TRENT'S TRUST AND OTHER STORIES

By Bret Harte

CONTENTS

TRENT'S TRUST

MR. MACGLOWRIE'S WIDOW

A WARD OF COLONEL STARBOTTLE

PROSPER'S "OLD MOTHER"

THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN

A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT RIDGE

DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD

TRENT'S TRUST

I

Randolph Trent stepped from the Stockton boat on the San Franciscowharf, penniless, friendless, and unknown. Hunger might have been addedto his trials, for, having paid his last coin in passage money, he hadbeen a day and a half without food. Yet he knew it only by an occasionallapse into weakness as much mental as physical. Nevertheless, he wasfirst on the gangplank to land, and hurried feverishly ashore, in thatvague desire for action and change of scene common to such irritation;yet after mixing for a few moments with the departing passengers, eachselfishly hurrying to some rendezvous of rest or business, he insensiblydrew apart from them, with the instinct of a vagabond and outcast. Although he was conscious that he was neither, but merely anunsuccessful miner suddenly reduced to the point of soliciting work oralms of any kind, he took advantage of the first crossing to plunge intoa side street, with a vague sense of hiding his shame. 

A rising wind, which had rocked the boat for the last few hours, had nowdeveloped into a strong sou'wester, with torrents of rain which sweptthe roadway. His well-worn working clothes, fitted to the warmerSouthern mines, gave him more concern from their visible, absurdcontrast to the climate than from any actual sense of discomfort, and his feverishness defied the chill of his soaking garments, as hehurriedly faced the blast through the dimly lighted street. At the nextcorner he paused; he had reached another, and, from its dilapidatedappearance, apparently an older wharf than that where he had landed, but, like the first, it was still a straggling avenue leading toward thehigher and more animated part of the city. He again mechanically--for apart of his trouble was a vague, undefined purpose--turned toward it. 

In his feverish exaltation his powers of perception seemed to bequickened: he was vividly alive to the incongruous, half-marine, half-backwoods character of the warehouses and commercial buildings;to the hull of a stranded ship already built into a block of rudetenements; to the dark stockaded wall of a house framed of corrugatediron, and its weird contiguity to a Swiss chalet, whose galleries wereused only to bear the signs of the shops, and whose frame had beencarried across seas in sections to be set up at random here. 

Moving past these, as in a nightmare dream, of which even the turbulencyof the weather seemed to be a part, he stumbled, blinded, panting, and unexpectedly, with no consciousness of his rapid pace beyond hisbreathlessness, upon the dazzling main thoroughfare of the city. Inspite of the weather, the slippery pavements were thronged byhurrying crowds of well-dressed people, again all intent on their ownpurposes, --purposes that seemed so trifling and unimportant beside hisown. The shops were brilliantly lighted, exposing their brightest waresthrough plate-glass windows; a jeweler's glittered with precious stones;a fashionable apothecary's next to it almost outrivaled it with itsgorgeous globes, the gold and green precision of its shelves, andthe marble and silver soda fountain like a shrine before it. All thisspecious show of opulence came upon him with the shock of contrast, andwith it a bitter revulsion of feeling more hopeless than his feverishanxiety, --the bitterness of disappointment. 

For during his journey he had been buoyed up with the prospect offinding work and sympathy in this youthful city, --a prospect foundedsolely on his inexperienced hopes. For this he had exchanged the povertyof the mining district, --a poverty that had nothing ignoble about it, that was a part of the economy of nature, and shared with his fellow menand the birds and beasts in their rude encampments. He had given up thebrotherhood of the miner, and that practical help and sympathy whichbrought no degradation with it, for this rude shock of self-interested, self-satisfied civilization. He, who would not have shrunk from askingrest, food, or a night's lodging at the cabin of a brother miner orwoodsman, now recoiled suddenly from these well-dressed citizens. Whatmadness had sent him here, an intruder, or, even, as it seemed to him inhis dripping clothes, an impostor? And yet these were the people to whomhe had confidently expected to tell his story, and who would cheerfullyassist him with work! He could almost anticipate the hard laugh orbrutal hurried negative in their faces. In his foolish heart he thankedGod he had not tried it. Then the apathetic recoil which is apt tofollow any keen emotion overtook him. He was dazedly conscious of beingrudely shoved once or twice, and even heard the epithet "drunken lout"from one who had run against him. 

He found himself presently staring vacantly in the apothecary's window. How long he stood there he could not tell, for he was aroused only bythe door opening in front of him, and a young girl emerging with somepurchase in her hand. He could see that she was handsomely dressed andquite pretty, and as she passed out she lifted to his withdrawing figurea pair of calm, inquiring eyes, which, however, changed to a look ofhalf-wondering, half-amused pity as she gazed. Yet that look of pitystung his pride more deeply than all. With a deliberate effort herecovered his energy. No, he would not beg, he would not ask assistancefrom these people; he would go back--anywhere! To the steamboat first;they might let him sleep there, give him a meal, and allow him to workhis passage back to Stockton. He might be refused. Well, what then?Well, beyond, there was the bay! He laughed bitterly--his mind was saneenough for that--but he kept on repeating it vaguely to himself, as hecrossed the street again, and once more made his way to the wharf. 

The wind and rain had increased, but he no longer heeded them in hisfeverish haste and his consciousness that motion could alone keep awaythat dreadful apathy which threatened to overcloud his judgment. And hewished while he was able to reason logically to make up his mind to endthis unsupportable situation that night. He was scarcely twenty, yet itseemed to him that it had already been demonstrated that his life wasa failure; he was an orphan, and when he left college to seek his ownfortune in California, he believed he had staked his all upon thatventure--and lost. 

That bitterness which is the sudden recoil of boyish enthusiasm, and isnone the less terrible for being without experience to justify it, --thatmelancholy we are too apt to look back upon with cynical jeers andlaughter in middle age, --is more potent than we dare to think, andit was in no mere pose of youthful pessimism that Randolph Trent nowcontemplated suicide. Such scraps of philosophy as his education hadgiven him pointed to that one conclusion. And it was the only refugethat pride--real or false--offered him from the one supreme terror ofyouth--shame. 

The street was deserted, and the few lights he had previously noted inwarehouses and shops were extinguished. It had grown darker with thestorm; the incongruous buildings on either side had become misshapenshadows; the long perspective of the wharf was a strange gloom fromwhich the spars of a ship stood out like the cross he remembered as aboy to have once seen in a picture of the tempest-smitten Calvary. Itwas his only fancy connected with the future--it might have been hislast, for suddenly one of the planks of the rotten wharf gave waybeneath his feet, and he felt himself violently precipitated towardthe gurgling and oozing tide below. He threw out his arms desperately, caught at a strong girder, drew himself up with the energy ofdesperation, and staggered to his feet again, safe--and sane. For withthis terrible automatic struggle to avoid that death he was courtingcame a flash of reason. If he had resolutely thrown himself from thepier head as he intended, would he have undergone a hopeless revulsionlike this? Was he sure that this might not be, after all, the terriblepenalty of self-destruction--this inevitable fierce protest of mind andbody when TOO LATE? He was momentarily touched with a sense of gratitudeat his escape, but his reason told him it was not from his ACCIDENT, butfrom his intention. 

He was trying carefully to retrace his steps, but as he did so he sawthe figure of a man dimly lurching toward him out of the darkness of thewharf and the crossed yards of the ship. A gleam of hope came over him, for the emotion of the last few minutes had rudely displaced his prideand self-love. He would appeal to this stranger, whoever he was; therewas more chance that in this rude locality he would be a belated sailoror some humbler wayfarer, and the darkness and solitude made him feelless ashamed. By the last flickering street lamp he could see that hewas a man about his own size, with something of the rolling gait of asailor, which was increased by the weight of a traveling portmanteauhe was swinging in his hand. As he approached he evidently detectedRandolph's waiting figure, slackened his speed slightly, and changed hisportmanteau from his right hand to his left as a precaution for defense. 

Randolph felt the blood flush his cheek at this significant proof ofhis disreputable appearance, but determined to accost him. He scarcelyrecognized the sound of his own voice now first breaking the silence forhours, but he made his appeal. The man listened, made a slight gestureforward with his disengaged hand, and impelled Randolph slowly up to thestreet lamp until it shone on both their faces. Randolph saw a man afew years his senior, with a slightly trimmed beard on his dark, weather-beaten cheeks, well-cut features, a quick, observant eye, and asailor's upward glance and bearing. The stranger saw a thin, youthful, anxious, yet refined and handsome face beneath straggling damp curls, and dark eyes preternaturally bright with suffering. Perhaps hisexperienced ear, too, detected some harmony with all this in Randolph'svoice. 

"And you want something to eat, a night's lodging, and a chance of workafterward, " the stranger repeated with good-humored deliberation. 

"Yes, " said Randolph. 

"You look it. "

Randolph colored faintly. 

"Do you ever drink?"

"Yes, " said Randolph wonderingly. 

"I thought I'd ask, " said the stranger, "as it might play hell with youjust now if you were not accustomed to it. Take that. Just a swallow, you know--that's as good as a jugful. "

He handed him a heavy flask. Randolph felt the burning liquor scald histhroat and fire his empty stomach. The stranger turned and looked downthe vacant wharf to the darkness from which he came. Then he turned toRandolph again and said abruptly, --

"Strong enough to carry this bag?"

"Yes, " said Randolph. The whiskey--possibly the relief--had given himnew strength. Besides, he might earn his alms. 

"Take it up to room 74, Niantic Hotel--top of next street to this, oneblock that way--and wait till I come. "

"What name shall I say?" asked Randolph. 

"Needn't say any. I ordered the room a week ago. Stop; there's the key. Go in; change your togs; you'll find something in that bag that'll fityou. Wait for me. Stop--no; you'd better get some grub there first. "He fumbled in his pockets, but fruitlessly. "No matter. You'll find abuckskin purse, with some scads in it, in the bag. So long. " And beforeRandolph could thank him, he lurched away again into the semi-darknessof the wharf. 

Overflowing with gratitude at a hospitality so like that of his recklessbrethren of the mines, Randolph picked up the portmanteau and startedfor the hotel. He walked warily now, with a new interest in life, and then, suddenly thinking of his own miraculous escape, he paused, wondering if he ought not to warn his benefactor of the perils of therotten wharf; but he had already disappeared. The bag was not heavy, buthe found that in his exhausted state this new exertion was telling, and he was glad when he reached the hotel. Equally glad was he in hisdripping clothes to slip by the porter, and with the key in his pocketascend unnoticed to 74. 

Yet had his experience been larger he might have spared himself thatsensitiveness. For the hotel was one of those great caravansariespopular with the returning miner. It received him and his gold dust inhis worn-out and bedraggled working clothes, and returned him the nextday as a well-dressed citizen on Montgomery Street. It was hard indeedto recognize the unshaven, unwashed, and unkempt "arrival" one met onthe principal staircase at night in the scrupulously neat stranger onesat opposite to at breakfast the next morning. In this daily whirl ofmutation all identity was swamped, as Randolph learned to know. 

At present, finding himself in a comfortable bedroom, his first actwas to change his wet clothes, which in the warmer temperature andthe decline of his feverishness now began to chill him. He opened theportmanteau and found a complete suit of clothing, evidently a foreignmake, well preserved, as if for "shore-going. " His pride would havepreferred a humbler suit as lessening his obligation, but there was noother. He discovered the purse, a chamois leather bag such as miners andtravelers carried, which contained a dozen gold pieces and some papernotes. Taking from it a single coin to defray the expenses of a meal, herestrapped the bag, and leaving the key in the door lock for the benefitof his returning host, made his way to the dining room. 

For a moment he was embarrassed when the waiter approached himinquisitively, but it was only to learn the number of his room to"charge" the meal. He ate it quickly, but not voraciously, for hisappetite had not yet returned, and he was eager to get back to theroom and see the stranger again and return to him the coin which was nolonger necessary. 

But the stranger had not yet arrived when he reached the room. Over anhour had elapsed since their strange meeting. A new fear came uponhim: was it possible he had mistaken the hotel, and his benefactor wasawaiting him elsewhere, perhaps even beginning to suspect not only hisgratitude but his honesty! The thought made him hot again, but he washelpless. Not knowing the stranger's name, he could not inquire withoutexposing his situation to the landlord. But again, there was the key, and it was scarcely possible that it fitted another 74 in anotherhotel. He did not dare to leave the room, but sat by the window, peeringthrough the streaming panes into the storm-swept street below. Graduallythe fatigue his excitement had hitherto kept away began to overcome him;his eyes once or twice closed during his vigil, his head nodded againstthe pane. He rose and walked up and down the room to shake off hisdrowsiness. Another hour passed--nine o'clock, blown in fitful, far-offstrokes from some wind-rocked steeple. Still no stranger. How invitingthe bed looked to his weary eyes! The man had told him he wanted rest;he could lie down on the bed in his clothes until he came. He wouldwaken quickly and be ready for his benefactor's directions. It was agreat temptation. He yielded to it. His head had scarcely sunk upon thepillow before he slipped into a profound and dreamless sleep. 

He awoke with a start, and for a few moments lay vaguely staring at thesunbeams that stretched across his bed before he could recall himself. The room was exactly as before, the portmanteau strapped and pushedunder the table as he had left it. There came a tap at the door--thechambermaid to do up the room. She had been there once already, but seeing him asleep, she had forborne to wake him. Apparently thespectacle of a gentleman lying on the bed fully dressed, even to hisboots, was not an unusual one at that hotel, for she made no comment. Itwas twelve o'clock, but she would come again later. 

He was bewildered. He had slept the round of the clock--that was naturalafter his fatigue--but where was his benefactor? The lateness of thetime forbade the conclusion that he had merely slept elsewhere; hewould assuredly have returned by this time to claim his portmanteau. Theportmanteau! He unstrapped it and examined the contents again. They wereundisturbed as he had left them the night before. There was a furtherchange of linen, the buckskin bag, which he could see now containeda couple of Bank of England notes, with some foreign gold mixed withAmerican half-eagles, and a cheap, rough memorandum book clasped withelastic, containing a letter in a boyish hand addressed "Dear Daddy"and signed "Bobby, " and a photograph of a boy taken by a foreignphotographer at Callao, as the printed back denoted, but nothing givingany clue whatever to the name of the owner. 

A strange idea seized him: did the portmanteau really belong to the manwho had given it to him? Had he been the innocent receiver of stolengoods from some one who wished to escape detection? He recalled now thathe had heard stories of robbery of luggage by thieves "Sydney ducks"--onthe deserted wharves, and remembered, too, --he could not tell why thethought had escaped him before, --that the man had spoken with an Englishaccent. But the next moment he recalled his frank and open manner, andhis mind cleared of all unworthy suspicion. It was more than likely thathis benefactor had taken this delicate way of making a free, permanentgift for that temporary service. Yet he smiled faintly at the return ofthat youthful optimism which had caused him so much suffering. 

Nevertheless, something must be done: he must try to find the man; stillmore important, he must seek work before this dubious loan was furtherencroached upon. He restrapped the portmanteau and replaced it under thetable, locked the door, gave the key to the office clerk, saying thatany one who called upon him was to await his return, and sallied forth. A fresh wind and a blue sky of scudding clouds were all that remainedof last night's storm. As he made his way to the fateful wharf, stilldeserted except by an occasional "wharf-rat, "--as the longshore vagrantor petty thief was called, --he wondered at his own temerity of lastnight, and the trustfulness of his friend in yielding up his portmanteauto a stranger in such a place. A low drinking saloon, feebly disguisedas a junk shop, stood at the corner, with slimy green steps leading tothe water. 

The wharf was slowly decaying, and here and there were occasional gapsin the planking, as dangerous as the one from which he had escaped thenight before. He thought again of the warning he might have given tothe stranger; but he reflected that as a seafaring man he must have beenfamiliar with the locality where he had landed. But had he landed there?To Randolph's astonishment, there was no sign or trace of any lateoccupation of the wharf, and the ship whose crossyards he had seen dimlythrough the darkness the night before was no longer there. She mighthave "warped out" in the early morning, but there was no trace of herin the stream or offing beyond. A bark and brig quite dismantled at anadjacent wharf seemed to accent the loneliness. Beyond, the open channelbetween him and Verba Buena Island was racing with white-maned seas andsparkling in the shifting sunbeams. The scudding clouds above him drovedown the steel-blue sky. The lateen sails of the Italian fishing boatswere like shreds of cloud, too, blown over the blue and distant bay. His ears sang, his eyes blinked, his pulses throbbed, with the untiring, fierce activity of a San Francisco day. 

