the cook and one Indianboy, call Franco. Never I like that boy. Something so sneak, andhe steal the dulces plenty times and walk so soffit. I am help thecook--very good woman, but no have much sense--fry lard, when I hearterreeblay noise--horses gallop like they jump out the earth near thehouse, and many mens yell and scream and shout. 

"I run to the window and whatte I see?--Indians, Indians, Indians, thick like black ants on hill, jus race for the house, yelling like thehorses' backs been fule de pins; and Don Carlos and the two vaqueros runlike they have wings for the kitchen door, so can get in and get theguns and fight from the windows. I know whatte they want, so I run tothe door to throw wide, and whatte I see but that devil Franco lock itand stan in front. I jump on him so can scratch his eyes out, but hekeeck me in the estomac and for few minutes I no know it nothing. 

"When I opa my eyes, the room is fule de Indians, and in the iron thehouse I hear my seņora and Doņa Ester scream, scream, scream. I crawl upby the window-seat and look out, and there--ay, Madre de Dios!--see onthe groun my seņor dead, stuck fule de arrows; and the vaqueros, too, of course. That maka me crazy and I run among the Indians, hitting themwith my fists, to my seņora and my seņoritas. Jus as I run into the salathey go to killing my seņora, but I snatch the knife and fall down onmy knees and beg and cry they no hurcha her, and bime by they say allright. But--santa Dios!--whatte you think they do it? They tear all thecloses offa her till she is naked like my ban, and drive her out thehouse with the reatas. They no letting me follow and I look out thewindow and see her reel like she is drunk down the valley and scream, scream!--Ay, Dios!

"Ester, she faint and no know it nothing. Beatriz, she have kill oneIndian with her pistol, but they take way from her, and she stan looklike the dead woman with eyes that have been in hell, in front thechief, who looka her very hard. He is very fine look, that chief, sotall and strong, like he can kill by sweep his arm roun, and he havefierce black eyes and no bad nose for Indian, with nostrils that jump. His mouth no is cruel like mos the bad Indians, nor the forehead so low. He wear the crown de feathers, and botas, and scrape de goaskin; theothers no wear much at all. In a minute he pick up Beatriz and fling herover his shoulder like she is the dead deer, and he tell other do thesame by Ester, and he stalk out and ride away hard. The others set fireeverything, then ride after him. They no care for me and I stand thereshriek after my seņoritas and the beautiful housses burn up. 

"Then I think de my seņora and I run after the way she going. Bime by Ifind her in a wheat field, kissing and hugging little Carlos, who go outearly and no meet the Indians; and he no ondrestan what is the matterand dance up and down he is so fright. I tell him run fas to San Diegoand tell Don Roldan and Don Enrique whatte have happen, and he run likehe is glad to get away. Then I take off my closes and put them on myseņora and drag her along, and, bime by, we coming to a little house, and a good woman give me some closes and in the night we coming to SanDiego. Ay! but was excite, everybody. Carlos been there two or threehours before, and Don Roldan and Don Enrique go with the soldiers to thehills. Everybody do it all whatte they can for my poor seņora, but sheno want to speak by anybody, and go shut hersel up in a room in DonEnrique's house and jus moan and I sit ou'side the door and moan too. 

"Of course, I no am with the soldiers, but many times I hear all and Itell you. 

"The Indians have good start, and the white peoples no even see them, but they fine the trail and follow hard. Bime by they coming to themountains. You ever been in the mountains back de San Diego? No thehills, but the mountains. Ay! So bare and rofe and sharp, and the canonsso narrow and the trails so steep! No is safe to go in at all, for theIndians can hide on the rocks, and jus shoot the white peoples down oneat the time, si they like it, when climb the gorges. The soldierssay they no go in, for it is the duty de them to living and protecCalifornia from the Americanos; but Don Enrique and Don Roldan say theygo, and they ride right in and no one ever spect see them any more. Itis night, so they have good chancacum to look and no be seen si Indiansno watch. 

"Bime by they meet one Indian, who belong to the tribe they want, and'fore he can shoot they point the pistol and tell him he mus show themwhere are the girls. He say he taking them, and on the way he tellingthem the chief and nother chief make the girls their wives. This makethem wild, and they tie up the horses so can climb more fast. But it isno till late the nex morning when they come sudden out of a gorge andlook right into a place, very flat like a plaza, where is the pueblode the Indians they want. For moment no one see them, and they see thegirls--Dios de mi alma! Have been big feast, I theenk, and right whereare all the things no been clear away, Ester, she lie on the groun onthe face, and cry and sob and shake. But Beatriz, she stan very straightin the middle, 'fore the door the big wigwam, and never look morehansome. She never take her eyes off the chief who taking her away, andno look discontent at all. Then the Indians see the brothers and yelland run to get the bows and arrows. Don Enrique and Don Roldan fire thepistols, but after all they have to run, for no can do it nothing. Theyget out live but have arrows in them. And that is the las we ever hearde my seņoritas. Many time plenty white peoples watch the mountains andsometimes go in, but no can find nothing and always are wound. 

"And my poor seņora! For whole year she jus sit in one room and cry soloud all the peoples in San Diego hear her. No can do it nothing withher. Ay, she love the husband so, and the two beautiful girls! Thenshe die, and I am glad. Much better die than suffer like that. And DonRafael and Don Carmelo? Oh, they marrying other girls, course. "

NATALIE IVANHOFF: A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS

At Fort Ross, on the northern coast of California, it is told that anastonishing sight may be witnessed in the midnight of the twenty-thirdof August. The present settlement vanishes. In its place the Fortappears as it was when the Russians abandoned it in 1841. Thequadrilateral stockade of redwood beams, pierced with embrasures forcarronades, is compact and formidable once more. The ramparts are pacedby watchful sentries; mounted cannon are behind the iron-barred gatesand in the graceful bastions. Within the enclosure are the low logbuildings occupied by the Governor and his officers, the barracks of thesoldiers, the arsenal, and storehouses. In one corner stands the Greekchapel, with its cupola and cross-surmounted belfry. The silver chimeshave rung this night. The Governor, his beautiful wife, and their guest, Natalie Ivanhoff, have knelt at the jewelled altar. 

At the right of the Fort is a small "town" of rude huts whichaccommodates some eight hundred Indians and Siberian convicts, theworking-men of the company. Above the "town, " on a high knoll, is alarge grist-mill. Describing an arc of perfect proportions, its midmostdepression a mile behind the Fort, a great mountain forms a naturalrampart. At either extreme it tapers to the jagged cliffs. On its threelower tables the mountain is green and bare; then abruptly rises aforest of redwoods, tall, rigid, tenebrious. 