With something of its restlessness he hurried back to the hotel. Stillthe stranger was not there, and no one had called for him. The room hadbeen put in order; the portmanteau, that sole connecting link with hislast night's experience, was under the table. He drew it out again, andagain subjected it to a minute examination. A few toilet articles, notof the best quality, which he had overlooked at first, the linen, thebuckskin purse, the memorandum book, and the suit of clothes he stoodin, still comprised all he knew of his benefactor. He counted the moneyin the purse; it amounted, with the Bank of England notes, to aboutseventy dollars, as he could roughly guess. There was a scrap of paper, the torn-off margin of a newspaper, lying in the purse, with an addresshastily scribbled in pencil. It gave, however, no name, only a number:"85 California Street. " It might be a clue. He put it, with the purse, carefully in his pocket, and after hurriedly partaking of his forgottenbreakfast, again started out. 

He presently found himself in the main thoroughfare of last night, whichhe now knew to be Montgomery Street. It was more thronged than then, but he failed to be impressed, as then, with the selfish activity ofthe crowd. Yet he was half conscious that his own brighter fortune, more decent attire, and satisfied hunger had something to do with thischange, and he glanced hurriedly at the druggist's broad plate-glasswindows, with a faint hope that the young girl whose amused pity he hadawakened might be there again. He found California Street quickly, andin a few moments he stood before No. 85. He was a little disturbedto find it a rather large building, and that it bore the inscription"Bank. " Then came the usual shock to his mercurial temperament, and forthe first time he began to consider the absurd hopelessness of his clue. 

He, however, entered desperately, and approaching the window of thereceiving teller, put the question he had formulated in his mind: Couldthey give him any information concerning a customer or correspondentwho had just arrived in San Francisco and was putting up at the NianticHotel, room 74? He felt his face flushing, but, to his astonishment, theclerk manifested no surprise. "And you don't know his name?" said theclerk quietly. "Wait a moment. " He moved away, and Randolph saw himspeaking to one of the other clerks, who consulted a large register. In a few minutes he returned. "We don't have many customers, " he beganpolitely, "who leave only their hotel-room addresses, " when he wasinterrupted by a mumbling protest from one of the other clerks. "That'svery different, " he replied to his fellow clerk, and then turned toRandolph. "I'm afraid we cannot help you; but I'll make other inquiriesif you'll come back in ten minutes. " Satisfied to be relieved from thepresent perils of his questioning, and doubtful of returning, Randolphturned away. But as he left the building he saw a written notice onthe swinging door, "Wanted: a Night Porter;" and this one chance ofemployment determined his return. 

When he again presented himself at the window the clerk motioned him tostep inside through a lifted rail. Here he found himself confronted bythe clerk and another man, distinguished by a certain air of authority, a keen gray eye, and singularly compressed lips set in a closely clippedbeard. The clerk indicated him deferentially but briefly--everybodywas astonishingly brief and businesslike there--as the president. Thepresident absorbed and possessed Randolph with eyes that never seemedto leave him. Then leaning back against the counter, which he lightlygrasped with both hands, he said: "We've sent to the Niantic Hotel toinquire about your man. He ordered his room by letter, giving no name. He arrived there on time last night, slept there, and has occupied theroom No. 74 ever since. WE don't know him from Adam, but"--his eyesnever left Randolph's--"from the description the landlord gave ourclerk, you're the man himself. "

For an instant Randolph flushed crimson. The natural mistake ofthe landlord flashed upon him, his own stupidity in seeking thisinformation, the suspicious predicament in which he was now placed, andthe necessity of telling the whole truth. But the president's eye was atonce a threat and an invitation. He felt himself becoming suddenly cool, and, with a business brevity equal to their own, said:--

"I was looking for work last night on the wharf. He employed me to carryhis bag to the hotel, saying I was to wait for him. I have waited sincenine o'clock last night in his room, and he has not come. "

"What are you in such a d----d hurry for? He's trusted you; can't youtrust him? You've got his bag?" returned the president. 

Randolph was silent for a moment. "I want to know what to do with it, "he said. 

"Hang on to it. What's in it?"

"Some clothes and a purse containing about seventy dollars. "

"That ought to pay you for carrying it and storage afterward, " said thepresident decisively. "What made you come here?"

"I found this address in the purse, " said Randolph, producing it. 

"Is that all?"

"Yes. "

"And that's the only reason you came here, to find an owner for thatbag?"

"Yes. "

The president disengaged himself from the counter. 

"I'm sorry to have given you so much trouble, " said Randolphconcludingly. "Thank you and good-morning. "

"Good-morning. "

As Randolph turned away he remembered the advertisement for the nightwatchman. He hesitated and turned back. He was a little surprised tofind that the president had not gone away, but was looking after him. 

"I beg your pardon, but I see you want a night watchman. Could I do?"said Randolph resolutely. 

"No. You're a stranger here, and we want some one who knows thecity, --Dewslake, " he returned to the receiving teller, "who's takenLarkin's place?"

"No one yet, " returned the teller, "but, " he added parenthetically, "Judge Boompointer, you know, was speaking to you about his son. "

"Yes, I know that. " To Randolph: "Go round to my private room and waitfor me. I won't be as long as your friend last night. " Then he added toa negro porter, "Show him round there. "

He moved away, stopping at one or two desks to give an order to theclerks, and once before the railing to speak to a depositor. Randolphfollowed the negro into the hall, through a "board room, " and into ahandsomely furnished office. He had not to wait long. In a few momentsthe president appeared with an older man whose gray side whiskers, cutwith a certain precision, and whose black and white checked neckerchief, tied in a formal bow, proclaimed the English respectability of theperiod. At the president's dictation he took down Randolph's name, nativity, length of residence, and occupation in California. Thisconcluded, the president, glancing at his companion, said briefly, --

"Well?"

"He had better come to-morrow morning at nine, " was the answer. 

"And ask for Mr. Dingwall, the deputy manager, " added the president, with a gesture that was at once an introduction and a dismissal to both. 

Randolph had heard before of this startling brevity of San Franciscobusiness detail, yet he lingered until the door closed on Mr. Dingwall. His heart was honestly full. 

"You have been very kind, sir, " he stammered. 

"I haven't run half the risks of that chap last night, " said thepresident grimly, the least tremor of a smile on his set mouth. 

"If you would only let me know what I can do to thank you, " persistedRandolph. 

"Trust the man that trusts you, and hang on to your trust, " returned thepresident curtly, with a parting nod. 

Elated and filled with high hopes as Randolph was, he felt sometrepidation in returning to his hotel. He had to face his landlord withsome explanation of the bank's inquiry. The landlord might consider himan impostor, and request him to leave, or, more dreadful still, insistupon keeping the bag. He thought of the parting words of the president, and resolved upon "hanging on to his trust, " whatever happened. But hewas agreeably surprised to find that he was received at the office witha certain respect not usually shown to the casual visitor. "Your callerturned up to-day"--Randolph started--"from the Eureka bank, " continuedthe clerk. "Sorry we could not give your name, but you know youonly left a deposit in your letter and sent a messenger for your keyyesterday afternoon. When you came you went straight to your room. Perhaps you would like to register now. " Randolph no longer hesitated, reflecting that he could explain it all later to his unknown benefactor, and wrote his name boldly. But he was still more astonished when theclerk continued: "I reckon it was a case of identifying you for adraft--it often happens here--and we'd have been glad to do it for you. But the bank clerk seemed satisfied with out description of you--you'reeasily described, you know" (this in a parenthesis, complimentarilyintended)--"so it's all right. We can give you a better room lower down, if you're going to stay longer. " Not knowing whether to laugh or to beembarrassed at this extraordinary conclusion of the blunder, Randolphanswered that he had just come from the bank, adding, with a pardonabletouch of youthful pride, that he was entering the bank's employment thenext day. 

Another equally agreeable surprise met him on his arrival there the nextmorning. Without any previous examination or trial he was installed atonce as a corresponding clerk in the place of one just promoted toa sub-agency in the interior. His handwriting, his facility ofcomposition, had all been taken for granted, or perhaps predicatedupon something the president had discerned in that one quick, absorbingglance. He ventured to express the thought to his neighbor. 

"The boss, " said that gentleman, "can size a man in and out, and allthrough, in about the time it would take you and me to tell the color ofhis hair. HE don't make mistakes, you bet; but old Dingy--the dep--yousettled with your clothes. "

"My clothes!" echoed Randolph, with a faint flush. 

"Yes, English cut--that fetched him. "

And so his work began. His liberal salary, which seemed to himmunificent in comparison with his previous earnings in the mines, enabled him to keep the contents of the buckskin purse intact, andpresently to return the borrowed suit of clothes to the portmanteau. Themysterious owner should find everything as when he first placed it inhis hands. With the quick mobility of youth and his own rather mercurialnature, he had begun to forget, or perhaps to be a little ashamed of hiskeen emotions and sufferings the night of his arrival, until that nightwas recalled to him in a singular way. 

One Sunday a vague sense of duty to his still missing benefactorimpelled him to spend part of his holiday upon the wharves. He hadrambled away among the shipping at the newer pier slips, and had gazedcuriously upon decks where a few seamen or officers in their Sundayapparel smoked, paced, or idled, trying vainly to recognize the faceand figure which had once briefly flashed out under the flickering wharflamp. Was the stranger a shipmaster who had suddenly transferred himselfto another vessel on another voyage? A crowd which had gathered aroundsome landing steps nearer shore presently attracted his attention. Helounged toward it and looked over the shoulders of the bystanders downupon the steps. A boat was lying there, which had just towed in the bodyof a man found floating on the water. Its features were alreadyswollen and defaced like a hideous mask; its body distended beyond allproportion, even to the bursting of its sodden clothing. A tremulousfascination came over Randolph as he gazed. The bystanders made theirbrief comments, a few authoritatively and with the air of nauticalexperts. 

"Been in the water about a week, I reckon. "

"'Bout that time; just rucked up and floated with the tide. "

"Not much chance o' spottin' him by his looks, eh?"

"Nor anything else, you bet. Reg'larly cleaned out. Look at hispockets. "

"Wharf-rats or shanghai men?"

"Betwixt and between, I reckon. Man who found him says he's got an uglycut just back of his head. Ye can't see it for his floating hair. "

"Wonder if he got it before or after he got in the water. "

"That's for the coroner to say. "

"Much he knows or cares, " said another cynically. "It'll just be a caseof 'Found drowned' and the regular twenty-five dollars to HIM, and fiveto the man who found the body. That's enough for him to know. "

Thrilled with a vague anxiety, Randolph edged forward for a nearer viewof the wretched derelict still gently undulating on the towline. Thecloser he looked the more he was impressed by the idea of some frightfulmask that hid a face that refused to be recognized. But his attentionbecame fixed on a man who was giving some advice or orders and examiningthe body scrutinizingly. Without knowing why, Randolph felt a suddenaversion to him, which was deepened when the man, lifting his head, metRandolph's eyes with a pair of shifting yet aggressive ones. He bore, nevertheless, an odd, weird likeness to the missing man Randolph wasseeking, which strangely troubled him. As the stranger's eyes followedhim and lingered with a singular curiosity on Randolph's dress, heremembered with a sudden alarm that he was wearing the suit of themissing man. A quick impulse to conceal himself came upon him, but he asquickly conquered it, and returned the man's cold stare with an anger hecould not account for, but which made the stranger avert his eyes. Thenthe man got into the boat beside the boatman, and the two again towedaway the corpse. The head rose and fell with the swell, as if nodding afarewell. But it was still defiant, under its shapeless mask, that evenwore a smile, as if triumphant in its hideous secret. 

II

The opinion of the cynical bystander on the wharf proved to be a correctone. The coroner's jury brought in the usual verdict of "Found drowned, "which was followed by the usual newspaper comment upon the insecurity ofthe wharves and the inadequate protection of the police. 

Randolph Trent read it with conflicting emotions. The possibility he hadconceived of the corpse being that of his benefactor was dismissed whenhe had seen its face, although he was sometimes tortured with doubt, anda wonder if he might not have learned more by attending the inquest. Andthere was still the suggestion that the mysterious disappearance mighthave been accomplished by violence like this. He was satisfied that ifhe had attempted publicly to identify the corpse as his missing friendhe would have laid himself open to suspicion with a story he couldhardly corroborate. 

He had once thought of confiding his doubts to Mr. Revelstoke, the bankpresident, but he had a dread of that gentleman's curt conclusionsand remembered his injunction to "hang on to his trust. " Since hisinstallation, Mr. Revelstoke had merely acknowledged his presence bya good-humored nod now and then, although Randolph had an instinctivefeeling that he was perfectly informed as to his progress. It was wiserfor Randolph to confine himself strictly to his duty and keep his owncounsel. 

Yet he was young, and it was not strange that in his idle moments histhoughts sometimes reverted to the pretty girl he had seen on the nightof his arrival, nor that he should wish to parade his better fortunebefore her curious eyes. Neither was it strange that in this city, whoseday-long sunshine brought every one into the public streets, he shouldpresently have that opportunity. It chanced that one afternoon, beingin the residential quarter, he noticed a well-dressed young girl walkingbefore him in company with a delicate looking boy of seven or eightyears. Something in the carriage of her graceful figure, something ina certain consciousness and ostentation of coquetry toward her youthfulescort, attracted his attention. Yet it struck him that she was neitherrelated to the child nor accustomed to children's ways, and that shesomewhat unduly emphasized this to the passers-by, particularly those ofhis own sex, who seemed to be greatly attracted by her evident beauty. Presently she ascended the steps of a handsome dwelling, evidently theirhome, and as she turned he saw her face. It was the girl he remembered. As her eye caught his, he blushed with the consciousness of their formermeeting; yet, in the very embarrassment of the moment, he lifted hishat in recognition. But the salutation was met only by a cold, criticalstare. Randolph bit his lip and passed on. His reason told him shewas right, his instinct told him she was unfair; the contradictionfascinated him. 

Yet he was destined to see her again. A month later, while seated at hisdesk, which overlooked the teller's counter, he was startled to see herenter the bank and approach the counter. She was already withdrawinga glove from her little hand, ready to affix her signature to thereceipted form to be proffered by the teller. As she received the goldin exchange, he could see, by the increased politeness of that official, his evident desire to prolong the transaction, and the sidelongglances of his fellow clerks, that she was apparently no stranger but arecognized object of admiration. Although her face was slightly flushedat the moment, Randolph observed that she wore a certain proud reserve, which he half hoped was intended as a check to these attentions. Hereyes were fixed upon the counter, and this gave him a brief opportunityto study her delicate beauty. For in a few moments she was gone; whethershe had in her turn observed him he could not say. Presently he rose andsauntered, with what he believed was a careless air, toward the payingteller's counter and the receipt, which, being the last, was plainlyexposed on the file of that day's "taking. " He was startled by a titterof laughter from the clerks and by the teller ironically lifting thefile and placing it before him. 

"That's her name, sonny, but I didn't think that you'd tumble to itquite as quick as the others. Every new man manages to saunter roundhere to get a sight of that receipt, and I've seen hoary old depositorsoutside edge around inside, pretendin' they wanted to see the dep, jestto feast their eyes on that girl's name. Take a good look at it andpaste a copy in your hat, for that's all you'll know of her, you bet. Perhaps you think she's put her address and her 'at home' days on thereceipt. Look hard and maybe you'll see 'em. "

The instinct of youthful retaliation to say he knew her address alreadystirred Randolph, but he shut his lips in time, and moved away. His deskneighbor informed him that the young lady came there once a month anddrew a hundred dollars from some deposit to her credit, but that was allthey knew. Her name was Caroline Avondale, yet there was no one of thatname in the San Francisco Directory. 

But Randolph's romantic curiosity would not allow the incident to restthere. A favorable impression he had produced on Mr. Dingwall enabledhim to learn more, and precipitated what seemed to him a singulardiscovery. "You will find, " said the deputy manager, "the statementof the first deposit to Miss Avondale's credit in letters in yourown department. The account was opened two years ago through a SouthAmerican banker. But I am afraid it will not satisfy your curiosity. "Nevertheless, Randolph remained after office hours and spent some timein examining the correspondence of two years ago. He was rewarded atlast by a banker's letter from Callao advising the remittance of onethousand dollars to the credit of Miss Avondale of San Francisco. Theletter was written in Spanish, of which Randolph had a fair knowledge, but it was made plainer by a space having been left in the formal letterfor the English name, which was written in another hand, together witha copy of Miss Avondale's signature for identification--the usualproceeding in those early days, when personal identification wasdifficult to travelers, emigrants, and visitors in a land of strangers. 

But here he was struck by a singular resemblance which he at first putdown to mere coincidence of names. The child's photograph which hehad found in the portmanteau was taken at Callao. That was a merecoincidence, but it suggested to his mind a more singular one--that thehandwriting of the address was, in some odd fashion, familiar to him. That night when he went home he opened the portmanteau and took from thepurse the scrap of paper with the written address of the bank, and oncomparing it with the banker's letter the next day he was startled tofind that the handwriting of the bank's address and that in which thegirl's name was introduced in the banker's letter were apparently thesame. The letters in the words "Caroline" and "California" appeared asif formed by the same hand. How this might have struck a chirographicalexpert he did not know. He could not consult the paying teller, who wassupposed to be familiar with signatures, without exposing his secret andhimself to ridicule. And, after all, what did it prove? Nothing. Evenif this girl were cognizant of the man who supplied her address to theCallao banker two years ago, and he was really the missing owner of theportmanteau, would she know where he was now? It might make an openingfor conversation if he ever met her familiarly, but nothing more. YetI am afraid another idea occasionally took possession of Randolph'sromantic fancy. It was pleasant to think that the patron of his ownfortunes might be in some mysterious way the custodian of hers. Themoney was placed to her credit--a liberal sum for a girl so young. Thelarge house in which she lived was sufficient to prove to the optimisticRandolph that this income was something personal and distinct from herfamily. That his unknown benefactor was in the habit of mysteriouslyrewarding deserving merit after the fashion of a marine fairy godmother, I fear did not strike him as being ridiculous. 

But an unfortunate query in that direction, addressed to a cynicalfellow clerk, who had the exhaustive experience with the immaturemustaches of twenty-three, elicited a reply which shocked him. To hisindignant protest the young man continued:--

"Look here; a girl like that who draws money regularly from some manwho doesn't show up by name, who comes for it herself, and hasn't anyaddress, and calls herself 'Avondale'--only an innocent from Dutch Flat, like you, would swallow. "

"Impossible, " said Randolph indignantly. "Anybody could see she's a ladyby her dress and bearing. "

"Dress and bearing!" echoed the clerk, with the derision of blase youth. "If that's your test, you ought to see Florry ----. "

But here one may safely leave the young gentleman as abruptly asRandolph did. Yet a drop of this corrosive criticism irritated hissensitiveness, and it was not until he recalled his last meeting withher and her innocent escort that he was himself again. Fortunately, hedid not relate it to the critic, who would in all probability have addeda precocious motherhood to the young lady's possible qualities. 

He could now only look forward to her reappearance at the bank, and herehe was destined to a more serious disappointment. For when she made hercustomary appearance at the counter, he noticed a certain businesslikegravity in the paying teller's reception of her, and that he wasconsulting a small register before him instead of handing her the usualreceipt form. "Perhaps you are unaware, Miss Avondale, that your accountis overdrawn, " Randolph distinctly heard him say, although in a politelylowered voice. 

The young girl stopped in taking off her glove; her delicate faceexpressed her wonder, and paled slightly; she cast a quick andapparently involuntary glance in the direction of Randolph, but saidquietly, --

"I don't think I understand. "

"I thought you did not--ladies so seldom do, " continued the payingteller suavely. "But there are no funds to your credit. Has not yourbanker or correspondent advised you?"

The girl evidently did not comprehend. "I have no correspondent orbanker, " she said. "I mean--I have heard nothing. "

"The original credit was opened from Callao, " continued the official, "but since then it has been added to by drafts from Melbourne. There maybe one nearly due now. "

The young girl seemed scarcely to comprehend, yet her face remainedpale and thoughtful. It was not until the paying teller resumed withsuggestive politeness that she roused herself: "If you would like to seethe president, he might oblige you until you hear from your friends. Ofcourse, my duty is simply to"--

"I don't think I require you to exceed it, " returned the young girlquietly, "or that I wish to see the president. " Her delicate little facewas quite set with resolution and a mature dignity, albeit it was stillpale, as she drew away from the counter. 

"If you would leave your address, " continued the official withpersistent politeness, "we could advise you of any later deposit to yourcredit. "

"It is hardly necessary, " returned the young lady. "I should learn itmyself, and call again. Thank you. Good-morning. " And settling her veilover her face, she quietly passed out. 

The pain and indignation with which Randolph overheard this colloquy hecould with the greatest difficulty conceal. For one wild moment hehad thought of calling her back while he made a personal appeal toRevelstoke; but the conviction borne in upon him by her resolute bearingthat she would refuse it, and he would only lay himself open to anotherrebuff, held him to his seat. Yet he could not entirely repress hisyouthful indignation. 

"Where I come from, " he said in an audible voice to his neighbor, "ayoung lady like that would have been spared this public disappointment. A dozen men would have made up that sum and let her go without knowinganything about her account being overdrawn. " And he really believed it. 

"Nice, comf'able way of doing banking business in Dutch Flat, " returnedthe cynic. "And I suppose you'd have kept it up every month? Rathera tall price to pay for looking at a pretty girl once a month! But Isuppose they're scarcer up there than here. All the same, it ain't toolate now. Start up your subscription right here, sonny, and we'll allante up. "

But Randolph, who seldom followed his heroics to their ultimate prosaicconclusions, regretted he had spoken, although still unconvinced. Happily for his temper, he did not hear the comment of the two tellers. 

"Won't see HER again, old boy, " said one. 

"I reckon not, " returned the other, "now that she's been chucked by herfancy man--until she gets another. But cheer up; a girl like that won'twant friends long. "

It is not probable that either of these young gentlemen believed whatthey said, or would have been personally disrespectful or uncivil to anywoman; they were fairly decent young fellows, but the rigors of businessdemanded this appearance of worldly wisdom between themselves. Meantime, for a week after, Randolph indulged in wild fancies of taking hisbenefactor's capital of seventy dollars, adding thirty to it from hisown hard-earned savings, buying a draft with it from the bank for onehundred dollars, and in some mysterious way getting it to Miss Avondaleas the delayed remittance. 

The brief wet winter was nearly spent; the long dry season was due, although there was still the rare beauty of cloud scenery in thesteel-blue sky, and the sudden return of quick but transient showers. It was on a Sunday of weather like this that the nature-loving Randolphextended his usual holiday excursion as far as Contra Costa by thesteamer after his dutiful round of the wharves and shipping. It was witha gayety born equally of his youth and the weather that he overcame hisconstitutional shyness, and not only mingled without restraint amongthe pleasure-seekers that thronged the crowded boat, but, in theconsciousness of his good looks and a new suit of clothes, even penetrated into the aristocratic seclusion of the "ladies'cabin"--sacred to the fair sex and their attendant swains or chaperones. 

But he found every seat occupied, and was turning away, when he suddenlyrecognized Miss Avondale sitting beside her little escort. She appeared, however, in a somewhat constrained attitude, sustaining with one handthe boy, who had clambered on the seat. He was looking out of the cabinwindow, which she was also trying to do, with greater difficulty onaccount of her position. He could see her profile presented with suchmarked persistency that he was satisfied she had seen him and wasavoiding him. He turned and left the cabin. 

Yet, once on the deck again, he repented his haste. Perhaps she had notactually recognized him; perhaps she wished to avoid him only becauseshe was in plainer clothes--a circumstance that, with his knowledge ofher changed fortunes, struck him to the heart. It seemed to him thateven as a humble employee of the bank he was in some way responsible forit, and wondered if she associated him with her humiliation. He longedto speak with her and assure her of his sympathy, and yet he was equallyconscious that she would reject it. 

When the boat reached the Alameda wharf she slipped away with the otherpassengers. He wandered about the hotel garden and the main street inthe hope of meeting her again, although he was instinctively consciousthat she would not follow the lines of the usual Sunday sight-seers, buthad her own destination. He penetrated the depths of the Alameda, andlost himself among its low, trailing oaks, to no purpose. The hope ofthe morning had died within him; the fire of adventure was quenched, andwhen the clouds gathered with a rising wind he felt that the promise ofthat day was gone. He turned to go back to the ferry, but on consultinghis watch he found that he had already lost so much time in his deviouswanderings that he must run to catch the last boat. The few drops thatspattered through the trees presently increased to a shower; he put uphis umbrella without lessening his speed, and finally dashed into themain street as the last bell was ringing. But at the same moment aslight, graceful figure slipped out of the woods just ahead of him, withno other protection from the pelting storm than a handkerchief tied overher hat, and ran as swiftly toward the wharf. It needed only one glancefor Randolph to recognize Miss Avondale. The moment had come, theopportunity was here, and the next instant he was panting at her side, with the umbrella over her head. 

The girl lifted her head quickly, gave a swift look of recognition, abrief smile of gratitude, and continued her pace. She had not takenhis arm, but had grasped the handle of the umbrella, which linked themtogether. Not a word was spoken. Two people cannot be conversational orsentimental flying at the top of their speed beneath a single umbrella, with a crowd of impatient passengers watching and waiting for them. And I grieve to say that, being a happy American crowd, there was someirreverent humor. "Go it, sis! He's gainin' on you!" "Keep it up!""Steady, sonny! Don't prance!" "No fancy licks! You were nearly over thetraces that time!" "Keep up to the pole!" (i. E. The umbrella). "Don'tcrowd her off the track! Just swing on together; you'll do it. "

Randolph had glanced quickly at his companion. She was laughing, yetlooking at him shyly as if wondering how HE was taking it. The paddlewheels were beginning to revolve. Another rush, and they were on boardas the plank was drawn in. 

But they were only on the edge of a packed and seething crowd. Randolphmanaged, however, to force a way for her to an angle of the paddle box, where they were comparatively alone although still exposed to the rain. She recognized their enforced companionship by dropping her grasp of theumbrella, which she had hitherto been holding over him with a singularkind of mature superiority very like--as Randolph felt--her manner tothe boy. 

"You have left your little friend?" he said, grasping at the idea for aconversational opening. 

"My little cousin? Yes, " she said. "I left him with friends. I could notbear to make him run any risk in this weather. But, " she hesitated halfapologetically, half mischievously, "perhaps I hurried you. "

"Oh, no, " said Randolph quickly. "This is the last boat, and I must beat the bank to-morrow morning at nine. "

"And I must be at the shop at eight, " she said. She did not speakbitterly or pointedly, nor yet with the entire familiarity of custom. He noticed that her dress was indeed plainer, and yet she seemed quiteconcerned over the water-soaked state of that cheap thin silk pelerineand merino skirt. A big lump was in his throat. 

"Do you know, " he said desperately, yet trying to laugh, "that this isnot the first time you have seen me dripping?"

"Yes, " she returned, looking at him interestedly; "it was outside of thedruggist's in Montgomery Street, about four months ago. You were wetterthen even than you are now. "

"I was hungry, friendless, and penniless, Miss Avondale. " He had spokenthus abruptly in the faint hope that the revelation might equalize theirpresent condition; but somehow his confession, now that it was uttered, seemed exceedingly weak and impotent. Then he blundered in a differentdirection. "Your eyes were the only kind ones I had seen since Ilanded. " He flushed a little, feeling himself on insecure ground, and ended desperately: "Why, when I left you, I thought of committingsuicide. "

"Oh, dear, not so bad as that, I hope!" she said quickly, smilingkindly, yet with a certain air of mature toleration, as if she wereaddressing her little cousin. "You only fancied it. And it isn't verycomplimentary to my eyes if their kindness drove you to such horridthoughts. And then what happened?" she pursued smilingly. 

"I had a job to carry a man's bag, and it got me a night's lodging anda meal, " said Randolph, almost brusquely, feeling the utter collapse ofhis story. 

"And then?" she said encouragingly. 

"I got a situation at the bank. "

"When?"

"The next day, " faltered Randolph, expecting to hear her laugh. But MissAvondale heaved the faintest sigh. 

"You are very lucky, " she said. 

"Not so very, " returned Randolph quickly, "for the next time you saw meyou cut me dead. "

"I believe I did, " she said smilingly. 

"Would you mind telling me why?"

"Are you sure you won't be angry?"

"I may be pained, " said Randolph prudently. 

"I apologize for that beforehand. Well, that first night I saw a youngman looking very anxious, very uncomfortable, and very weak. The secondtime--and not very long after--I saw him well dressed, lounging like anyother young man on a Sunday afternoon, and I believed that he took theliberty of bowing to me then because I had once looked at him under amisapprehension. "

"Oh, Miss Avondale!"

"Then I took a more charitable view, and came to the conclusion that thefirst night he had been drinking. But, " she added, with a faint smile atRandolph's lugubrious face, "I apologize. And you have had your revenge;for if I cut you on account of your smart clothes, you have tried to dome a kindness on account of my plain ones. "

"Oh, Miss Avondale, " burst out Randolph, "if you only knew how sorryand indignant I was at the bank--when--you know--the other day"--hestammered. "I wanted to go with you to Mr. Revelstoke, you know, who hadbeen so generous to me, and I know he would have been proud to befriendyou until you heard from your friends. "

"And I am very glad you did nothing so foolish, " said the younglady seriously, "or"--with a smile--"I should have been still moreaggravating to you when we met. The bank was quite right. Nor have I anypathetic story like yours. Some years ago my little half-cousin whomyou saw lost his mother and was put in my charge by his father, witha certain sum to my credit, to be expended for myself and the child. I lived with an uncle, with whom, for some family reasons, the child'sfather was not on good terms, and this money and the charge of the childwere therefore intrusted entirely to me; perhaps, also, because Bobbyand I were fond of each other and I was a friend of his mother. Thefather was a shipmaster, always away on long voyages, and has been homebut once in the three years I have had charge of his son. I have notheard from him since. He is a good-hearted man, but of a restless, roving disposition, with no domestic tastes. Why he should suddenlycease to provide for my little cousin--if he has done so--or if hisomission means only some temporary disaster to himself or his fortunes, I do not know. My anxiety was more for the poor boy's sake than formyself, for as long as I live I can provide for him. " She said thiswithout the least display of emotion, and with the same mature air ofalso repressing any emotion on the part of Randolph. But for her sizeand girlish figure, but for the dripping tangles of her hair and hersoft eyes, he would have believed he was talking to a hard, middle-agedmatron. 

"Then you--he--has no friends here?" asked Randolph. 

"No. We are all from Callao, where Bobby was born. My uncle was amerchant there, who came here lately to establish an agency. We livedwith him in Sutter Street--where you remember I was so hateful to you, "she interpolated, with a mischievous smile--"until his enterprise failedand he was obliged to return; but I stayed here with Bobby, that hemight be educated in his father's own tongue. It was unfortunate, perhaps, " she said, with a little knitting of her pretty brows, "thatthe remittances ceased and uncle left about the same time; but, likeyou, I was lucky, and I managed to get a place in the Emporium. "

"The Emporium!" repeated Randolph in surprise. It was a popular "magasinof fashion" in Montgomery Street. To connect this refined girl with itsgarish display and vulgar attendants seemed impossible. 

"The Emporium, " reiterated Miss Avondale simply. "You see, we usedto dress a good deal in Callao and had the Paris fashions, and thatexperience was of great service to me. I am now at the head of what theycall the 'mantle department, ' if you please, and am looked up to asan authority. " She made him a mischievous bow, which had the effect ofcausing a trickle from the umbrella to fall across his budding mustache, and another down her own straight little nose--a diversion that madethem laugh together, although Randolph secretly felt that the younggirl's quiet heroism was making his own trials appear ridiculous. Buther allusion to Callao and the boy's name had again excited his fancyand revived his romantic dream of their common benefactor. As soon asthey could get a more perfect shelter and furl the umbrella, he plungedinto the full story of the mysterious portmanteau and its missing owner, with the strange discovery that he had made of the similarity of thetwo handwritings. The young lady listened intently, eagerly, checkingherself with what might have been a half smile at his enthusiasm. 

"I remember the banker's letter, certainly, " she said, "and CaptainDornton--that was the name of Bobby's father--asked me to sign my namein the body of it where HE had also written it with my address. But thelikeness of the handwriting to your slip of paper may be only a fanciedone. Have you shown it to any one, " she said quickly--"I mean, " shecorrected herself as quickly, "any one who is an expert?"

"Not the two together, " said Randolph, explaining how he had shown thepaper to Mr. Revelstoke. 

But Miss Avondale had recovered herself, and laughed. "That that bit ofpaper should have been the means of getting you a situation seems to methe more wonderful occurrence. Of course it is quite a coincidence thatthere should be a child's photograph and a letter signed 'Bobby' inthe portmanteau. But"--she stopped suddenly and fixed her dark eyes onhis--"you have seen Bobby. Surely you can say if it was his likeness?"

Randolph was embarrassed. The fact was he had always been so absorbedin HER that he had hardly glanced at the child. He ventured to say this, and added a little awkwardly, and coloring, that he had seen Bobby onlytwice. 

"And you still have this remarkable photograph and letter?" she said, perhaps a little too carelessly. 

"Yes. Would you like to see them?"

"Very much, " she returned quickly; and then added, with a laugh, "youare making me quite curious. "

"If you would allow me to see you home, " said Randolph, "we have to passthe street where my room is, and, " he added timidly, "I could show themto you. "

"Certainly, " she replied, with sublime unconsciousness of the cause ofhis hesitation; "that will be very nice?"

Randolph was happy, albeit he could not help thinking that she wastreating him like the absent Bobby. 

"It's only on Commercial Street, just above Montgomery, " he went on. "Wego straight up from the wharf"--he stopped short here, for the bulk of abystander, a roughly clad miner, was pressing him so closely that he wasobliged to resist indignantly--partly from discomfort, and partly from asense that the man was overhearing him. The stranger muttered a kind ofapology, and moved away. 