The mountain is visible but a moment. An immense white fog-bank whichhas been crouching on the horizon rears suddenly and rushes across theocean, whose low mutter rises to a roar. It sweeps like a tidal waveacross cliffs and Fort. It halts abruptly against the face of themountain. In the same moment the ocean stills. It would almost seem thatNature held her breath, awaiting some awful event. 

Suddenly, in the very middle of the fog-bank, appears the shadowy figureof a woman. She is gliding--to the right--rapidly and stealthily. Youthis in her slender grace, her delicate profile, dimly outlined. Her longsilver-blond hair is unbound and luminously distinct from the whitefog. She walks swiftly across the lower table of the mountain, thendisappears. One sees, vaguely, a dark figure crouching along the lowerfringe of the fog. That, too, disappears. 

For a moment the silence seems intensified. Then, suddenly, it iscrossed by a low whir--a strange sound in the midnight. Then a shriekwhose like is never heard save when a soul is wrenched without warningin frightfullest torture from its body. Then another and anotherand another in rapid succession, each fainter and more horrible insuggestion than the last. With them has mingled the single frenzied cryof a man. A moment later a confused hubbub arises from the Fort andtown, followed by the flashes of many lights and the report of musketry. Then the fog presses downward on the scene. All sound but that of theocean, which seems to have drawn into its loud dull voice all the angersof all the dead, ceases as though muffled. The fog lingers a moment, then drifts back as it came, and Fort Ross is the Fort Ross of to-day. 

And this is the story:--

When the Princess Hélčne de Gagarin married Alexander Rotscheff, shelittle anticipated that she would spend her honeymoon in the northernwilds of the Californias. Nevertheless, when her husband was appointedGovernor of the Fort Ross and Bodega branch of the great Alaskan FurCompany, she volunteered at once to go with him--being in that stage ofdevotion which may be termed the emotionally heroic as distinguishedfrom the later of non-resistance. As the exile would last but a fewyears, and as she was a lady of a somewhat adventurous spirit, to saynothing of the fact that she was deeply in love, her interpretation ofwifely duty hardly wore the hue of martyrdom even to herself. 

Notwithstanding, and although she had caused to be prepared a large caseof books and eight trunks of ravishing raiment, she decided that life ina fort hidden between the mountains and the sea, miles away from eventhe primitive Spanish civilization, might hang burdensomely at suchwhiles as her husband's duties claimed him and books ceased to amuse. Soshe determined to ask the friend of her twenty-three years, the CountessNatalie Ivanhoff, to accompany her. She had, also, an unselfish motivein so doing. Not only did she cherish for the Countess Natalie a realaffection, but her friend was as deeply wretched as she was happy. 

Two years before, the Prince Alexis Mikhaīlof, betrothed of NatalieIvanhoff, had been, without explanation or chance of parting word, banished to Siberia under sentence of perpetual exile. Later had comerumour of his escape, then of death, then of recapture. Nothing definitecould be learned. When the Princess Hélčne made her invitation, it wasaccepted gratefully, hope suggesting that in the New World might befound relief from the torture that was relived in every vibration of theinvisible wires that held memory fast to the surroundings in which theterrible impressions, etchers of memory, had their genesis. 

They arrived in summer, and found the long log house, with its lowceilings and rude finish, admirably comfortable within. By aid of thegreat case of things Rotscheff had brought, it quickly became an abodeof luxury. Thick carpets covered every floor; arras hid the rough walls;books and pictures and handsome ornaments crowded each other; everychair had been designed for comfort as well as elegance; the diningtable was hidden beneath finest damask, and glittered with silver andcrystal. It was an unwritten law that every one should dress for dinner;and with the rich curtains hiding the gloomy mountain and the longsweep of cliffs intersected by gorge and gulch, it was easy for thegay congenial band of exiles to forget that they were not eating thedelicacies of their French cook and drinking their costly wines in theOld World. 

In the daytime the women--several of the officers' wives had braved thewilderness--found much diversion in riding through the dark forestsor along the barren cliffs, attended always by an armed guard. DiegoEstenega, the Spanish magnate of the North, whose ranchos adjoined FortRoss, and who was financially interested in the Russian fur trade, soonbecame an intimate of the Rotscheff household. A Californian by birth, he was, nevertheless, a man of modern civilization, travelled, astudent, and a keen lover of masculine sports. Although the mostpowerful man in the politics of his conservative country, he was anAmerican in appearance and dress. His cloth or tweed suggested thecolorous magnificence of the caballeros as little as did his thinnervous figure and grim pallid intellectual face. Rotscheff liked himbetter than any man he had ever met; with the Princess he usually wagedwar, that lady being clever, quick, and wedded to her own opinions. For Natalie he felt a sincere friendship at once. Being a man of keensympathies and strong impulses, he divined her trouble before he heardher story, and desired to help her. 

The Countess Natalie, despite the Governor's prohibition, was addictedto roving over the cliffs by herself, finding kinship in the sterilecrags and futile restlessness of the ocean. She had learned thatalthough change of scene lightened the burden, only death would releaseher from herself. 

"She will get over it, " said the Princess Hélčne to Estenega. "I was inlove twice before I met Alex, so I know. Natalie is so beautiful thatsome day some man, who will not look in the least like poor Alexis, willmake her forget. "

Estenega, being a man of the world and having consequently outgrown thecynicism of youth, also knowing women better than this fair Minervawould know them in twenty lifetimes, thought differently, and a battleensued. 

Natalie, meanwhile, wandered along the cliffs. She passed the townhurriedly. Several times when in its vicinity before, the magnetism ofan intense gaze had given her a thrill of alarm, and once or twice shehad met face to face the miller's son--a forbidding youth with theskull of the Tartar and the coarse black hair and furtive eyes of theIndian--whose admiration of her beauty had been annoyingly apparent. Shewas not conscious of observation to-day, however, and skirted the cliffsrapidly, drawing her gray mantle about her as the wind howled by, butdid not lift the hood; the massive coils of silver-blond hair kept herhead warm. 

As the Princess Hélčne, despite her own faultless blondinity, hadpronounced, Natalie Ivanhoff was a beautiful woman. Her profile had thedelicate effect produced by the chisel. Her white skin was transparentand untinted, but the mouth was scarlet. The large long eyes of achangeful blue-gray, although limpid of surface, were heavy with thesadness of a sad spirit. Their natural fire was quenched just as theslight compression of her lips had lessened the sensuous fulness oftheir curves. 