"He seems to be perpetually in your way, " said Miss Avondale, smiling. "He was right behind you, and you nearly trod on his toes, when youbolted out of the cabin this morning. "

"Ah, then you DID see me!" said Randolph, forgetting all else in hisdelight at the admission. 

But Miss Avondale was not disconcerted. "Thanks to your collision, I sawyou both. "

It was still raining when they disembarked at the wharf, a little behindthe other Passengers, who had crowded on the bow of the steamboat. Itwas only a block or two beyond the place where Randolph had landed thateventful night. He had to pass it now; but with Miss Avondale clingingto his arm, with what different feelings! The rain still fell, the daywas fading, but he walked in an enchanted dream, of which the prosaicumbrella was the mystic tent and magic pavilion. He must needs evenstop at the corner of the wharf, and show her the exact spot where hisunknown benefactor appeared. 

"Coming out of the shadow like that man there, " she added brightly, pointing to a figure just emerging from the obscurity of an overhangingwarehouse. "Why, it's your friend the miner!"

Randolph looked. It was indeed the same man, who had probably reachedthe wharf by a cross street. 

"Let us go on, do!" said Miss Avondale, suddenly tightening her hold ofRandolph's arm in some instinctive feminine alarm. "I don't like thisplace. "

But Randolph, with the young girl's arm clinging to his, felt supremelydaring. Indeed, I fear he was somewhat disappointed when the strangerpeacefully turned into the junk shop at the corner and left them topursue their way. 

They at last stopped before some business offices on a centralthoroughfare, where Randolph had a room on the third story. When theyhad climbed the flight of stairs he unlocked a door and disclosed agood-sized apartment which had been intended for an office, but whichwas now neatly furnished as a study and bedroom. Miss Avondale smiled atthe singular combination. 

"I should fancy, " she said, "you would never feel as if you had quiteleft the bank behind you. " Yet, with her air of protection and matureexperience, she at once began to move one or two articles of furnitureinto a more tasteful position, while Randolph, nevertheless a littleembarrassed at his audacity in asking this goddess into his humbleabode, hurriedly unlocked a closet, brought out the portmanteau, andhanded her the letter and photograph. 

Woman-like, Miss Avondale looked at the picture first. If sheexperienced any surprise, she repressed it. "It is LIKE Bobby, " she saidmeditatively, "but he was stouter then; and he's changed sadly since hehas been in this climate. I don't wonder you didn't recognize him. Hisfather may have had it taken some day when they were alone together. Ididn't know of it, though I know the photographer. " She then looked atthe letter, knit her pretty brows, and with an abstracted air sat downon the edge of Randolph's bed, crossed her little feet, and lookedpuzzled. But he was unable to detect the least emotion. 

"You see, " she said, "the handwriting of most children who are learningto write is very much alike, for this is the stage of development whenthey 'print. ' And their composition is the same: they talk only ofthings that interest all children--pets, toys, and their games. Thisis only ANY child's letter to ANY father. I couldn't really say it WASBobby's. As to the photograph, they have an odd way in South Americaof selling photographs of anybody, principally of pretty women, by thepacket, to any one who wants them. So that it does not follow that theowner of this photograph had any personal interest in it. Now, as toyour mysterious patron himself, can you describe him?" She looked atRandolph with a certain feline intensity. 

He became embarrassed. "You know I only saw him once, under a streetlamp"--he began. 

"And I have only seen Captain Dornton--if it were he--twice in threeyears, " she said. "But go on. "

Again Randolph was unpleasantly impressed with her cold, dryly practicalmanner. He had never seen his benefactor but once, but he could notspeak of him in that way. 

"I think, " he went on hesitatingly, "that he had dark, pleasant eyes, athick beard, and the look of a sailor. "

"And there were no other papers in the portmanteau?" she said, with thesame intense look. 

"None. "

"These are mere coincidences, " said Miss Avondale, after a pause, "and, after all, they are not as strange as the alternative. For we would haveto believe that Captain Dornton arrived here--where he knew his son andI were living--without a word of warning, came ashore for the purpose ofgoing to a hotel and the bank also, and then unaccountably changed hismind and disappeared. "

The thought of the rotten wharf, his own escape, and the dead body wereall in Randolph's mind; but his reasoning was already staggered bythe girl's conclusions, and he felt that it might only pain, withoutconvincing her. And was he convinced himself? She smiled at his blankface and rose. "Thank you all the same. And now I must go. "

Randolph rose also. "Would you like to take the photograph and letter toshow your cousin?"

"Yes. But I should not place much reliance on his memory. " Nevertheless, she took up the photograph and letter, and Randolph, putting theportmanteau back in the closet, locked it, and stood ready to accompanyher. 

On their way to her house they talked of other things. Randolph learnedsomething of her life in Callao: that she was an orphan like himself, and had been brought from the Eastern States when a child to live witha rich uncle in Callao who was childless; that her aunt had died and heruncle had married again; that the second wife had been at variance withhis family, and that it was consequently some relief to Miss Avondaleto be independent as the guardian of Bobby, whose mother was a sisterof the first wife; that her uncle had objected as strongly as abrother-in-law could to his wife's sister's marriage with CaptainDornton on account of his roving life and unsettled habits, and thatconsequently there would be little sympathy for her or for Bobby in hismysterious disappearance. The wind blew and the rain fell upon theseconfidences, yet Randolph, walking again under that umbrella offelicity, parted with her at her own doorstep all too soon, althoughconsoled with the permission to come and see her when the childreturned. 

He went back to his room a very hopeful, foolish, but happy youth. As heentered he seemed to feel the charm of her presence again in the humbleapartment she had sanctified. The furniture she had moved with herown little hands, the bed on which she had sat for a half moment, wasglorified to his youthful fancy. And even that magic portmanteau whichhad brought him all this happiness, that, too, --but he gave a suddenstart. The closet door, which he had shut as he went out, was unlockedand open, the portmanteau--his "trust"--gone!

III

Randolph Trent's consternation at the loss of the portmanteau was partlysuperstitious. For, although it was easy to make up the small sumtaken, and the papers were safe in Miss Avondale's possession, yet thisdisplacement of the only link between him and his missing benefactor, and the mystery of its disappearance, raised all his old doubts andsuspicions. A vague uneasiness, a still more vague sense of someremissness on his own part, possessed him. 

That the portmanteau was taken from his room during his absence withMiss Avondale that afternoon was evident. The door had been opened by askeleton key, and as the building was deserted on Sunday, there had beenno chance of interference with the thief. If mere booty had been hisobject, the purse would have satisfied him without his burdening himselfwith a portmanteau which might be identified. Nothing else in the roomhad been disturbed. The thief must have had some cognizance of itslocation, and have kept some espionage over Randolph's movements--acircumstance which added to the mystery and his disquiet. He placed adescription of his loss with the police authorities, but their only ideaof recovering it was by leaving that description with pawnbrokers andsecond-hand dealers, a proceeding that Randolph instinctively felt wasin vain. 

A singular but instinctive reluctance to inform Miss Avondale of hisloss kept him from calling upon her for the first few days. When he did, she seemed concerned at the news, although far from participating in hissuperstition or his suspicions. 

"You still have the letter and photograph--whatever they may beworth--for identification, " she said dryly, "although Bobby cannotremember about the letter. He thinks he went once with his father to aphotographer and had a picture taken, but he cannot remember seeingit afterward. " She was holding them in her hand, and Randolph almostmechanically took them from her and put them in his pocket. He wouldnot, perhaps, have noticed his own brusqueness had she not looked alittle surprised, and, he thought, annoyed. "Are you quite sure youwon't lose them?" she said gently. "Perhaps I had better keep them foryou. "

"I shall seal them up and put them in the bank safe, " he said quickly. He could not tell whether his sudden resolution was an instinct or theobstinacy that often comes to an awkward man. "But, " he added, coloring, "I shall always regret the loss of the portmanteau, for it was the meansof bringing us together. "

"I thought it was the umbrella, " said Miss Avondale dryly. 

She had once before halted him on the perilous edge of sentiment by asimilar cynicism, but this time it cut him deeply. For he could notbe blind to the fact that she treated him like a mere boy, and indispelling the illusions of his instincts and beliefs seemed as ifintent upon dispelling his illusions of HER; and in her half-smilingabstraction he read only the well-bred toleration of one who isbeginning to be bored. He made his excuses early and went home. Nevertheless, although regretting he had not left her the letter andphotograph, he deposited them in the bank safe the next day, and triedto feel that he had vindicated his character for grown-up wisdom. 

Then, in his conflicting emotions, he punished himself, after thefashion of youth, by avoiding the beloved one's presence for severaldays. He did this in the belief that it would enable him to make up hismind whether to reveal his real feelings to her, and perhaps therewas the more alluring hope that his absence might provoke somemanifestations of sentiment on her part. But she made no sign. And thencame a reaction in his feelings, with a heightened sense of loyaltyto his benefactor. For, freed of any illusion or youthful fancy now, apurely unselfish gratitude to the unknown man filled his heart. In thelapse of his sentiment he clung the more closely to this one honestromance of his life. 

One afternoon, at the close of business, he was a little astonished toreceive a message from Mr. Dingwall, the deputy manager, that he wishedto see him in his private office. He was still more astonished when Mr. Dingwall, after offering him a chair, stood up with his hands under hiscoat tails before the fireplace, and, with a hesitancy half reserved, half courteous, but wholly English, said, --

"I--er--would be glad, Mr. Trent, if you would--er--give me the pleasureof your company at dinner to-morrow. "

Randolph, still amazed, stammered his acceptance. 

"There will be--er--a young lady in whom you were--er--interested sometime ago. Er--Miss Avondale. "

Randolph, feeling he was coloring, and uncertain whether he should speakof having met her since, contented himself with expressing his delight. 

"In fact, " continued Mr. Dingwall, clearing his throat as if he werealso clearing his conscience of a tremendous secret, "she--er--mentionedyour name. There is Sir William Dornton coming also. Sir Williamhas recently succeeded his elder brother, who--er--it seems, was thegentleman you were inquiring about when you first came here, and who, it is now ascertained, was drowned in the bay a few months ago. Infact--er--it is probable that you were the last one who saw him alive. I thought I would tell you, " continued Mr. Dingwall, settling his chinmore comfortably in his checked cravat, "in case Sir William shouldspeak of him to you. "

Randolph was staggered. The abrupt revelation of his benefactor's nameand fate, casually coupled with an invitation to dinner, shocked andconfounded him. Perhaps Mr. Dingwall noticed it and misunderstood thecause, for he added in parenthetical explanation: "Yes, the man whoseportmanteau you took charge of is dead; but you did your duty, Mr. Trent, in the matter, although the recovery of the portmanteau wasunessential to the case. "

"Dead, " repeated Randolph, scarcely heeding him. "But is it true? Arethey sure?"

Mr. Dingwall elevated his eyebrows. "The large property at stake ofcourse rendered the most satisfactory proofs of it necessary. His fatherhad died only a month previous, and of course they were seeking thepresumptive heir, the so-called 'Captain John Dornton'--your man--whenthey made the discovery of his death. "

Randolph thought of the strange body at the wharf, of the coroner'svague verdict, and was unconvinced. "But, " he said impulsively, "therewas a child. " He checked himself as he remembered this was one of MissAvondale's confidences to him. 

"Ah--Miss Avondale has spoken of a child?" said Mr. Dingwall dryly. 

"I saw her with one which she said was Captain Dornton's, which had beenleft in her care after the death of his wife, " said Randolph in hurriedexplanation. 

"John Dornton had no WIFE, " said Mr. Dingwall severely. "The boy is anatural son. Captain John lived a wild, rough, and--er--an eccentriclife. "

"I thought--I understood from Miss Avondale that he was married, "stammered the young man. 

"In your rather slight acquaintance with that young lady I shouldimagine she would have had some delicacy in telling you otherwise, "returned Mr. Dingwall primly. 

Randolph felt the truth of this, and was momentarily embarrassed. Yet helingered. 

"Has Miss Avondale known of this discovery long?" he asked. 

"About two weeks, I should say, " returned Mr. Dingwall. "She was of someservice to Sir William in getting up certain proofs he required. "

It was three weeks since she had seen Randolph, yet it would have beeneasy for her to communicate the news to him. In these three weeks hisromance of their common interest in his benefactor--even his own dreamof ever seeing him again--had been utterly dispelled. 

It was in no social humor that he reached Dingwall's house the nextevening. Yet he knew the difficulty of taking an aggressive attitudetoward his previous idol or of inviting a full explanation from herthen. 

The guests, with the exception of himself and Miss Avondale, were allEnglish. She, self-possessed and charming in evening dress, nodded tohim with her usual mature patronage, but did not evince the leastdesire to seek him for any confidential aside. He noticed the undoubtedresemblance of Sir William Dornton to his missing benefactor, and yetit produced a singular repulsion in him, rather than any sympatheticpredilection. At table he found that Miss Avondale was separated fromhim, being seated beside the distinguished guest, while he was placednext to the young lady he had taken down--a Miss Eversleigh, the cousinof Sir William. She was tall, and Randolph's first impression of her wasthat she was stiff and constrained--an impression he quickly correctedat the sound of her voice, her frank ingenuousness, and her unmistakableyouth. In the habit of being crushed by Miss Avondale's unrelentingsuperiority, he found himself apparently growing up beside this tallEnglish girl, who had the naivete of a child. After a few commonplacesshe suddenly turned her gray eyes on his, and said, --

"Didn't you like Jack? I hope you did. Oh, say you did--do!"

"You mean Captain John Dornton?" said Randolph, a little confused. 

"Yes, of course; HIS brother"--glancing toward Sir William. "We alwayscalled him Jack, though I was ever so little when he went away. No onethought of calling him anything else but Jack. Say you liked him!"

"I certainly did, " returned Randolph impulsively. Then checking himself, he added, "I only saw him once, but I liked his face and manner--and--hewas very kind to me. "

"Of course he was, " said the young girl quickly. "That was only likehim, and yet"--lowering her voice slightly--"would you believe thatthey all say he was wild and wicked and dissipated? And why? Fancy! Justbecause he didn't care to stay at home and shoot and hunt and race andmake debts, as heirs usually do. No, he wanted to see the world and dosomething for himself. Why, when he was quite young, he could manage aboat like any sailor. Dornton Hall, their place, is on the coast, youknow, and they say that, just for adventure's sake, after he went away, he shipped as first mate somewhere over here on the Pacific, and madetwo or three voyages. You know--don't you?--and how every one wasshocked at such conduct in the heir. "

Her face was so girlishly animated, with such sparkle of eye andresponsive color, that he could hardly reconcile it with her firstrestraint or with his accepted traditions of her unemotional race, or, indeed, with her relationship to the principal guest. His latent feelingof gratitude to the dead man warmed under the young girl's voice. 

"It's so dreadful to think of him as drowned, you know, though eventhat they put against him, " she went on hurriedly, "for they say hewas probably drowned in some drunken fit--fell through the wharf orsomething shocking and awful--worse than suicide. But"--she turned herfrank young eyes upon him again--"YOU saw him on the wharf that night, and you could tell how he looked. "

"He was as sober as I was, " returned Randolph indignantly, as herecalled the incident of the flask and the dead man's caution. Fromrecalling it to repeating it followed naturally, and he presentlyrelated the whole story of his meeting with Captain Dornton to thebrightly interested eyes beside him. When he had finished, she leanedtoward him in girlish confidence, and said:--

"Yes; but EVEN THAT they tell to show how intoxicated be must have beento have given up his portmanteau to an utter stranger like you. " Shestopped, colored, and yet, reflecting his own half smile, she added:"You know what I mean. For they all agree how nice it was of you not totake any advantage of his condition, and Dingwall said your honesty andfaithfulness struck Revelstoke so much that he made a place for you atthe bank. Now I think, " she continued, with delightful naivete, "it wasa proof of poor Jack's BEING PERFECTLY SOBER, that he knew whom he wastrusting, and saw just what you were, at once. There! But I suppose youmust not talk to me any longer, but must make yourself agreeable to someone else. But it was very nice of you to tell me all this. I wish youknew my guardian. You'd like him. Do you ever go to England? Do come andsee us. "

These confidences had not been observed by the others, and Miss Avondaleappeared to confine her attentions to Sir William, who seemed to beequally absorbed, except that once he lifted his eyes toward Randolph, as if in answer to some remark from her. It struck Randolph that he wasthe subject of their conversation, and this did not tend to allay theirritation of a mind already wounded by the contrast of HER lack ofsympathy for the dead man who had befriended and trusted her to thesimple faith of the girl beside him, who was still loyal to a merechildish recollection. 

After the ladies had rustled away, Sir William moved his seat besideRandolph. His manner seemed to combine Mr. Dingwall's restraint witha certain assumption of the man of the world, more notable for itsfrankness than its tactfulness. 

"Sad business this of my brother's, eh, " he said, lighting a cigar;"any way you take it, eh? You saw him last, eh?" The interrogating word, however, seemed to be only an exclamation of habit, for he seldom waitedfor an answer. 

"I really don't know, " said Randolph, "as I saw him only ONCE, and heleft me on the wharf. I know no more where he went to then than where hecame from before. Of course you must know all the rest, and how he cameto be drowned. "

"Yes; it really did not matter much. The whole question wasidentification and proof of death, you know. Beastly job, eh?"

"Was that his body YOU were helping to get ashore at the wharf oneSunday?" asked Randolph bluntly, now fully recognizing the likeness thathad puzzled him in Sir William. "I didn't see any resemblance. "

"Precious few would. I didn't--though it's true I hadn't seen him foreight years. Poor old chap been knocked about so he hadn't a featureleft, eh? But his shipmate knew him, and there were his traps on theship. "

Then, for the first time, Randolph heard the grim and sordid detailsof John Dornton's mysterious disappearance. He had arrived the morningbefore that eventful day on an Australian bark as the principalpassenger. The vessel itself had an evil repute, and was believed tohave slipped from the hands of the police at Melbourne. John Dorntonhad evidently amassed a considerable fortune in Australia, althoughan examination of his papers and effects showed it to be in drafts andletters of credit and shares, and that he had no ready money--a factborne out by the testimony of his shipmates. The night he arrived wasspent in an orgy on board ship, which he did not leave until the earlyevening of the next day, although, after his erratic fashion, he hadordered a room at a hotel. That evening he took ashore a portmanteau, evidently intending to pass the night at his hotel. He was never seenagain, although some of the sailors declared that they had seen him onthe wharf WITHOUT THE PORTMANTEAU, and they had drunk together at a lowgrog shop on the street corner. He had evidently fallen through somehole in the wharf. As he was seen only with the sailors, who also knewhe had no ready money on his person, there was no suspicion of foulplay. 

"For all that, don't you know, " continued Sir William, with a forcedlaugh, which struck Randolph as not only discordant, but as having aninsolent significance, "it might have been a deuced bad businessfor YOU, eh? Last man who was with him, eh? In possession of hisportmanteau, eh? Wearing his clothes, eh? Awfully clever of you togo straight to the bank with it. 'Pon my word, my legal man wanted topounce down on you as 'accessory' until I and Dingwall called him off. But it's all right now. "

Randolph's antagonism to the man increased. "The investigation seems tohave been peculiar, " he said dryly, "for, if I remember rightly, at thecoroner's inquest on the body I saw you with, the verdict returned wasof the death of an UNKNOWN man. "

"Yes; we hadn't clear proof of identity then, " he returned coolly, "butwe had a reexamination of the body before witnesses afterward, anda verdict according to the facts. That was kept out of the papersin deference to the feelings of the family and friends. I fancy youwouldn't have liked to be cross-examined before a stupid jury about whatyou were doing with Jack's portmanteau, even if WE were satisfied withit. "

"I should have been glad to testify to the kindness of your brother, at any risk, " returned Randolph stoutly. "You have heard that theportmanteau was stolen from me, but the amount of money it contained hasbeen placed in Mr. Dingwall's hands for disposal. "

"Its contents were known, and all that's been settled, " returned SirWilliam, rising. "But, " he continued, with his forced laugh, which toRandolph's fancy masked a certain threatening significance, "I say, it would have been a beastly business, don't you know, if you HAD beencalled upon to produce it again--ha, ha!--eh?"

Returning to the dining room, Randolph found Miss Avondale alone on acorner of the sofa. She swept her skirts aside as he approached, as aninvitation for him to sit beside her. Still sore from his experience, he accepted only in the hope that she was about to confide to him heropinion of this strange story. But, to his chagrin, she looked at himover her fan with a mischievous tolerance. "You seemed more interestedin the cousin than the brother of your patron. "

Once Randolph might have been flattered at this. But her speechseemed to him only an echo of the general heartlessness. "I found MissEversleigh very sympathetic over the fate of the unfortunate man, whomnobody else here seems to care for, " said Randolph coldly. 

"Yes, " returned Miss Avondale composedly; "I believe she was a greatfriend of Captain Dornton when she was quite a child, and I don't thinkshe can expect much from Sir William, who is very different from hisbrother. In fact, she was one of the relatives who came over here inquest of the captain, when it was believed he was living and the heir. He was quite a patron of hers. "

"But was he not also one of yours?" said Randolph bluntly. 

"I think I told you I was the friend of the boy and of poor Paquita, theboy's mother, " said Miss Avondale quietly. "I never saw Captain Dorntonbut twice. "

Randolph noticed that she had not said "wife, " although in her previousconfidences she had so described the mother. But, as Dingwall had said, why should she have exposed the boy's illegitimacy to a comparativestranger; and if she herself had been deceived about it, why should heexpect her to tell him? And yet--he was not satisfied. 

He was startled by a little laugh. "Well, I declare, you look as ifyou resented the fact that your benefactor had turned out to be abaronet--just as in some novel--and that you have rendered a serviceto the English aristocracy. If you are thinking of poor Bobby, " shecontinued, without the slightest show of self-consciousness, "SirWilliam will provide for him, and thinks of taking him to England torestore his health. Now"--with her smiling, tolerant superiority--"youmust go and talk to Miss Eversleigh. I see her looking this way, and Idon't think she half likes me as it is. "

Randolph, who, however, also saw that Sir William was lounging towardthem, here rose formally, as if permitting the latter to take thevacated seat. This partly imposed on him the necessity of seeking MissEversleigh, who, having withdrawn to the other end of the room, wasturning over the leaves of an album. As Randolph joined her, she said, without looking up, "Is Miss Avondale a friend of yours?"

The question was so pertinent to his reflections at the moment that heanswered impulsively, "I really don't know. "

"Yes, that's the answer, I think, most of her acquaintances would give, if they were asked the same question and replied honestly, " said theyoung girl, as if musing. 

"Even Sir William?" suggested Randolph, half smiling, yet wondering ather unlooked-for serious shrewdness as he glanced toward the sofa. 

"Yes; but HE wouldn't care. You see, there would be a pair of them. " Shestopped with a slight blush, as if she had gone too far, but correctedherself in her former youthful frankness: "You don't mind my saying whatI did of her? You're not such a PARTICULAR friend?"

"We both owe a debt of gratitude to your cousin Jack, " said Randolph, insome embarrassment. 

"Yes, but YOU feel it and she doesn't. So that doesn't make youfriends. "

"But she has taken good care of Captain Dornton's child, " suggestedRandolph loyally. 

He stopped, however, feeling that he was on dangerous ground. But MissEversleigh put her own construction on his reticence, and said, --

"I don't think she cares for it much--or for ANY children. "

Randolph remembered his own impression the only time he had ever seenher with the child, and was struck with the young girl's instinct againcoinciding with his own. But, possibly because he knew he could neveragain feel toward Miss Avondale as he had, he was the more anxious tobe just, and he was about to utter a protest against this generalassumption, when the voice of Sir William broke in upon them. He wastaking his leave--and the opportunity of accompanying Miss Avondaleto her lodgings on the way to his hotel. He lingered a moment over hishandshaking with Randolph. 

"Awfully glad to have met you, and I fancy you're awfully glad to getrid of what they call your 'trust. ' Must have given you a beastly lot ofbother, eh--might have given you more?"

He nodded familiarly to Miss Eversleigh, and turned away with MissAvondale, who waved her usual smiling patronage to Randolph, evenincluding his companion in that half-amused, half-superior salutation. Perhaps it was this that put a sudden hauteur into the young girl'sexpression as she stared at Miss Avondale's departing figure. 

"If you ever come to England, Mr. Trent, " she said, with a prettydignity in her youthful face, "I hope you will find some people notquite so rude as my cousin and"--

"Miss Avondale, you would say, " returned Randolph quietly. "As to HER, I am quite accustomed to her maturer superiority, which, I am afraid, is the effect of my own youth and inexperience; and I believe that, incourse of time, your cousin's brusqueness might be as easily understoodby me. I dare say, " he added, with a laugh, "that I must seem to thema very romantic visionary with my 'trust, ' and the foolish importance Ihave put upon a very trivial occurrence. "

"I don't think so, " said the girl quickly, "and I consider Bill veryrude, and, " she added, with a return of her boyish frankness, "I shalltell him so. As for Miss Avondale, she's AT LEAST thirty, I understand;perhaps she can't help showing it in that way, too. "

But here Randolph, to evade further personal allusions, continuedlaughingly: "And as I've LOST my 'trust, ' I haven't even that to show indefense. Indeed, when you all are gone I shall have nothing to remind meof my kind benefactor. It will seem like a dream. "

Miss Eversleigh was silent for a moment, and then glanced quicklyaround her. The rest of the company were their elders, and, engaged inconversation at the other end of the apartment, had evidently left theyoung people to themselves. 

"Wait a moment, " she said, with a youthful air of mystery andearnestness. Randolph saw that she had slipped an Indian bracelet, profusely hung with small trinkets, from her arm to her wrist, and wasevidently selecting one. It proved to be a child's tiny ring with asmall pearl setting. "This was given to me by Cousin Jack, " said MissEversleigh in a low voice, "when I was a child, at some frolic orfestival, and I have kept it ever since. I brought it with me when wecame here as a kind of memento to show him. You know that is impossiblenow. You say you have nothing of his to keep. Will you accept this?I know he would be glad to know you had it. You could wear it on yourwatch chain. Don't say no, but take it. "

Protesting, yet filled with a strange joy and pride, Randolph took itfrom the young girl's hand. The little color which had deepened onher cheek cleared away as he thanked her gratefully, and with a quietdignity she arose and moved toward the others. Randolph did not lingerlong after this, and presently took his leave of his host and hostess. 

It seemed to him that he walked home that night in the whirling cloudsof his dispelled dream. The airy structure he had built up for the lastthree months had collapsed. The enchanted canopy under which he hadstood with Miss Avondale was folded forever. The romance he had evolvedfrom his strange fortune had come to an end, not prosaically, as suchromances are apt to do, but with a dramatic termination which, however, was equally fatal to his hopes. At any other time he might haveprojected the wildest hopes from the fancy that he and Miss Avondalewere orphaned of a common benefactor; but it was plain that herinterests were apart from his. And there was an indefinable something hedid not understand, and did not want to understand, in the story she hadtold him. How much of it she had withheld, not so much from delicacy orcontempt for his understanding as a desire to mislead him, he did notknow. His faith in her had gone with his romance. It was not strangethat the young English girl's unsophisticated frankness and simpleconfidences lingered longest in his memory, and that when, a few dayslater, Mr. Dingwall informed him that Miss Avondale had sailed forEngland with the Dornton family, he was more conscious of a loss in thestranger girl's departure. 

"I suppose Miss Avondale takes charge of--of the boy, sir?" he saidquietly. 

Mr. Dingwall gave him a quick glance. "Possibly. Sir William has behavedwith great--er--consideration, " he replied briefly. 

IV

Randolph's nature was too hopeful and recuperative to allow him tolinger idly in the past. He threw himself into his work at the bank withhis old earnestness and a certain simple conscientiousness which, whileit often provoked the raillery of his fellow clerks, did not escape theeyes of his employers. He was advanced step by step, and by the endof the year was put in charge of the correspondence with banks andagencies. He had saved some money, and had made one or two profitableinvestments. He was enabled to take better apartments in the samebuilding he had occupied. He had few of the temptations of youth. Hisfear of poverty and his natural taste kept him from the speculative andmaterial excesses of the period. A distrust of his romantic weaknesskept him from society and meaner entanglements which might have besethis good looks and good nature. He worked in his rooms at night andforbore his old evening rambles. 

As the year wore on to the anniversary of his arrival, he thought muchof the dead man who had inspired his fortunes, and with it a sense ofhis old doubts and suspicions revived. His reason had obliged him toaccept the loss of the fateful portmanteau as an ordinary theft; hisinstinct remained unconvinced. There was no superstition connectedwith his loss. His own prosperity had not been impaired by it. On thecontrary, he reflected bitterly that the dead man had apparently diedonly to benefit others. At such times he recalled, with a pleasure thathe knew might become perilous, the tall English girl who had defendedDornton's memory and echoed his own sympathy. But that was all over now. 

One stormy night, not unlike that eventful one of his past experience, Randolph sought his rooms in the teeth of a southwest gale. As hebuffeted his way along the rain-washed pavement of Montgomery Street, itwas not strange that his thoughts reverted to that night and the memoryof his dead protector. But reaching his apartment, he sternly banishedthem with the vanished romance they revived, and lighting his lamp, laidout his papers in the prospect of an evening of uninterrupted work. He was surprised, however, after a little interval, by the sound ofuncertain and shuffling steps on the half-lighted passage outside, thenoise of some heavy article set down on the floor, and then a tentativeknock at his door. A little impatiently he called, "Come in. "

The door opened slowly, and out of the half obscurity of the passagea thickset figure lurched toward him into the full light of the room. Randolph half rose, and then sank back into his chair, awed, spellbound, and motionless. He saw the figure standing plainly before him; he sawdistinctly the familiar furniture of his room, the storm-twinklinglights in the windows opposite, the flash of passing carriage lamps inthe street below. But the figure before him was none other than the deadman of whom he had just been thinking. 

The figure looked at him intently, and then burst into a fit ofunmistakable laughter. It was neither loud nor unpleasant, and yetit provoked a disagreeable recollection. Nevertheless, it dissipatedRandolph's superstitious tremor, for he had never before heard of aghost who laughed heartily. 

"You don't remember me, " said the man. "Belay there, and I'll freshenyour memory. " He stepped back to the door, opened it, put his armout into the hall, and brought in a portmanteau, closed the door, andappeared before Randolph again with the portmanteau in his hand. It wasthe one that had been stolen. "There!" he said. 

"Captain Dornton, " murmured Randolph. 

The man laughed again and flung down the portmanteau. "You've gotmy name pat enough, lad, I see; but I reckoned you'd have spotted MEwithout that portmanteau. "

"I see you've got it back, " stammered Randolph in his embarrassment. "Itwas--stolen from me. "

Captain Dornton laughed again, dropped into a chair, rubbed his hands onhis knees, and turned his face toward Randolph. "Yes; I stole it--or hadit stolen--the same thing, for I'm responsible. "

"But I would have given it up to YOU at once, " said Randolphreproachfully, clinging to the only idea he could understand in hisutter bewilderment. "I have religiously and faithfully kept it for you, with all its contents, ever since--you disappeared. "

"I know it, lad, " said Captain Dornton, rising, and extending a brown, weather-beaten hand which closed heartily on the young man's; "no needto say that. And you've kept it even better than you know. Look here!"

He lifted the portmanteau to his lap and disclosed BEHIND the usualsmall pouch or pocket in the lid a slit in the lining. "Between thelining and the outer leather, " he went on grimly, "I had two or threebank notes that came to about a thousand dollars, and some papers, lad, that, reckoning by and large, might be worth to me a million. When I gotthat portmanteau back they were all there, gummed in, just as I had leftthem. I didn't show up and come for them myself, for I was lying low atthe time, and--no offense, lad--I didn't know how you stood with a partywho was no particular friend of mine. An old shipmate whom I set towatch that party quite accidentally run across your bows in the ferryboat, and heard enough to make him follow in your wake here, where hegot the portmanteau. It's all right, " he said, with a laugh, wavingaside with his brown hand Randolph's protesting gesture. "The oldbag's only got back to its rightful owner. It mayn't have been got inshipshape 'Frisco style, but when a man's life is at stake, at least, when it's a question of his being considered dead or alive, he's got totake things as he finds 'em, and I found 'em d--- bad. "

In a flash of recollection Randolph remembered the obtruding miner onthe ferry boat, the same figure on the wharf corner, and the advantagetaken of his absence with Miss Avondale. And Miss Avondale was the"party" this man's shipmate was watching! He felt his face crimsoning, yet he dared not question him further, nor yet defend her. CaptainDornton noticed it, and with a friendly tact, which Randolph had notexpected of him, rising again, laid his hand gently on the young man'sshoulder. 

"Look here, lad, " he said, with his pleasant smile; "don't you worryyour head about the ways or doings of the Dornton family, or any oftheir friends. They're a queer lot--including your humble servant. You've done the square thing accordin' to your lights. You've riddenstraight from start to finish, with no jockeying, and I shan't forgetit. There are only two men who haven't failed me when I trusted them. One was you when I gave you my portmanteau; the other was Jack Redhillwhen he stole it from you. "

He dropped back in his chair again, and laughed silently. 

"Then you did not fall overboard as they supposed, " stammered Randolphat last. 

"Not much! But the next thing to it. It wasn't the water that I took inthat knocked me out, my lad, but something stronger. I was shanghaied. "

"Shanghaied?" repeated Randolph vacantly. 