But she had suffered so bitterly and so variously that the points hadbeen broken off her nerves, she told herself, and, excepting when hertrouble mounted suddenly like a wave within her, her mind was tranquil. Grief with her had expressed itself in all its forms. She had known whatit was to be crushed into semi-insensibility; she had thrilled as thetears rushed and the sobs shook her until every nerve ached and her veryfingers cramped; and she had gone wild at other times, burying her head, that her screams might not be heard: the last, as imagination picturedher lover's certain physical suffering. But of all agonies, none couldapproximate to that induced by Death. When that rumour reached her, she realized that hope had given her some measure of support, andhow insignificant all other trouble is beside that awful blank, thatmystery, whose single revelation is the houseless soul's unreturningflight from the only world we are sure of. When the contradicting rumourcame, she clutched at hope and clung to it. 

"It is the only reason I do not kill myself, " she thought, as she stoodon the jutting brow of the cliff and looked down on the masses of hugestones which, with the gaunt outlying rocks, had once hung on the faceof the crags. The great breakers boiled over them with the ponderositypeculiar to the waters of the Pacific. The least of those breakers wouldcarry her far into the hospitable ocean. 

"It is so easy to die and be at peace; the only thing which makes lifesupportable is the knowledge of Death's quick obedience. And the tragedyof life is not that we cannot forget, but that we can. Think of being anold woman with not so much as a connecting current between the memoryand the heart, the long interval blocked with ten thousand petty eventsand trials! It must be worse than this. I shall have gone over the clifflong before that time comes. I would go to-day, but I cannot leave theworld while he is in it. "

She drew a case from her pocket, and opened it. It showed the portraitof a young man with the sombre eyes and cynical mouth of the northernEuropean, a face revealing intellect, will, passion, and muchrecklessness. Eyes and hair were dark, the face smooth but for a slightmustache. 

Natalie burst into wild tears, revelling in the solitude that gave herfreedom. She pressed the picture against her face, and cried her agonyaloud to the ocean. Thrilling memories rushed through her, and she livedagain the first ecstasy of grief. She did not fling herself upon theground, or otherwise indulge in the acrobatics of woe, but she shookfrom head to foot. Between the heavy sobs her breath came in hard gasps, and tears poured, hiding the gray desolation of the scene. 

Suddenly, through it all, she became conscious that some one waswatching her. Instinctively she knew that it was the same gaze which sooften had alarmed her. Fear routed every other passion. She realizedthat she was unprotected, a mile from the Fort, out of the line of itsvision. The brutal head of the miller's son seemed to thrust itselfbefore her face. Overwhelmed with terror, she turned swiftly and ran, striking blindly among the low bushes, her glance darting from right toleft. No one was to be seen for a moment; then she turned the corner ofa boulder and came upon a man. She shrieked and covered her face withher hands, now too frightened to move. The man neither stirred norspoke; and, despite this alarming circumstance, her disordered brain, in the course of a moment, conceived the thought that no subject ofRotscheff would dare to harm her. 

Moreover, her brief glance had informed her that this was not themiller's son; which fact, illogically, somewhat tempered her fear. Sheremoved her hands and compelled herself to look sternly at the creaturewho had dared to raise his eyes to the Countess Natalie Ivanhoff. Shewas puzzled to find something familiar about him. His grizzled hairwas long, but not unkempt. The lower part of his face was covered bya beard. He was almost fleshless; but in his sunken eyes burnedunquenchable fire, and there was a determined vigour in his gauntfigure. He might have been any age. Assuredly, the outward seeming ofyouth was not there, but its suggestion still lingered tenaciously inthe spirit which glowed through the worn husk. And about him, in spiteof the rough garb and blackened skin, was an unmistakable air ofbreeding. 

Natalie, as she looked, grew rigid. Then she uttered a cry of rapturoushorror, staggered, and was caught in a fierce embrace. Her stunnedsenses awoke in a moment, and she clung to him, crying wildly, holdinghim with straining arms, filled with bitter happiness. 

In a few moments he pushed her from him and regarded her sadly. 

"You are as beautiful as ever, " he said; "but I--look at me! Old, hideous, ragged! I am not fit to touch you; I never meant to. Go! Ishall never blame you. "

For answer she sprang to him again. 

"What difference is it how you look?" she cried, still sobbing. "Is itnot _you?_ Are not you in here just the same? What matter? What matter?No matter what you looked through, you would be the same. Listen, " shecontinued rapidly, after a moment. "We are in a new country; there ishope for us. If we can reach the Spanish towns of the South, we aresafe. I will ask Don Diego Estenega to help us, and he is not the man torefuse. He stays with us to-night, and I will speak alone with him. Meetme to-morrow night--where? At the grist-mill at midnight. We had betternot meet by day again. Perhaps we can go then. You will be there?"

"Will I be there? God! Of course I will be there. "

And, the brief details of their flight concluded, they forgot it and allelse for the hour. 

II

Natalie could not obtain speech alone with Estenega that evening; butthe next morning the Princess Hélčne commanded her household and guestto accompany her up the hill to the orchard at the foot of the forest;and there, while the others wandered over the knolls of the shadowyenclosure, Natalie managed to tell her story. Estenega offered his helpspontaneously. 

"At twelve to-night, " he said, "I will wait for you in the forest withhorses, and will guide you myself to Monterey. I have a house there, andyou can leave on the first barque for Boston. "

As soon as the party returned to the Fort, Estenega excused himself andleft for his home. The day passed with maddening slowness to Natalie. She spent the greater part of it walking up and down the immediatecliffs, idly watching the men capturing the seals and otters, theship-builders across the gulch. As she returned at sunset to theenclosure, she saw the miller's son standing by the gates, gazing at herwith hungry admiration. He inspired her with sudden fury. 

"Never presume to look at me again, " she said harshly. "If you do, Ishall report you to the Governor. "

And without waiting to note how he accepted the mandate, she swept byhim and entered the Fort, the gates clashing behind her. 

The inmates of Fort Ross were always in bed by eleven o'clock. At thathour not a sound was to be heard but the roar of the ocean, the softpacing of the sentry on the ramparts, the cry of the panther in theforest. On the evening in question, after the others had retired, Natalie, trembling with excitement, made a hasty toilet, changing herevening gown for a gray travelling frock. Her heavy hair came unbound, and her shaking hands refused to adjust the close coils. As it fell overher gray mantle it looked so lovely, enveloping her with the silversheen of mist, that she smiled in sad vanity, remembering happier days, and decided to let her lover see her so. She could braid her hair at themill. 