"Yes, shanghaied! Hocused! Drugged at that gin mill on the wharf bya lot of crimps, who, mistaking me for a better man, shoved me, blind drunk and helpless, down the steps into a boat, and out to ashort-handed brig in the stream. When I came to I was outside the Heads, pointed for Guayaquil. When they found they'd captured, not a poor Jack, but a man who'd trod a quarterdeck, who knew, and was known at everyport on the trading line, and who could make it hot for them, they wereglad to compromise and set me ashore at Acapulco, and six weeks later Ilanded in 'Frisco. "

"Safe and sound, thank Heaven!" said Randolph joyously. 

"Not exactly, lad, " said Captain Dornton grimly, "but dead and satupon by the coroner, and my body comfortably boxed up and on its way toEngland. "

"But that was nine months ago. What have you been doing since? Whydidn't you declare yourself then?" said Randolph impatiently, a littleirritated by the man's extreme indifference. He really talked like anamused spectator of his own misfortunes. 

"Steady, lad. I know what you're going to say. I know all that happened. But the first thing I found when I got back was that the shanghaibusiness had saved my life; that but for that I would have really beenoccupying that box on its way to England, instead of the poor devil whowas taken for me. "

A cold tremor passed over Randolph. Captain Dornton, however, wastolerantly smiling. 

"I don't understand, " said Randolph breathlessly. 

Captain Dornton rose and, walking to the door, looked out into thepassage; then he shut the door carefully and returned, glancing aboutthe room and at the storm-washed windows. "I thought I heard some oneoutside. I'm lying low just now, and only go out at night, for I don'twant this thing blown before I'm ready. Got anything to drink here?"

Randolph replied by taking a decanter of whiskey and glasses from acupboard. The captain filled his glass, and continued with the samegentle but exasperating nonchalance, "Mind my smoking?"

"Not at all, " said Randolph, pushing a cigar toward him. But the captainput it aside, drew from his pocket a short black clay pipe, stuffed itwith black "Cavendish plug, " which he had first chipped off in thepalm of his hand with a large clasp knife, lighted it, and took a fewmeditative whiffs. Then, glancing at Randolph's papers, he said, "I'mnot keeping you from your work, lad?" and receiving a reply in thenegative, puffed at his pipe and once more settled himself comfortablyin his chair, with his dark, bearded profile toward Randolph. 

"You were saying just now you didn't understand, " he went on slowly, without looking up; "so you must take your own bearings from whatI'm telling you. When I met you that night I had just arrived fromMelbourne. I had been lucky in some trading speculations I had outthere, and I had some bills with me, but no money except what I hadtucked in the skin of that portmanteau and a few papers connected withmy family at home. When a man lives the roving kind of life I have, helearns to keep all that he cares for under his own hat, and isn't aptto blab to friends. But it got out in some way on the voyage that I hadmoney, and as there was a mixed lot of 'Sydney ducks' and 'ticket ofleave men' on board, it seems they hatched a nice little plot to waylayme on the wharf on landing, rob me, and drop me into deep water. To makeit seem less suspicious, they associated themselves with a lot of crimpswho were on the lookout for our sailors, who were going ashore thatnight too. I'd my suspicions that a couple of those men might be waitingfor me at the end of the wharf. I left the ship just a minute or twobefore the sailors did. Then I met you. That meeting, my lad, wasmy first step toward salvation. For the two men let you pass with myportmanteau, which they didn't recognize, as I knew they would ME, andsupposed you were a stranger, and lay low, waiting for me. I, who wentinto the gin-mill with the other sailors, was foolish enough to drink, and was drugged and crimped as they were. I hadn't thought of that. Apoor devil of a ticket of leave man, about my size, was knocked downfor me, and, " he added, suppressing a laugh, "will be buried, deeplylamented, in the chancel of Dornton Church. While the row was going on, the skipper, fearing to lose other men, warped out into the stream, and so knew nothing of what happened to me. When they found what theythought was my body, he was willing to identify it in the hope thatthe crime might be charged to the crimps, and so did the other sailorwitnesses. But my brother Bill, who had just arrived here from Callao, where he had been hunting for me, hushed it up to prevent a scandal. All the same, Bill might have known the body wasn't mine, even though hehadn't seen me for years. "

"But it was frightfully disfigured, so that even I, who saw you onlyonce, could not have sworn it was NOT you, " said Randolph quickly. 

"Humph!" said Captain Dornton musingly. "Bill may have acted on thesquare--though he was in a d----d hurry. "

"But, " said Randolph eagerly, "you will put an end to all this now. Youwill assert yourself. You have witnesses to prove your identity. "

"Steady, lad, " said the captain, waving his pipe gently. "Of course Ihave. But"--he stopped, laid down his pipe, and put his hands doggedlyin his pockets--"IS IT WORTH IT?" Seeing the look of amazement inRandolph's face, he laughed his low laugh, and settled himself back inhis chair again. "No, " he said quietly, "if it wasn't for my son, andwhat's due him as my heir, I suppose--I reckon I'd just chuck the wholed----d thing. "

"What!" said Randolph. "Give up the property, the title, the familyhonor, the wrong done to your reputation, the punishment"--He hesitated, fearing he had gone too far. 

Captain Dornton withdrew his pipe from his mouth with a gesture ofcaution, and holding it up, said: "Steady, lad. We'll come to THAT byand by. As to the property and title, I cut and run from THEM tenyears ago. To me they meant only the old thing--the life of a countrygentleman, the hunting, the shooting, the whole beastly business thatthe land, over there, hangs like a millstone round your neck. They meantall this to me, who loved adventure and the sea from my cradle. I cutthe property, for I hated it, and I hate it still. If I went back Ishould hear the sea calling me day and night; I should feel the breathof the southwest trades in every wind that blew over that tight littleisland yonder; I should be always scenting the old trail, lad, the trailthat leads straight out of the Gate to swoop down to the South Seas. Doyou think a man who has felt his ship's bows heave and plunge under himin the long Pacific swell--just ahead of him a reef breaking white intothe lagoon, and beyond a fence of feathery palms--cares to follow houndsover gray hedges under a gray November sky? And the society? A man who'sgot a speaking acquaintance in every port from Acapulco to Melbourne, who knows every den and every longshoreman in it from a South Americantienda to a Samoan beach-comber's hut, --what does he want with society?"He paused as Randolph's eyes were fixed wonderingly on the first signof emotion on his weather-beaten face, which seemed for a moment to glowwith the strength and freshness of the sea, and then said, with a laugh:"You stare, lad. Well, for all the Dorntons are rather proud of theirfamily, like as not there was some beastly old Danish pirate among themlong ago, and I've got a taste of his blood in me. But I'm not quite asbad as that yet. "

He laughed, and carelessly went on: "As to the family honor, I don'tsee that it will be helped by my ripping up the whole thing and perhapsshowing that Bill was a little too previous in identifying me. As to myreputation, that was gone after I left home, and if I hadn't been thelegal heir they wouldn't have bothered their heads about me. My fatherhad given me up long ago, and there isn't a man, woman, or child thatwouldn't now welcome Bill in my place. "

"There is one who wouldn't, " said Randolph impulsively. 

"You mean Caroline Avondale?" said Captain Dornton dryly. 

Randolph colored. "No; I mean Miss Eversleigh, who was with yourbrother. "

Captain Dornton reflected. "To be sure! Sibyl Eversleigh! I haven't seenher since she was so high. I used to call her my little sweetheart. SoSybby remembered Cousin Jack and came to find him? But when did youmeet her?" he asked suddenly, as if this was the only detail of the pastwhich had escaped him, fixing his frank eyes upon Randolph. 

The young man recounted at some length the dinner party at Dingwall's, his conversation with Miss Eversleigh, and his interview with SirWilliam, but spoke little of Miss Avondale. To his surprise, the captainlistened smilingly, and only said: "That was like Billy to take a riseout of you by pretending you were suspected. That's his way--a littlerough when you don't know him and he's got a little grog amidships. Allthe same, I'd have given something to have heard him 'running' you, whenall the while you had the biggest bulge on him, only neither of youknew it. " He laughed again, until Randolph, amazed at his levity andindifference, lost his patience. 

"Do you know, " he said bluntly, "that they don't believe you werelegally married?"

But Captain Dornton only continued to laugh, until, seeing hiscompanion's horrified face, he became demure. "I suppose Bill didn't, for Bill had sense enough to know that otherwise he would have to take aback seat to Bobby. "

"But did Miss Avondale know you were legally married, and that your sonwas the heir?" asked Randolph bluntly. 

"She had no reason to suspect otherwise, although we were marriedsecretly. She was an old friend of my wife, not particularly of mine. "

Randolph sat back amazed and horrified. Those were HER own words. Or wasthis man deceiving him as the others had?

But the captain, eying him curiously, but still amusedly, added: "I eventhought of bringing her as one of my witnesses, until"--

"Until what?" asked Randolph quickly, as he saw the captain hadhesitated. 

"Until I found she wasn't to be trusted; until I found she was too thickwith Bill, " said the captain bluntly. "And now she's gone to Englandwith him and the boy, I suppose she'll make him come to terms. "

"Come to terms?" echoed Randolph. "I don't understand. " Yet he had aninstinctive fear that he did. 

"Well, " said the captain slowly, "suppose she might prefer the chance ofbeing the wife of a grown-up baronet to being the governess of one whowas only a minor? She's a cute girl, " he added dryly. 

"But, " said Randolph indignantly, "you have other witnesses, I hope. "

"Of course I have. I've got the Spanish records now from the Callaopriest, and they're put in a safe place should anything happen to me--ifanything could happen to a dead man!" he added grimly. "These proofswere all I was waiting for before I made up my mind whether I shouldblow the whole thing, or let it slide. "

Randolph looked again with amazement at this strange man who seemed soindifferent to the claims of wealth, position, and even to revenge. Itseemed inconceivable, and yet he could not help being impressed with hisperfect sincerity. He was relieved, however, when Captain Dornton rosewith apparent reluctance and put away his pipe. 

"Now look here, my lad, I'm right glad to have overhauled you again, whatever happened or is going to happen, and there's my hand upon it!Now, to come to business. I'm going over to England on this job, and Iwant you to come and help me. "

Randolph's heart leaped. The appeal revived all his old boyishenthusiasm, with his secret loyalty to the man before him. But hesuddenly remembered his past illusions, and for an instant he hesitated. 

"But the bank, " he stammered, scarce knowing what to say. 

The captain smiled. "I will pay you better than the bank; and at the endof four months, in whatever way this job turns out, if you still wish toreturn here, I will see that you are secured from any loss. Perhaps youmay be able to get a leave of absence. But your real object must be kepta secret from every one. Not a word of my existence or my purpose mustbe blown before I am ready. You and Jack Redhill are all that know itnow. "

"But you have a lawyer?" said the surprised Randolph. 

"Not yet. I'm my own lawyer in this matter until I get fairly under way. I've studied the law enough to know that as soon as I prove that I'malive the case must go on on account of my heir, whether I choose to cryquits or not. And it's just THAT that holds my hand. "

Randolph stared at the extraordinary man before him. For a moment, asthe strange story of his miraculous escape and his still more wonderfulindifference to it all recurred to his mind, he felt a doubt of thenarrator's truthfulness or his sanity. But another glance at thesailor's frank eyes dispelled that momentary suspicion. He held out hishand as frankly, and grasping Captain Dornton's, said, "I will go. "

V

Randolph's request for a four months' leave of absence was granted withlittle objection and no curiosity. He had acquired the confidence of hisemployers, and beyond Mr. Revelstoke's curt surprise that a young fellowon the road to fortune should sacrifice so much time to irrelevanttravel, and the remark, "But you know your own business best, " there wasno comment. It struck the young man, however, that Mr. Dingwall's slightcoolness on receiving the news might be attributed to a suspicion thathe was following Miss Avondale, whom he had fancied Dingwall disliked, and he quickly made certain inquiries in regard to Miss Eversleigh andthe possibility of his meeting her. As, without intending it, and to hisown surprise, he achieved a blush in so doing, which Dingwall noted, hereceived a gracious reply, and the suggestion that it was "quite proper"for him, on arriving, to send the young lady his card. 

Captain Dornton, under the alias of "Captain Johns, " was ready to catchthe next steamer to the Isthmus, and in two days they sailed. The voyagewas uneventful, and if Randolph had expected any enthusiasm on the partof the captain in the mission on which he was now fairly launched, hewould have been disappointed. Although his frankness was unchanged, hevolunteered no confidences. It was evident he was fully acquainted withthe legal strength of his claim, yet he, as evidently, deferred makingany plan of redress until he reached England. Of Miss Eversleigh he wasmore communicative. "You would have liked her better, my lad, it youhadn't been bewitched by the Avondale woman, for she is the whitest ofthe Dorntons. " In vain Randolph protested truthfully, yet with an evenmore convincing color, that it had made no difference, and he HADliked her. The captain laughed. "Ay, lad! But she's a poor orphan, withscarcely a hundred pounds a year, who lives with her guardian, anold clergyman. And yet, " he added grimly, "there are only three livesbetween her and the property--mine, Bobby's, and Bill's--unless HEshould marry and have an heir. "

"The more reason why you should assert yourself and do what you can forher now, " said Randolph eagerly. 

"Ay, " returned the captain, with his usual laugh, "when she was a childI used to call her my little sweetheart, and gave her a ring, and Ireckon I promised to marry her, too, when she grew up. "

The truthful Randolph would have told him of Miss Evereleigh's gift, but unfortunately he felt himself again blushing, and fearful lest thecaptain would misconstrue his confusion, he said nothing. 

Except on this occasion, the captain talked with Randolph chiefly of hislater past, --of voyages he had made, of places they were passing, andports they visited. He spent much of the time with the officers, andeven the crew, over whom he seemed to exercise a singular power, and with whom he exhibited an odd freemasonry. To Randolph's eyes heappeared to grow in strength and stature in the salt breath of the sea, and although he was uniformly kind, even affectionate, to him, he wasbrusque to the other passengers, and at times even with his friends thesailors. Randolph sometimes wondered how he would treat a crew of hisown. He found some answer to that question in the captain's manner toJack Redhill, the abstractor of the portmanteau, and his old shipmate, who was accompanying the captain in some dependent capacity, but whoreceived his master's confidences and orders with respectful devotion. 

It was a cold, foggy morning, nearly two months later, that they landedat Plymouth. The English coast had been a vague blank all night, onlypierced, long hours apart, by dim star-points or weird yellow beaconflashes against the horizon. And this vagueness and unreality increasedon landing, until it seemed to Randolph that they had slipped into aland of dreams. The illusion was kept up as they walked in the weirdshadows through half-lit streets into a murky railway station throbbingwith steam and sudden angry flashes in the darkness, and then drew awayinto what ought to have been the open country, but was only gray plainsof mist against a lost horizon. Sometimes even the vague outlook wasobliterated by passing trains coming from nowhere and slipping intonothingness. As they crept along with the day, without, however, anylightening of the opaque vault overhead to mark its meridian, therecame at times a thinning of the gray wall on either side of the track, showing the vague bulk of a distant hill, the battlemented sky line ofan old-time hall, or the spires of a cathedral, but always melting backinto the mist again as in a dream. Then vague stretches of gloomagain, foggy stations obscured by nebulous light and blurred and movingfigures, and the black relief of a tunnel. Only once the captain, catching sight of Randolph's awed face under the lamp of the smokingcarriage, gave way to his long, low laugh. "Jolly place, England--sovery 'Merrie. '" And then they came to a comparatively lighter, broader, and more brilliantly signaled tunnel filled with people, and as theyremained in it, Randolph was told it was London. With the sensationof being only half awake, he was guided and put into a cab by hiscompanion, and seemed to be completely roused only at the hotel. 

It had been arranged that Randolph should first go down to Chillingworthrectory and call on Miss Eversleigh, and, without disclosing hissecret, gather the latest news from Dornton Hall, only a few miles fromChillingworth. For this purpose he had telegraphed to her that evening, and had received a cordial response. The next morning he arose early, and, in spite of the gloom, in the glow of his youthful optimism enteredthe bedroom of the sleeping Captain Dornton, and shook him by theshoulder in lieu of the accolade, saying: "Rise, Sir John Dornton!"

The captain, a light sleeper, awoke quickly. "Thank you, my lad, all thesame, though I don't know that I'm quite ready yet to tumble up to thatkind of piping. There's a rotten old saying in the family that onlyonce in a hundred years the eldest son succeeds. That's why Bill was sococksure, I reckon. Well?"

"In an hour I'm off to Chillingworth to begin the campaign, " saidRandolph cheerily. 