A moment or two before twelve she raised the window and swung herself tothe ground. The sentry was on the rampart opposite: she could not makeher exit by that gate. She walked softly around the buildings, keepingin their shadow, and reached the gates facing the forest. They were notdifficult to unbar, and in a moment she stood without, free. She couldnot see the mountain; a heavy bank of white fog lay against it, resting, after its long flight over the ocean, before it returned, or sweptonward to ingulf the redwoods. 

She went with noiseless step up the path, then turned and walked swiftlytoward the mill. She was very nervous; mingling with the low voice ofthe ocean she imagined she heard the moans with which beheaded convictswere said to haunt the night. Once she thought she heard a footstepbehind her, and paused, her heart beating audibly. But the sound ceasedwith her own soft footfalls, and the fog was so dense that she could seenothing. The ground was soft, and she was beyond the sentry's earshot;she ran at full speed across the field, down the gorge, and up the steepknoll. As she reached the top, she was taken in Mikhaīlof's arms. Fora few moments she was too breathless to speak; then she told him herplans. 

"Let me braid my hair, " she said finally, "and we will go. "

He drew her within the mill, then lit a lantern and held it above herhead, his eyes dwelling passionately on her beauty, enhanced by thecolour of excitement and rapid exercise. 

"You look like the moon queen, " he said. "I missed your hair, apart fromyourself. "

She lifted her chin with a movement of coquetry most graceful in spiteof long disuse, and the answering fire sprang into her eyes. She lookedvery piquant and a trifle diabolical. He pressed his lips suddenlyon hers. A moment later something tugged at the long locks his handcaressed, and at the same time he became conscious that the silencewhich had fallen between them was shaken by a loud whir. He glancedupward. Natalie was standing with her back to one of the band-wheels. Ithad begun to revolve; in the moment it increased its speed; and he saw aglittering web on its surface. With an exclamation of horror, he pulledher toward him; but he was too late. The wheel, spinning now with thevelocity of midday, caught the whole silver cloud in its spokes, andNatalie was swept suddenly upward. Her feet hit the low rafters, and shewas whirled round and round, screams of torture torn from her ratherthan uttered, her body describing a circular right angle to the shaft, the bones breaking as they struck the opposite one; then, in swiftfinality, she was sucked between belt and wheel. Mikhaīlof managed toget into the next room and reverse the lever. The machinery stopped asabruptly as it had started; but Natalie was out of her agony. 

Her lover flung himself over the cliffs, shattering bones and skullon the stones at their base. They made her a coffin out of the copperplates used for their ships, and laid her in the straggling unpopulouscemetery on the knoll across the gulch beyond the chapel. 

"When we go, we will take her, " said Rotscheff to his distracted wife. 

But when they went, a year or two after, in the hurry of departure theyforgot her until too late. They promised to return. But they never came, and she sleeps there still, on the lonely knoll between the sunlessforest and the desolate ocean. 

THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO

I

Pilar, from her little window just above the high wall surrounding thebig adobe house set apart for the women neophytes of the Mission ofSanta Ines, watched, morning and evening, for Andreo, as he came andwent from the rancheria. The old women kept the girls busy, spinning, weaving, sewing; but age nods and youth is crafty. The tall young Indianwho was renowned as the best huntsman of all the neophytes, and whosupplied Padre Arroyo's table with deer and quail, never failed to keephis ardent eyes fixed upon the grating so long as it lay within the lineof his vision. One day he went to Padre Arroyo and told him that Pilarwas the prettiest girl behind the wall--the prettiest girl in all theCalifornias--and that she should be his wife. But the kind stern oldpadre shook his head. 

"You are both too young. Wait another year, my son, and if thou artstill in the same mind, thou shalt have her. "

Andreo dared to make no protest, but he asked permission to prepare ahome for his bride. The padre gave it willingly, and the young Indianbegan to make the big adobes, the bright red tiles. At the end of amonth he had built him a cabin among the willows of the rancheria, alittle apart from the others: he was in love, and association with hisfellows was distasteful. When the cabin was builded his impatienceslipped from its curb, and once more he besought the priest to allow himto marry. 

Padre Arroyo was sunning himself on the corridor of the mission, shivering in his heavy brown robes, for the day was cold. 

"Orion, " he said sternly--he called all his neophytes after thecelebrities of earlier days, regardless of the names given them at thefont--"have I not told thee thou must wait a year? Do not be impatient, my son. She will keep. Women are like apples: when they are too young, they set the teeth on edge; when ripe and mellow, they please everysense; when they wither and turn brown, it is time to fall from the treeinto a hole. Now go and shoot a deer for Sunday: the good padres fromSan Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara are coming to dine with me. "

Andreo, dejected, left the padre. As he passed Pilar's window and saw apair of wistful black eyes behind the grating, his heart took fire. Noone was within sight. By a series of signs he made his lady understandthat he would place a note beneath a certain adobe in the wall. 

Pilar, as she went to and fro under the fruit trees in the garden, or sat on the long corridor weaving baskets, watched that adobe withfascinated eyes. She knew that Andreo was tunnelling it, and one day atiny hole proclaimed that his work was accomplished. But how to get thenote? The old women's eyes were very sharp when the girls were in frontof the gratings. Then the civilizing development of Christianityupon the heathen intellect triumphantly asserted itself. Pilar, too, conceived a brilliant scheme. That night the padre, who encouraged anyevidence of industry, no matter how eccentric, gave her a little gardenof her own--a patch where she could raise sweet peas and Castilianroses. 

"That is well, that is well, my Nausicaa, " he said, stroking her smokybraids. "Go cut the slips and plant them where thou wilt. I will sendthee a package of sweet pea seeds. "

Pilar spent every spare hour bending over her "patch"; and the hole, atfirst no bigger than a pin's point, was larger at each setting of thesun behind the mountain. The old women, scolding on the corridor, calledto her not to forget vespers. 

On the third evening, kneeling on the damp ground, she drew from thelittle tunnel in the adobe a thin slip of wood covered with the labourof sleepless nights. She hid it in her smock--that first of California'slove-letters--then ran with shaking knees and prostrated herself beforethe altar. That night the moon streamed through her grating, and shedeciphered the fact that Andreo had loosened eight adobes above hergarden, and would await her every midnight. 

Pilar sat up in bed and glanced about the room with terrified delight. It took her but a moment to decide the question; love had kept her awaketoo many nights. The neophytes were asleep; as they turned now andagain, their narrow beds of hide, suspended from the ceiling, swung toogently to awaken them. The old women snored loudly. Pilar slipped fromher bed and looked through the grating. Andreo was there, the dignityand repose of primeval man in his bearing. She waved her hand andpointed downward to the wall; then, throwing on the long coarse graysmock that was her only garment, crept from the room and down the stair. The door was protected against hostile tribes by a heavy iron bar, butPilar's small hands were hard and strong, and in a moment she stood overthe adobes which had crushed her roses and sweet peas. 

As she crawled through the opening, Andreo took her hand bashfully, forthey never had spoken. "Come, " he said; "we must be far away beforedawn. "

They stole past the long mission, crossing themselves as they glancedaskance at the ghostly row of pillars; past the guard-house, where thesentries slept at their post; past the rancheria; then, springing upon awaiting mustang, dashed down the valley. Pilar had never been on a horsebefore, and she clung in terror to Andreo, who bestrode the unsaddledbeast as easily as a cloud rides the wind. His arm held her closely, fear vanished, and she enjoyed the novel sensation. Glancing overAndreo's shoulder she watched the mass of brown and white buildings, the winding river, fade into the mountain. Then they began to ascendan almost perpendicular steep. The horse followed a narrow trail; thecrowding trees and shrubs clutched the blankets and smocks of theriders; after a time trail and scene grew white: the snow lay on theheights. 

"Where do we go?" she asked. 

"To Zaca Lake, on the very top of the mountain, miles above us. No onehas ever been there but myself. Often I have shot deer and birds besideit. They never will find us there. "

The red sun rose over the mountains of the east. The crystal moon sankin the west. Andreo sprang from the weary mustang and carried Pilar tothe lake. 

A sheet of water, round as a whirlpool but calm and silver, lay amidstthe sweeping willows and pine-forested peaks. The snow glittered beneaththe trees, but a canoe was on the lake, a hut on the marge. 

II

Padre Arroyo tramped up and down the corridor, smiting his handstogether. The Indians bowed lower than usual, as they passed, andhastened their steps. The soldiers scoured the country for the boldviolators of mission law. No one asked Padre Arroyo what he would dowith the sinners, but all knew that punishment would be sharp andsummary: the men hoped that Andreo's mustang had carried him beyond itsreach; the girls, horrified as they were, wept and prayed in secret forPilar. 

A week later, in the early morning, Padre Arroyo sat on the corridor. The mission stood on a plateau overlooking a long valley forked andsparkled by the broad river. The valley was planted thick with olivetrees, and their silver leaves glittered in the rising sun. The mountainpeaks about and beyond were white with snow, but the great red poppiesblossomed at their feet. The padre, exiled from the luxury and societyof his dear Spain, never tired of the prospect: he loved his missionchildren, but he loved Nature more. 

Suddenly he leaned forward on his staff and lifted the heavy brownhood of his habit from his ear. Down the road winding from the easternmountains came the echo of galloping footfalls. He rose expectantly andwaddled out upon the plaza, shading his eyes with his hand. A half-dozensoldiers, riding closely about a horse bestridden by a stalwart youngIndian supporting a woman, were rapidly approaching the mission. Thepadre returned to his seat and awaited their coming. 

The soldiers escorted the culprits to the corridor; two held the horsewhile they descended, then led it away, and Andreo and Pilar were alonewith the priest. The bridegroom placed his arm about the bride andlooked defiantly at Padre Arroyo, but Pilar drew her long hair about herface and locked her hands together. 

Padre Arroyo folded his arms and regarded them with lowered brows, asneer on his mouth. 

"I have new names for you both, " he said, in his thickest voice. "Antony, I hope thou hast enjoyed thy honeymoon. Cleopatra, I hope thylittle toes did not get frost-bitten. You both look as if food had beenscarce. And your garments have gone in good part to clothe the brambles, I infer. It is too bad you could not wait a year and love in your cabinat the ranchería, by a good fire, and with plenty of frijoles andtortillas in your stomachs. " He dropped his sarcastic tone, and, risingto his feet, extended his right arm with a gesture of malediction. "Doyou comprehend the enormity of your sin?" he shouted. "Have you notlearned on your knees that the fires of hell are the rewards of unlawfullove? Do you not know that even the year of sackcloth and ashes I shallimpose here on earth will not save you from those flames a million timeshotter than the mountain fire, than the roaring pits in which evilIndians torture one another? A hundred years of their scorching breath, of roasting flesh, for a week of love! Oh, God of my soul!"

Andreo looked somewhat staggered, but unrepentant. Pilar burst into loudsobs of terror. 

The padre stared long and gloomily at the flags of the corridor. Then heraised his head and looked sadly at his lost sheep. 

"My children, " he said solemnly, "my heart is wrung for you. Youhave broken the laws of God and of the Holy Catholic Church, and thepunishments thereof are awful. Can I do anything for you, excepting topray? You shall have my prayers, my children. But that is not enough;I cannot--ay! I cannot endure the thought that you shall be damned. Perhaps"--again he stared meditatively at the stones, then, after animpressive silence, raised his eyes. "Heaven vouchsafes me an idea, mychildren. I will make your punishment here so bitter that Almighty Godin His mercy will give you but a few years of purgatory after death. Come with me. "

He turned and led the way slowly to the rear of the mission buildings. Andreo shuddered for the first time, and tightened his arm about Pilar'sshaking body. He knew that they were to be locked in the dungeons. Pilar, almost fainting, shrank back as they reached the narrow spiralstair which led downward to the cells. "Ay! I shall die, my Andreo!" shecried. "Ay! my father, have mercy!"

"I cannot, my children, " said the padre, sadly. "It is for the salvationof your souls. "

"Mother of God! When shall I see thee again, my Pilar?" whisperedAndreo. "But, ay! the memory of that week on the mountain will keep usboth alive. "

Padre Arroyo descended the stair and awaited them at its foot. Separating them, and taking each by the hand, he pushed Andreo ahead anddragged Pilar down the narrow passage. At its end he took a great bunchof keys from his pocket, and raising both hands commanded them to kneel. He said a long prayer in a loud monotonous voice which echoed andreëchoed down the dark hall and made Pilar shriek with terror. Then hefairly hurled the marriage ceremony at them, and made the couple repeatafter him the responses. When it was over, "Arise, " he said. 

The poor things stumbled to their feet, and Andreo caught Pilar in alast embrace. 