"Luck to you, my boy, whatever happens. Clap a stopper on your jaws, though, now and then. I'm glad you like Sybby, but I don't want you tolike her so much as to forget yourself and give me away. "

Half an hour out of London the fog grew thinner, breaking into lace-likeshreds in the woods as the train sped by, or expanding into lustroustenuity above him. Although the trees were leafless, there was somerecompense in the glimpses their bare boughs afforded of clusteringchimneys and gables nestling in ivy. An infinite repose had been laidupon the landscape with the withdrawal of the fog, as of a veil liftedfrom the face of a sleeper. All his boyish dreams of the mother countrycame back to him in the books he had read, and re-peopled the vastsilence. Even the rotting leaves that lay thick in the crypt-like woodsseemed to him the dead laurels of its past heroes and sages. Quaintold-time villages, thatched roofs, the ever-recurring square towers ofchurch or hall, the trim, ordered parks, tiny streams crossed by heavystone bridges much too large for them--all these were only pages ofthose books whose leaves he seemed to be turning over. Two hours of thisfancy, and then the train stopped at a station within a mile or two ofa bleak headland, a beacon, and the gray wash of a pewter-colored sea, where a hilly village street climbed to a Norman church tower and theivied gables of a rectory. 

Miss Eversleigh, dignifiedly tall, but youthfully frank, as heremembered her, was waiting to drive him in a pony trap to the rectory. A little pink, with suppressed consciousness and the responsibilities ofpresenting a stranger guest to her guardian, she seemed to Randolph morecharming than ever. 

But her first word of news shocked and held him breathless. Bobby, thelittle orphan, a frail exotic, had succumbed to the Northern winter. Acold caught in New York had developed into pneumonia, and he died on thepassage. Miss Avondale, although she had received marked attention fromSir William, returned to America in the same ship. 

"I really don't think she was quite as devoted to the poor child as allthat, you know, " she continued with innocent frankness, "and Cousin Billwas certainly most kind to them both, yet there really seemed to be somecoolness between them after the child's death. But, " she added suddenly, for the first time observing her companion's evident distress, andcoloring in confusion, "I beg your pardon--I've been horribly rude andheartless. I dare say the poor boy was very dear to you, and of courseMiss Avondale was your friend. Please forgive me!"

Randolph, intent only on that catastrophe which seemed to wreck allCaptain Dornton's hopes and blunt his only purpose for declaringhimself, hurriedly reassured her, yet was not sorry his agitation hadbeen misunderstood. And what was to be done? There was no train back toLondon for four hours. He dare not telegraph, and if he did, could hetrust to his strange patron's wise conduct under the first shock of thisnews to his present vacillating purpose? He could only wait. 

Luckily for his ungallant abstraction, they were speedily at therectory, where a warm welcome from Mr. Brunton, Sibyl's guardian, andhis family forced him to recover himself, and showed him that thestory of his devotion to John Dornton had suffered nothing from MissEversleigh's recital. Distraught and anxious as he was, he could notresist the young girl's offer after luncheon to show him the church withthe vault of the Dorntons and the tablet erected to John Dornton, and, later, the Hall, only two miles distant. But here Randolph hesitated. 

"I would rather not call on Sir William to-day, " he said. 

"You need not. He is over at the horse show at Fern Dyke, and won't beback till late. And if he has been forgathering with his boon companionshe won't be very pleasant company. "

"Sibyl!" said the rector in good-humored protest. 

"Oh, Mr. Trent has had a little of Cousin Bill's convivial mannersbefore now, " said the young girl vivaciously, "and isn't shocked. But wecan see the Hall from the park on our way to the station. "

Even in his anxious preoccupation he could see that the church itselfwas a quaint and wonderful preservation of the past. For four centuriesit had been sacred to the tombs of the Dorntons and their effigies inbrass and marble, yet, as Randolph glanced at the stately sarcophagus ofthe unknown ticket of leave man, its complacent absurdity, combined withhis nervousness, made him almost hysterical. Yet again, it seemed to himthat something of the mystery and inviolability of the past now investedthat degraded dust, and it would be an equal impiety to disturb it. MissEversleigh, again believing his agitation caused by the memory ofhis old patron, tactfully hurried him away. Yet it was a more bitterthought, I fear, that not only were his lips sealed to his charmingcompanion on the subject in which they could sympathize, but his anxietyprevented him from availing himself of that interview to exchange thelighter confidences he had eagerly looked forward to. It seemed cruelthat he was debarred this chance of knitting their friendship closer byanother of those accidents that had brought them together. And he wasaware that his gloomy abstraction was noticed by her. At first shedrew herself up in a certain proud reserve, and then, perhaps, his ownnervousness infecting her in turn, he was at last terrified to observethat, as she stood before the tomb, her clear gray eyes filled withtears. 

"Oh, please don't do that--THERE, Miss Eversleigh, " he burst outimpulsively. 

"I was thinking of Cousin Jack, " she said, a little startled at hisabruptness. "Sometimes it seems so strange that he is dead--I scarcelycan believe it. "

"I meant, " stammered Randolph, "that he is much happier--you know"--hegrew almost hysterical again as he thought of the captain lyingcheerfully in his bed at the hotel--"much happier than you or I, " headded bitterly; "that is--I mean, it grieves me so to see YOU grieve, you know. "

Miss Eversleigh did NOT know, but there was enough sincerity and realfeeling in the young fellow's voice and eyes to make her color slightlyand hurry him away to a locality less fraught with emotions. In a fewmoments they entered the park, and the old Hall rose before them. It wasa great Tudor house of mullioned windows, traceries, and battlements; ofstately towers, moss-grown balustrades, and statues darkening with thefog that was already hiding the angles and wings of its huge bulk. Apeacock spread its ostentatious tail on the broad stone steps before theportal; a flight of rooks from the leafless elms rose above its stackedand twisted chimneys. After all, how little had this stately incarnationof the vested rights and sacred tenures of the past in common with thelaughing rover he had left in London that morning! And thinking of thedestinies that the captain held so lightly in his hand, and perhaps nota little of the absurdity of his own position to the confiding younggirl beside him, for a moment he half hated him. 

The fog deepened as they reached the station, and, as it seemed toRandolph, made their parting still more vague and indefinite, and itwas with difficulty that he could respond to the young girl's frank hopethat he would soon return to them. Yet he half resolved that he wouldnot until he could tell her all. 

Nevertheless, as the train crept more and more slowly, with haltingsignals, toward London, he buoyed himself up with the hope that CaptainDornton would still try conclusions for his patrimony, or at least cometo some compromise by which he might be restored to his rank and name. But upon these hopes the vision of that great house settled firmly uponits lands, held there in perpetuity by the dead and stretched-out handsof those that lay beneath its soil, always obtruded itself. Then thefog deepened, and the crawling train came to a dead stop at the nextstation. The whole line was blocked. Four precious hours were hopelesslylost. 

Yet despite his impatience, he reentered London with the same dazedsemi-consciousness of feeling as on the night he had first arrived. There seemed to have been no interim; his visit to the rectory and Hall, and even his fateful news, were only a dream. He drove through the sameshadow to the hotel, was received by the same halo-encircled lights thathad never been put out. After glancing through the halls and readingroom he hurriedly made his way to his companion's room. The captain wasnot there. He quickly summoned the waiter. The gentleman? Yes; CaptainDornton had left with his servant, Redhill, a few hours after Mr. Trentwent away. He had left no message. 

Again condemned to wait in inactivity, Randolph tried to resist acertain uneasiness that was creeping over him, by attributing thecaptain's absence to some unexpected legal consultation or the gatheringof evidence, his prolonged detention being due to the same fog that haddelayed his own train. But he was somewhat surprised to find that thecaptain had ordered his luggage into the porter's care in the hall belowbefore leaving, and that nothing remained in his room but a few toiletarticles and the fateful portmanteau. The hours passed slowly. Owing tothat perpetual twilight in which he had passed the day, there seemedno perceptible flight of time, and at eleven o'clock, the captain notarriving, he determined to wait in the latter's room so as to be surenot to miss him. Twelve o'clock boomed from an adjacent invisiblesteeple, but still he came not. Overcome by the fatigue and excitementof the day, Randolph concluded to lie down in his clothes onthe captain's bed, not without a superstitious and uncomfortablerecollection of that night, about a year before, when he had awaitedhim vainly at the San Francisco hotel. Even the fateful portmanteau wasthere to assist his gloomy fancy. Nevertheless, with the boom of oneo'clock in his drowsy ears as his last coherent recollection, he sankinto a dreamless sleep. 

He was awakened by a tapping at his door, and jumped up to realize byhis watch and the still burning gaslight that it was nine o'clock. Butthe intruder was only a waiter with a letter which he had brought toRandolph's room in obedience to the instructions the latter hadgiven overnight. Not doubting it was from the captain, although thehandwriting of the address was unfamiliar, he eagerly broke the seal. But he was surprised to read as follows:--

DEAR MR. TRENT, --We had such sad news from the Hall after you left. Sir William was seized with a kind of fit. It appears that he had justreturned from the horse show, and had given his mare to the groom whilehe walked to the garden entrance. The groom saw him turn at the yewhedge, and was driving to the stables when he heard a queer kind of cry, and turning back to the garden front, found poor Sir William lying onthe ground in convulsions. The doctor was sent for, and Mr. Bruntonand I went over to the Hall. The doctor thinks it was something like astroke, but he is not certain, and Sir William is quite delirious, anddoesn't recognize anybody. I gathered from the groom that he had beenDRINKING HEAVILY. Perhaps it was well that you did not see him, but Ithought you ought to know what had happened in case you came down again. It's all very dreadful, and I wonder if that is why I was so nervous allthe afternoon. It may have been a kind of presentiment. Don't you thinkso?

Yours faithfully, SIBYL EVERSLEIGH. 

I am afraid Randolph thought more of the simple-minded girl who, in themidst of her excitement, turned to him half unconsciously, than he didof Sir William. Had it not been for the necessity of seeing the captain, he would probably have taken the next train to the rectory. Perhapshe might later. He thought little of Sir William's illness, and wasinclined to accept the young girl's naive suggestion of its cause. He read and reread the letter, staring at the large, grave, childlikehandwriting--so like herself--and obeying a sudden impulse, raised thesignature, as gravely as if it had been her hand, to his lips. 

Still the day advanced and the captain came not. Randolph found theinactivity insupportable. He knew not where to seek him; he had nomore clue to his resorts or his friends--if, indeed, he had anyin London--than he had after their memorable first meeting in SanFrancisco. He might, indeed, be the dupe of an impostor, who, at theeleventh hour, had turned craven and fled. He might be, in the captain'sindifference, a mere instrument set aside at his pleasure. Yet he couldtake advantage of Miss Eversleigh's letter and seek her, and confesseverything, and ask her advice. It was a great and at the moment itseemed to him an overwhelming temptation. But only for the moment. He had given his word to the captain--more, he had given his youthfulFAITH. And, to his credit, he never swerved again. It seemed to him, too, in his youthful superstition, as he looked at the abandonedportmanteau, that he had again to take up his burden--his "trust. "

It was nearly four o'clock when the spell was broken. A large packet, bearing the printed address of a London and American bank, was broughtto him by a special messenger; but the written direction was inthe captain's hand. Randolph tore it open. It contained one or twoinclosures, which he hastily put aside for the letter, two pages offoolscap, which he read breathlessly:--

DEAR TRENT, --Don't worry your head if I have slipped my cable withouttelling you. I'm all right, only I got the news you are bringing me, JUST AFTER YOU LEFT, by Jack Redhill, whom I had sent to Dornton Hallto see how the land lay the night before. It was not that I didn't trustYOU, but HE had ways of getting news that you wouldn't stoop to. Youcan guess, from what I have told you already, that, now Bobby is gone, there's nothing to keep me here, and I'm following my own idea ofletting the whole blasted thing slide. I only worked this racket forthe sake of him. I'm sorry for him, but I suppose the poor little beggarcouldn't stand these sunless, God-forsaken longitudes any more thanI could. Besides that, as I didn't want to trust any lawyer with mysecret, I myself had hunted up some books on the matter, and found that, by the law of entail, I'd have to rip up the whole blessed thing, andBill would have had to pay back every blessed cent of what rents he hadcollected since he took hold--not to ME, but the ESTATE--with interest, and that no arrangement I could make with HIM would be legal on accountof the boy. At least, that's the way the thing seemed to pan out to me. So that when I heard of Bobby's death I was glad to jump the rest, andthat's what I made up my mind to do. 

But, like a blasted lubber, now that I COULD do it and cut right away, I must needs think that I'd like first to see Bill on the sly, withoutletting on to any one else, and tell him what I was going to do. I'd nofear that he'd object, or that he'd hesitate a minute to fall in with myplan of dropping my name and my game, and giving him full swing, while Istood out to sea and the South Pacific, and dropped out of his mess forthe rest of my life. Perhaps I wanted to set his mind at rest, if he'dever had any doubts; perhaps I wanted to have a little fun out of himfor his d----d previousness; perhaps, lad, I had a hankering to see theold place for the last time. At any rate, I allowed to go to DorntonHall. I timed myself to get there about the hour you left, to keepout of sight until I knew he was returning from the horse show, and towaylay him ALONE and have our little talk without witnesses. I daren'tgo to the Hall, for some of the old servants might recognize me. 

I went down there with Jack Redhill, and we separated at the station. Ihung around in the fog. I even saw you pass with Sibyl in the dogcart, but you didn't see me. I knew the place, and just where to hide whereI could have the chance of seeing him alone. But it was a beastly jobwaiting there. I felt like a d----d thief instead of a man who wassimply visiting his own. Yet, you mayn't believe me, lad, but I hatedthe place and all it meant more than ever. Then, by and by, I heard himcoming. I had arranged it all with myself to get into the yew hedge, andstep out as he came to the garden entrance, and as soon as he recognizedme to get him round the terrace into the summer house, where we couldspeak without danger. 

I heard the groom drive away to the stable with the cart, and, sureenough, in a minute he came lurching along toward the garden door. Hewas mighty unsteady on his pins, and I reckon he was more than halffull, which was a bad lookout for our confab. But I calculated that thesight of me, when I slipped out, would sober him. And, by ---, itdid! For his eyes bulged out of his head and got fixed there; his jawdropped; he tried to strike at me with a hunting crop he was carrying, and then he uttered an ungodly yell you might have heard at the station, and dropped down in his tracks. I had just time to slip back into thehedge again before the groom came driving back, and then all hands werepiped, and they took him into the house. 

And of course the game was up, and I lost my only chance. I was thankfulenough to get clean away without discovering myself, and I have to trustnow to the fact of Bill's being drunk, and thinking it was my ghost thathe saw, in a touch of the jimjams! And I'm not sorry to have given himthat start, for there was that in his eye, and that in the stroke hemade, my lad, that showed a guilty conscience I hadn't reckoned on. Andit cured me of my wish to set his mind at ease. He's welcome to all therest. 

And that's why I'm going away--never to return. I'm sorry I couldn'ttake you with me, but it's better that I shouldn't see you again, andthat you didn't even know WHERE I was gone. When you get this I shallbe on blue water and heading for the sunshine. You'll find two lettersinclosed. One you need not open unless you hear that my secret wasblown, and you are ever called upon to explain your relations with me. The other is my thanks, my lad, in a letter of credit on the bank, forthe way you have kept your trust, and I believe will continue to keepit, to

JOHN DORNTON. 

P. S. I hope you dropped a tear over my swell tomb at Dornton Church. All the same, I don't begrudge it to the poor devil who lost his lifeinstead of me. 

J. D. 

As Randolph read, he seemed to hear the captain's voice throughout theletter, and even his low, characteristic laugh in the postscript. Thenhe suddenly remembered the luggage which the porter had said the captainhad ordered to be taken below; but on asking that functionary he wastold a conveyance for the Victoria Docks had called with an order, andtaken it away at daybreak. It was evident that the captain had intendedthe letter should be his only farewell. Depressed and a little hurtat his patron's abruptness, Randolph returned to his room. Opening theletter of credit, he found it was for a thousand pounds--a munificentbeneficence, as it seemed to Randolph, for his dubious services, anda proof of his patron's frequent declarations that he had money enoughwithout touching the Dornton estates. 

For a long time he sat with these sole evidences of the reality of hisexperience in his hands, a prey to a thousand surmises and conflictingthoughts. Was he the self-deceived disciple of a visionary, a generous, unselfish, but weak man, whose eccentricity passed even the bounds ofreason? Who would believe the captain's story or the captain's motives?Who comprehend his strange quest and its stranger and almost ridiculoustermination? Even if the seal of secrecy were removed in after years, what had he, Randolph, to show in corroboration of his patron's claim?

Then it occurred to him that there was no reason why he should not godown to the rectory and see Miss Eversleigh again under pretense ofinquiring after the luckless baronet, whose title and fortune had, nevertheless, been so strangely preserved. He began at once hispreparations for the journey, and was nearly ready when a servantentered with a telegram. Randolph's heart leaped. The captain had senthim news--perhaps had changed his mind! He tore off the yellow cover, and read, --

Sir William died at twelve o'clock without recovering consciousness. 

S. EVERSLEIGH. 

VI

For a moment Randolph gazed at the dispatch with a half-hystericallaugh, and then became as suddenly sane and cool. One thought alone wasuppermost in his mind: the captain could not have heard this news yet, and if he was still within reach, or accessible by any means whatever, however determined his purpose, he must know it at once. The only clueto his whereabouts was the Victoria Docks. But that was something. Inanother moment Randolph was in the lower hall, had learned the quickestway of reaching the docks, and plunged into the street. 