"Now bear your incarceration with fortitude, my children; and if you donot beat the air with your groans, I will let you out in a week. Do nothate your old father, for love alone makes him severe, but pray, pray, pray. "

And then he locked them both in the same cell. 

THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL

I

The Seņor Capitan Don Luis de la Torre walked impatiently up and downbefore the grist-mill wherein were quartered the soldiers sent by Mexicoto protect the building of the Mission of San Gabriel. The Indianworkmen were slugs; California, a vast region inhabited only by savagesand a few priests, offered slender attractions to a young officercraving the gay pleasures of his capital and the presence of the womanhe was to marry. For months he had watched the mission church mountslowly from foundation to towers, then spread into pillared corridorsand rooms for the clergy. He could have mapped in his mind every acre ofthe wide beautiful valley girt by mountains snowed on their crest. Hehad thought it all very lovely at first: the yellow atmosphere, the softabiding warmth, the blue reflecting lake; but the green on mountain andflat had waxed to gold, then waned to tan and brown, and he was tired. Not even a hostile Indian had come to be killed. 

He was very good-looking, this tall young Spaniard, with his impatienteyes and haughty intelligent face, and it is possible that the lady inMexico had added to his burden by doleful prayers to return. He took aletter from his pocket, read it half through, then walked rapidly overto the mission, seeking interest in the work of the Indians. Under thekeen merciless supervision of the padres, --the cleverest body of menwho ever set foot in America, --they were mixing and laying the adobes, making nails and tiles, hewing aqueducts, fashioning great stone fontsand fountains. De la Torre speculated, after his habit, upon the futureof a country so beautiful and so fertile, which a dozen priests had madetheir own. Would these Indians, the poorest apologies for human beingshe had ever seen, the laziest and the dirtiest, be Christianized andterrified into worthy citizens of this fair land? Could the clear whiteflame that burned in the brains of the padres strike fire in theirneophytes' narrow skulls, create a soul in those grovelling bodies? Hedismissed the question. 

Would men of race, tempted by the loveliness of this great gold-hairedhouri sleeping on the Pacific, come from old and new Spain and dreamaway a life of pleasure? What grapes would grow out of this rich soilto be crushed by Indian slaves into red wine! And did gold vein thosevelvet hills? How all fruits, all grains, would thrive! what superbbeasts would fatten on the thick spring grass! Ay! it was a magnificentdiscovery for the Church, and great would be the power that could wrestit from her. 

There was a new people, somewhere north of Mexico, in the United Statesof America. Would they ever covet and strive to rob? The worse for themif they molested the fire-blooded Spaniard. How he should like to fightthem!

That night the sentinel gave a sudden piercing shout of warning, thendropped dead with a poisoned arrow in his brain. Another moment, andthe soldiers had leaped from their swinging beds of hide, and headed bytheir captain had reached the church they were there to defend. Throughplaza and corridors sped and shrieked the savage tribe, whose invasionhad been made with the swiftness and cunning of their race. The doorshad not been hung in the church, and the naked figures ran in upon theheels of the soldiers, waving torches and yelling like the soullessfiends they were. The few neophytes who retained spirit enough to fightafter the bleaching process that had chilled their native fire andproduced a result which was neither man nor beast, but a sort ofbarnyard fowl, hopped about under the weight of their blankets and werepromptly despatched. 

The brunt of the battle fell upon the small detachment of troops, andat the outset they were overwhelmed by numbers, dazzled by the glare oftorches that waved and leaped in the cavern-like darkness of the church. But they fought like Spaniards, hacking blindly with their swords, cleaving dusky skulls with furious maledictions, using their fists, their feet, their teeth--wrenching torches from malignant hands andhurling them upon distorted faces. Curses and wild yells intermingled. De la Torre fought at the head of his men until men and savages, deadand living, were an indivisible mass, then thrust back and front, himself unhurt. The only silent clear-brained man among them, he couldreason as he assaulted and defended, and he knew that the Spaniardshad little chance of victory--and he less of looking again upon thetreasures of Mexico. The Indians swarmed like ants over the great naveand transept. Those who were not fighting smashed the altar and slashedthe walls. The callous stars looked through the apertures left forwindows, and shed a pallid light upon the writhing mass. The padres haddefended their altar, behind the chancel rail; they lay trampled, witharrows vibrating in their hard old muscles. 

De la Torre forced his way to the door and stood for a moment, solitary, against the pale light of the open, then turned his face swiftly tothe night air as he fell over the threshold of the mission he had sogallantly defended. 

II

Delfina de Capalleja, after months of deferred hope, stood with thecrowd at the dock, awaiting the return of the troop which had gone todefend the Mission of San Gabriel in its building. There was no flutterof colour beneath her white skin, and the heavy lids almost concealedthe impatient depths of her eyes; the proud repose of her head indicateda profound reserve and self-control. Over her white gown and black densehair she wore a black lace mantilla, fastened below the throat with alarge yellow rose. 

The ship swung to anchor and answered the salute from the fort. Boatswere lowered, but neither officers nor soldiers descended. The murmurof disappointment on shore rose to a shout of execration. Then, as theship's captain and passengers landed, a whisper ran through the crowd, a wail, and wild sobbing. They flung themselves to the earth, beatingtheir heads and breasts, --all but Delfina de Capalleja, who drew hermantilla about her face and walked away. 

The authorities of the city of Mexico yielded to public clamour anddetermined to cast a silver bell in honour of the slaughtered captainand his men. The casting was to take place in the great plaza before thecathedral, that all might attend: it was long since any episode of warhad caused such excitement and sorrow. The wild character and remotenessof the scene of the tragedy, the meagreness of detail which stung everyimagination into action, the brilliancy and popularity of De la Torre, above all, the passionate sympathy felt for Delfina de Capalleja, served to shake society from peak to base, and no event had ever beenanticipated with more enthusiasm than the casting of that silver bell. 

No one had seen Delfina since the arrival of the news had broken so manyhearts, and great was the curiosity regarding her possible presence atthe ceremony. Universal belief was against her ever again appearing inpublic; some said that she was dead, others that she had gone into aconvent, but a few maintained that she would be high priestess at themaking of the bell which was to be the symbol and monument of herlover's gallantry and death. 

The hot sun beat upon the white adobe houses of the stately city. At theupper end of the plaza, bending and swaying, coquetting and languishing, were women clad in rich and vivid satins, their graceful heads andshoulders draped with the black or white mantilla; caballeros, gay invelvet trousers laced with gold, and serape embroidered with silver. Eyes green and black and blue sparkled above the edge of large blackfans; fiery eyes responded from beneath silver-laden sombreros. Thepopulace, in gala attire, crowded the rest of the plaza and adjacentstreets, chattering and gesticulating. But all looked in vain forDelfina de Capalleja. 

Much ceremony attended the melting of the bell. Priests in white robesstiff with gold chanted prayers above the silver bubbling in thecaldron. A full-robed choir sang the Te Deum; the regiment to which Dela Torre had belonged fired salutes at intervals; the crowd sobbed andshouted. 

Thunder of cannon, passionate swell of voices: the molten silver wasabout to be poured into the mould. The crowd hushed and parted. Down theway made for her came Delfina de Capalleja. Her black hair hung over herlong white gown. Her body bent under the weight of jewels--the jewels ofgenerations and the jewels of troth. Her arms hung at her sides. In hereyes was the peace of the dead. 

She walked to the caldron, and taking a heavy gold chain from her neckflung it into the silver. It swirled like a snake, then disappeared. Oneby one, amidst quivering silence, the magnificent jewels followedthe chain. Then, as she took the last bracelet from her arm, madnesspossessed the breathless crowd. The indifferent self-conscious men, the lanquid coquetting women, the fat drowsy old dowagers, all rushed, scrambling and screaming, to the caldron, tore from their heads andbodies the superb jewels and ropes of gold with which they werebedecked, and flung them into the molten mass, which rose like a tide. The electric current sprang to the people; their baubles sped like hailthrough the air. So great was the excitement that a sudden convulsingof the earth was unfelt. When not a jewel was left to sacrifice, thecaldron held enough element for five bells--the five sweet-voiced bellswhich rang in the Mission of San Gabriel for more than a century. 

Exhausted with shouting, the multitude was silent. Delfina de Capalleja, who had stood with panting chest and dilating nostrils, turned fromthe sacrificial caldron, the crowd parting for her again, the LaudateDominum swelling. As she reached the cathedral, a man who loved her, noting a change in her face, sprang to her side. She raised herbewildered eyes to his and thrust out her hands blankly, then fell deadacross the threshold. 

WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL

The Devil locked the copper gates of Hell one night, and sauntered downa Spacian pathway. The later arrivals from the planet Earth had been ofa distressingly commonplace character to his Majesty--a gentlemanof originality and attainments, whatever his disagreements with theconventions. He was become seriously disturbed about the moral conditionof the sensational little twinkler. 

"What are my own about?" he thought, as he drifted past planets whichyielded up their tributes with monotonous regularity. "What a squeezedold orange would Earth become did I forsake it! I must not neglect it solong again; my debt of gratitude is too great. Let me see. Where shallI begin? It is some years since I have visited America in person, and unquestionably she has most need of my attention; Europe is inmagnificent running order. This is a section of her, if my geographydoes not fail me; but what? I do not recall it. "

He poised above a country that looked as if it still hung upon the edgeof chaos: wild, fertile, massive, barren, luxuriant, crouching on theragged line of the Pacific. From his point of vantage he saw long rangesof stupendous mountains, some but masses of scowling crags, some greenwith forests of mammoth trees projecting their gaunt rigid arms abovea carpet of violets; indolent valleys and swirling rivers; snow on theblack peaks of the North; the riotous colour of eternal summer in theSouth. Suddenly he uttered a sharp exclamation and swept downward, halting but a mile above the ground. He frowned heavily, then smiled--along, placid, sardonic smile. There appeared to be but few inhabitantsin this country, and those few seemed to live either in great whiteirregular buildings, surmounted by crosses, in little brown huts nearby, in the caves, or in hollowed trees on the mountains. The largebuildings were situated about sixty miles apart, in chosen valleys; theywere imposing and rambling, built about a plaza. They boasted pillaredcorridors and bright red tiles on their roofs. Within the belfries weremassive silver bells, and the crosses could be seen to the furthermostend of the valley and from the tops of the loftiest mountain. 

"California!" exclaimed the Devil. "I know of her. Her scant historyis outlined in the Scarlet Book. I remember the points: Climate, thefinest, theoretically, in the world; satanically, simply magnificent. I have waited impatiently for the stream of humanity to deflectthitherward, but priests will answer my present purpose exactly--unlessthey are all too tough. To continue, gold under that grass inchunks--aha! I shall have to throw out an extra wing in Hell! Parcheddeserts where men will die cursing; fruitful valleys, more gratifying tomy genius; about as much of one as of the other, but the latter willget all the advertising, and the former be carefully kept out of sight. Everything in the way of animal life, from grizzly bears to fleas. Avery remarkable State! Well, I will begin on the priests. "

He shot downward, and alighted in a valley whose proportions pleased hiseye. Its shape was oval; the bare hills enclosing it were as yellow andas bright as hammered gold; the grass was bronze-coloured, baking in theintense heat; but the placid cows and shining horses nibbled it with thecontentment of those that know not of better things. A river, almostconcealed by bending willows and slender erect cottonwoods, woundcapriciously across the valley. The mission, simpler than some of theothers, was as neatly kept as the farm of older civilizations. Peace, order, reigned everywhere; all things drowsed under the relentlessoutpouring of the midsummer sun. 

"It is well I do not mind the heat, " thought his Majesty; "but I amsensible of this. I will go within. "

He drew a boot on his cloven foot, thus rendering himself invisible, andentered a room of the long wing that opened upon the corridor. Here thetemperature was almost wintry, so thick were the adobe walls. 

Two priests sat before a table, one reading aloud from a bulkymanuscript, the other staring absently out of the window. The readerwas an old man; his face was pale and spiritual; no fires burned in hissunken eyes; his mouth was stern with the lines of self-repression. TheDevil lost all interest in him at once, and turned to the younger man. His face was pale also, but his pallor was that of fasting and the hairshirt; the mouth expressed the determination of the spirit to conquerthe restless longing of the eyes; his nostrils were spirited; his figurewas lean and nervous; he moved his feet occasionally, and clutched atthe brown Franciscan habit. 

"Paulo, " said the older priest, reprovingly, as he lifted his eyes andnoted the unbowed head, "thou art not listening to the holy counsel ofour glorious Master, our saint who has so lately ascended into heaven. "

"I know Junipero Serra by heart, " said Paulo, a little pettishly. "Iwish it were not too hot to go out; I should like to take a walk. Surely, San Miguel is the hottest spot on earth. The very fleas aregasping between the bricks. "

"The Lord grant that they may die before the night! Not a wink have Islept for two! But thou shouldest not long for recreation until the hourcomes, my son. Do thy duty and think not of when it will be over, forit is a blessed privilege to perform it--far more so than any idlepleasure--just as it is more blessed to give than to receive--"

Here the Devil snorted audibly, and both priests turned with a jump. 

"Did you hear that, my father?"

"It is the walls cracking with the intense heat. I will resume myreading, and do thou pay attention, my son. "

"I will, my father. "

And for three hours the Devil was obliged to listen to the droning voiceof the old man. He avenged himself by planting wayward and alarmingdesires in Paulo's fertile soul. 

Suddenly the mission was filled with the sound of clamorous silver:the bells were ringing for vespers--a vast, rapid, unrhythmical, sweetvolume of sound which made the Devil stamp his hoofs and gnash histeeth. The priests crossed themselves and hurried to their eveningduties, Satan following, furious, but not daring to let them out of hissight. 

The church was crowded with dusky half-clothed forms, prostrate beforethe altar. The Devil, during the long service, wandered amongst them, giving a vicious kick with his cloven foot here, pricking with the sharppoint of his tail there, breeding a fine discord and routing devotion. When vespers were over he was obliged to follow the priests to therefectory, but found compensation in noting that Paulo displayed a keenrelish for his meat and wine. The older man put his supper away morselby morsel, as if he were stuffing a tobacco-pouch. 

The meal finished, Paulo sallied forth for his evening walk. The Devilhad his chance. 

He was a wise Devil--a Devil of an experience so vast that the worldwould go crashing through space under its weight in print. He wastedno time with the preliminary temptations--pride, ambition, avarice. Hebrought out the woman at once. 

The young priest, wandering through a grove of cottonwoods, his handsclasped listlessly behind him, his chin sunken dejectedly upon hisbreast, suddenly raised his eyes and beheld a beautiful woman standingnot ten paces away. She was not a girl like her whom he had renouncedfor the Church, but a woman about whose delicate warm face and slenderpalpitating bosom hung the vague shadow of maturity. Her hair was thehot brown of copper, thick and rich; her eyes were like the meeting offlame and alcohol. The emotion she inspired was not the pure glow whichonce had encouraged rather than deprecated renunciation; but at themoment he thought it sweeter. 

He sprang forward with arms outstretched, instinct conquering vows ina manner highly satisfactory to the Devil; then, with a bitterimprecation, turned and fled. But he heard light footfalls behind him;he was conscious of a faint perfume, born of no earthly flower, felt asoft panting breath. A light hand touched his face. He flung his vows toanxious Satan, and turned to clasp the woman in his arms. But she coylyretreated, half-resentfully, half-invitingly, wholly lovely. Satanclosed his iron hand about the vows, and the priest ran toward thewoman, the lines of repression on his face gone, the eyes conquering themouth. But again she retreated. He quickened his steps; she acceleratedhers; his legs were long and agile; but she was fleet of foot. Finallyshe ran at full speed, her warm bright hair lifted and spreading, hertender passionate face turned and shining through it. 

They left the cottonwoods, and raced down the wide silent valley, thecows staring with stolid disapproval, the stars pulsing in sympathy. Thepriest felt no fatigue; he forgot the Church behind him, the future ofreward or torment. He wanted the woman, and was determined to have her. He was wholly lost; and the Devil, satisfied, returned to the mission. 

"Now, " thought he, "for revenge on that old fool for defying me forsixty years!"

He raised his index finger and pointed it straight at the planet Hell. Instantly the sky darkened, the air vibrated with the rushing soundof many forms. A moment later he was surrounded by a regiment ofabbreviated demons--a flock as thick as a grasshopper plague, twisted, grinning, leering, hideous. He raised his finger again and they leapedto the roofs of the mission, wrenched the tiles from their place andsent them clattering to the pavement. They danced and wrestled on thenaked roof, yelling with their hoarse unhuman voices, singing awfulchants. 

The Devil passed within, and found the good old priest on his knees, acrucifix clasped to his breast, his white face upturned, shouting avemarias and pater nosters at the top of his aged voice as if fearful theywould not ascend above the saturnalia on the roof. The Devil added tohis distraction by loud bursts of ribald laughter; but the father, revolving his head as if it were on a pivot, continued to pray. Satanbegan to curse like a pirate. 

Suddenly, above the crashing of tiles, the hideous voices of Devil anddemon, the prayers of the padre, sounded the silver music of thebells. Not the irregular clash which was the daily result of Indianmanipulation, but long rhythmic peals, as sweet and clear and trueas the singing of angels. The Devil and his minions, with one long, baffled, infuriated howl, shot upward into space. Simultaneously a greatwind came roaring down the valley, uprooting trees, shaking the sturdymission. Thunder detonated, lightning cut its zigzag way through blackclouds like moving mountains; hail rattled to the earth; water fellas from an overturned ocean. And through all the bells pealed and thepriest prayed. 

Morning dawned so calm and clear that but for the swimming ground andthe broken tiles bestrewing it, the priest would have thought he haddreamed a terrible nightmare. He opened the door and looked anxiouslyforth for Paulo. Paulo was not to be seen. He called, but his tiredvoice would not carry. Clasping his crucifix to his breast, he totteredforth in search of his beloved young colleague. He passed the rancheriaof the Indians, and found them all asleep, worn out from a night ofterror. 

He was too kind to awaken them, and pursued his way alone down thevalley, peering fearfully to right and left. The ground was ploughed, dented, and strewn with fallen trees; the river roared like a tidalwave. Shuddering, and crossing himself repeatedly, he passed betweenthe hills and entered a forest, following a path which the storm hadblasted. After a time he came to an open glade where he and Paulohad loved to pray whilst the spring and the birds made music. To hissurprise he saw a large stone lying along the open. He wondered if somemeteor had fallen. Mortal hands--Indian hands, at least--were not strongenough to have brought so heavy a bulk, and he had not seen it in forestor valley before. 

He approached and regarded it; then began mumbling aves and paters, running them together as he had not done during the visitation andstorm. The stone was outlined with the shape of a man, long, young, and slender. The face was sharply cut, refined, impassioned, andintellectual. A smile of cynical contentment dwelt on the strong mouth. The eyes were fixed on something before him. Involuntarily the priest'sfollowed them, and lingered. A tree also broke the open--one which neverhad been there before--and it bore an intoxicating similitude to thefeatures and form of a surpassingly beautiful woman. 

"Paulo! Paulo!" murmured the old man, with tears in his eyes, "wouldthat I had been thou!"