The fog here swooped down, and to the embarrassment of his mind wasadded the obscurity of light and distance, which halted him after a fewhurried steps, in utter perplexity. Indistinct figures were here andthere approaching him out of nothingness and melting away again into thegreenish gray chaos. He was in a busy thoroughfare; he could hear theslow trample of hoofs, the dull crawling of vehicles, and the warningoutcries of a traffic he could not see. Trusting rather to his own speedthan that of a halting conveyance, he blundered on until he reachedthe railway station. A short but exasperating journey of impulses andhesitations, of detonating signals and warning whistles, and he at laststood on the docks, beyond him a vague bulk or two, and a soft, opaqueflowing wall--the river!

But one steamer had left that day--the Dom Pedro, for the RiverPlate--two hours before, but until the fog thickened, a quarter of anhour ago, she could be seen, so his informant said, still lying, withsteam up, in midstream. Yes, it was still possible to board her. Buteven as the boatman spoke, and was leading the way toward the landingsteps, the fog suddenly lightened; a soft salt breath stole in from thedistant sea, and a veil seemed to be lifted from the face of the graywaters. The outlines of the two shores came back; the spars of nearervessels showed distinctly, but the space where the huge hulk had restedwas empty and void. There was a trail of something darker and moreopaque than fog itself lying near the surface of the water, but the DomPedro was a mere speck in the broadening distance. 

A bright sun and a keen easterly wind were revealing the curling ridgesof the sea beyond the headland when Randolph again passed the gates ofDornton Hall on his way to the rectory. Now, for the first time, he wasable to see clearly the outlines of that spot which had seemed to himonly a misty dream, and even in his preoccupation he was struck by itsgrave beauty. The leafless limes and elms in the park grouped themselvesas part of the picturesque details of the Hall they encompassed, andthe evergreen slope of firs and larches rose as a background to thegray battlements, covered with dark green ivy, whose rich shadows werebrought out by the unwonted sunshine. With a half-repugnant curiosity hehad tried to identify the garden entrance and the fateful yew hedge thecaptain had spoken of as he passed. But as quickly he fell back upon theresolution he had taken in coming there--to dissociate his secret, hisexperience, and his responsibility to his patron from his relationsto Sibyl Eversleigh; to enjoy her companionship without an obtrudingthought of the strange circumstances that had brought them togetherat first, or the stranger fortune that had later renewed theiracquaintance. He had resolved to think of her as if she had merelypassed into his life in the casual ways of society, with only herpersonal charms to set her apart from others. Why should his exclusivepossession of a secret--which, even if confided to her, would only giveher needless and hopeless anxiety--debar them from an exchange of thoseother confidences of youth and sympathy? Why could he not love her andyet withhold from her the knowledge of her cousin's existence? So he haddetermined to make the most of his opportunity during his brief holiday;to avail himself of her naive invitation, and even of what he daredsometimes to think was her predilection for his companionship. And if, before he left, he had acquired a right to look forward to a timewhen her future and his should be one--but here his glowing fancy wasabruptly checked by his arrival at the rectory door. 

Mr. Brunton received him cordially, yet with a slight businesspreoccupation and a certain air of importance that struck him aspeculiar. Sibyl, he informed him, was engaged at that moment with somefriends who had come over from the Hall. Mr. Trent would understand thatthere was a great deal for her to do--in her present position. Wondering why SHE should be selected to do it instead of older and moreexperienced persons, Randolph, however, contented himself with inquiriesregarding the details of Sir William's seizure and death. He learned, ashe expected, that nothing whatever was known of the captain's visit, norwas there the least suspicion that the baronet's attack was the resultof any predisposing emotion. Indeed, it seemed more possible that hismedical attendants, knowing something of his late excesses and theireffect upon his constitution, preferred, for the sake of avoidingscandal, to attribute the attack to long-standing organic disease. 

Randolph, who had already determined, as a forlorn hope, to writea cautious letter to the captain (informing him briefly of the newswithout betraying his secret, and directed to the care of the consigneesof the Dom Pedro in Brazil, by the next post), was glad to be able toadd this medical opinion to relieve his patron's mind of any fear ofhaving hastened his brother's death by his innocent appearance. But herethe entrance of Sibyl Eversleigh with her friends drove all else fromhis mind. 

She looked so tall and graceful in her black dress, which set off herdazzling skin, and, with her youthful gravity, gave to her figure thecharming maturity of a young widow, that he was for a moment awed andembarrassed. But he experienced a relief when she came eagerly towardhim in all her old girlish frankness, and with even something ofyearning expectation in her gray eyes. 

"It was so good of you to come, " she said. "I thought you would imaginehow I was feeling"--She stopped, as if she were conscious, as Randolphwas, of a certain chill of unresponsiveness in the company, and saidin an undertone, "Wait until we are alone. " Then, turning with a slightcolor and a pretty dignity toward her friends, she continued: "LadyAshbrook, this is Mr. Trent, an old friend of both my cousins when theywere in America. "

In spite of the gracious response of the ladies, Randolph was awareof their critical scrutiny of both himself and Miss Eversleigh, ofthe exchange of significant glances, and a certain stiffness inher guardian's manner. It was quite enough to affect Randolph'ssensitiveness and bring out his own reserve. 

Fancying, however, that his reticence disturbed Miss Eversleigh, heforced himself to converse with Lady Ashbrook--avoiding many of herpointed queries as to himself, his acquaintance with Sibyl, and thelength of time he expected to stay in England--and even accompanied herto her carriage. And here he was rewarded by Sibyl running out with acrape veil twisted round her throat and head, and the usual femininelyforgotten final message to her visitor. As the carriage drove away, sheturned to Randolph, and said quickly, --

"Let us go in by way of the garden. "

It was a slight detour, but it gave them a few moments alone. 

"It was so awful and sudden, " she said, looking gravely at Randolph, "and to think that only an hour before I had been saying unkind thingsof him! Of course, " she added naively, "they were true, and the groomadmitted to me that the mare was overdriven and Sir William couldhardly stand. And only to think of it! he never recovered completeconsciousness, but muttered incoherently all the time. I was with him tothe last, and he never said a word I could understand--only once. "

"What did he say?" asked Randolph uneasily. 

"I don't like to say--it was TOO dreadful!"

Randolph did not press her. Yet, after a pause, she said in a low voice, with a naivete impossible to describe, "It was, 'Jack, damn you!'"

He did not dare to look at her, even with this grim mingling of farceand tragedy which seemed to invest every scene of that sordid drama. Miss Eversleigh continued gravely: "The groom's name was Robert, butJack might have been the name of one of his boon companions. "

Convinced that she suspected nothing, yet in the hope of changing thesubject, Randolph said quietly: "I thought your guardian perhaps alittle less frank and communicative to-day. "

"Yes, " said the young girl suddenly, with a certain impatience, andyet in half apology to her companion, "of course. He--THEY--all andeverybody--are much more concerned and anxious about my new positionthan I am. It's perfectly dreadful--this thinking of it all the time, arranging everything, criticising everything in reference to it, and thepoor man who is the cause of it all not yet at rest in his grave! Thewhole thing is inhuman and unchristian!"

"I don't understand, " stammered Randolph vaguely. "What IS your newposition? What do you mean?"

The girl looked up in his face with surprise. "Why, didn't you know? I'mthe next of kin--I'm the heiress--and will succeed to the property insix months, when I am of age. "

In a flash of recollection Randolph suddenly recalled the captain'swords, "There are only three lives between her and the property. "Their meaning had barely touched his comprehension before. She was theheiress. Yes, save for the captain!

She saw the change, the wonder, even the dismay, in his face, and herown brightened frankly. "It's so good to find one who never thought ofit, who hadn't it before him as the chief end for which I was born! Yes, I was the next of kin after dear Jack died and Bill succeeded, butthere was every chance that he would marry and have an heir. And yet themoment he was taken ill that idea was uppermost in my guardian's mind, good man as he is, and even forced upon me. If this--this propertyhad come from poor Cousin Jack, whom I loved, there would have beensomething dear in it as a memory or a gift, but from HIM, whom Icouldn't bear--I know it's wicked to talk that way, but it's simplydreadful!"

"And yet, " said Randolph, with a sudden seriousness he could notcontrol, "I honestly believe that Captain Dornton would be perfectlyhappy--yes, rejoiced!--if he knew the property had come to YOU. "

There was such an air of conviction, and, it seemed to the simple girl, even of spiritual insight, in his manner that her clear, handsome eyesrested wonderingly on his. 

"Do you really think so?" she said thoughtfully. "And yet HE knowsthat I am like him. Yes, " she continued, answering Randolph's look ofsurprise, "I am just like HIM in that. I loathe and despise the lifethat this thing would condemn me to; I hate all that it means, and allthat it binds me to, as he used to; and if I could, I would cut and runfrom it as HE did. "

She spoke with a determined earnestness and warmth, so unlike her usualgrave naivete that he was astonished. There was a flush on her cheek anda frank fire in her eye that reminded him strangely of the captain; andyet she had emphasized her words with a little stamp of her narrow footand a gesture of her hand that was so untrained and girlish that hesmiled, and said, with perhaps the least touch of bitterness in histone, "But you will get over that when you come into the property. "

"I suppose I shall, " she returned, with an odd lapse to her formergravity and submissiveness. "That's what they all tell me. "

"You will be independent and your own mistress, " he added. 

"Independent, " she repeated impatiently, "with Dornton Hall and twentythousand a year! Independent, with every duty marked out for me!Independent, with every one to criticise my smallest actions--every onewho would never have given a thought to the orphan who was contentedand made her own friends on a hundred a year! Of course you, who area stranger, don't understand; yet I thought that you"--shehesitated, --"would have thought differently. "

"Why?"

"Why, with your belief that one should make one's own fortune, " shesaid. 

"That would do for a man, and in that I respected Captain Dornton'sconvictions, as you told them to me. But for a girl, how could she beindependent, except with money?"

She shook her head as if unconvinced, but did not reply. They werenearing the garden porch, when she looked up, and said: "And as YOU'REa man, you will be making your way in the world. Mr. Dingwall said youwould. "

There was something so childishly trustful and confident in herassurance that he smiled. "Mr. Dingwall is too sanguine, but it gives mehope to hear YOU say so. "

She colored slightly, and said gravely: "We must go in now. " Yet shelingered for a moment before the door. For a long time afterward he hada very vivid recollection of her charming face, in its childlikegravity and its quaint frame of black crape, standing out against thesunset-warmed wall of the rectory. "Promise me you will not mind whatthese people say or do, " she said suddenly. 

"I promise, " he returned, with a smile, "to mind only what YOU say ordo. "

"But I might not be always quite right, you know, " she said naively. 

"I'll risk that. "

"Then, when we go in now, don't talk much to me, but make yourselfagreeable to all the others, and then go straight home to the inn, anddon't come here until after the funeral. "

The faintest evasive glint of mischievousness in her withdrawn eyes atthis moment mitigated the austerity of her command as they both passedin. 

Randolph had intended not to return to London until after the funeral, two days later, and spent the interesting day at the neighboring town, whence he dispatched his exploring and perhaps hopeless letter tothe captain. The funeral was a large and imposing one, and impressedRandolph for the first time with the local importance and solidstanding of the Dorntons. All the magnates and old county families wererepresented. The inn yard and the streets of the little village werefilled with their quaint liveries, crested paneled carriages, andsilver-cipher caparisoned horses, with a sprinkling of fashion fromLondon. He could not close his ears to the gossip of the villagersregarding the suddenness of the late baronet's death, the extinction ofthe title, the accession of the orphaned girl to the property, and even, to his greater exasperation, speculations upon her future and probablemarriage. "Some o' they gay chaps from Lunnon will be lordin' it overthe Hall afore long, " was the comment of the hostler. 

It was with some little bitterness that Randolph took his seat in thecrowded church. But this feeling, and even his attempts to discover MissEversleigh's face in the stately family pew fenced off from the chancel, presently passed away. And then his mind began to be filled with strangeand weird fancies. What grim and ghostly revelations might pass betweenthis dead scion of the Dorntons lying on the trestles before them andthe obscure, nameless ticket of leave man awaiting his entrance in thevault below! The incongruity of this thought, with the smug complacencyof the worldly minded congregation sitting around him, and the probablesmiling carelessness of the reckless rover--the cause of all--even nowidly pacing the deck on the distant sea, touched him with horror. Andwhen added to this was the consciousness that Sibyl Eversleigh wasforced to become an innocent actor in this hideous comedy, it seemedas much as he could bear. Again he questioned himself, Was he right towithhold his secret from her? In vain he tried to satisfy his consciencethat she was happier in her ignorance. The resolve he had made tokeep his relations with her apart from his secret, he knew now, wasimpossible. But one thing was left to him. Until he could disclose hiswhole story--until his lips were unsealed by Captain Dornton--he mustnever see her again. And the grim sanctity of the edifice seemed to makethat resolution a vow. 

He did not dare to raise his eyes again toward her pew, lest a sight ofher sweet, grave face might shake his resolution, and he slipped awayfirst among the departing congregation. He sent her a brief note fromthe inn saying that he was recalled to London by an earlier train, andthat he would be obliged to return to California at once, but hopingthat if he could be of any further assistance to her she would writeto him to the care of the bank. It was a formal letter, and yet he hadnever written otherwise than formally to her. That night he reachedLondon. On the following night he sailed from Liverpool for America. 

Six months had passed. It was difficult, at first, for Randolph to pickup his old life again; but his habitual earnestness and singleness ofpurpose stood him in good stead, and a vague rumor that he had made somepowerful friends abroad, with the nearer fact that he had a letter ofcredit for a thousand pounds, did not lessen his reputation. He wasreinstalled and advanced at the bank. Mr. Dingwall was exceptionallygracious, and minute in his inquiries regarding Miss Eversleigh'ssuccession to the Dornton property, with an occasional shrewdness of eyein his interrogations which recalled to Randolph the questioning of MissEversleigh's friends, and which he responded to as cautiously. For theyoung fellow remained faithful to his vow even in thinking of her, andseemed to be absorbed entirely in his business. Yet there was a vagueambition of purpose in this absorption that would probably have startledthe more conservative Englishman had he known it. 

He had not heard from Miss Eversleigh since he left, nor had he receivedany response from the captain. Indeed, he had indulged in little hopesof either. But he kept stolidly at work, perhaps with a larger trustthan he knew. And then, one day, he received a letter addressed in ahandwriting that made his heart leap, though he had seen it but once, when it conveyed the news of Sir William Dornton's sudden illness. Itwas from Miss Eversleigh, but the postmark was Callao! He tore open theenvelope, and for the next few moments forgot everything--his businessdevotion, his lofty purpose, even his solemn vow. 

It read as follows:--

DEAR MR. TRENT, --I should not be writing to you now if I did not believethat I NOW understand why you left us so abruptly on the day of thefuneral, and why you were at times so strange. You might have been alittle less hard and cold even if you knew all that you did know. ButI must write now, for I shall be in San Francisco a few days after thisreaches you, and I MUST see you and have YOUR help, for I can have noother, as you know. You are wondering what this means, and why I amhere. I know ALL and EVERYTHING. I know HE is alive and never was dead. I know I have no right to what I have, and never had, and I have comehere to seek him and make him take it back. I could do no other. I couldnot live and do anything but that, and YOU might have known it. But Ihave not found him here as I hoped I should, though perhaps it was afoolish hope of mine, and I am coming to you to help me seek him, forhe MUST BE FOUND. You know I want to keep his and your secret, andtherefore the only one I can turn to for assistance and counsel is YOU. 

You are wondering how I know what I do. Two months ago I GOT A LETTERFROM HIM--the strangest, quaintest, and yet THE KINDEST LETTER--exactlylike himself and the way he used to talk! He had just heard of hisbrother's death, and congratulated me on coming into the property, andsaid he was now perfectly happy, and should KEEP DEAD, and never, nevercome to life again; that he never thought things would turn out assplendidly as they had--for Sir William MIGHT have had an heir--and thatnow he should REALLY DIE HAPPY. He said something about everything beinglegally right, and that I could do what I liked with the property. Asif THAT would satisfy me! Yet it was all so sweet and kind, and so likedear old Jack, that I cried all night. And then I resolved to come here, where his letter was dated from. Luckily I was of age now, and coulddo as I liked, and I said I wanted to travel in South America andCalifornia; and I suppose they didn't think it very strange thatI should use my liberty in that way. Some said it was quite like aDornton! I knew something of Callao from your friend Miss Avondale, andcould talk about it, which impressed them. So I started off with only amaid--my old nurse. I was a little frightened at first, when I came tothink what I was doing, but everybody was very kind, and I really feelquite independent now. So, you see, a girl may be INDEPENDENT, afterall! Of course I shall see Mr. Dingwall in San Francisco, but he neednot know anything more than that I am traveling for pleasure. And I maygo to the Sandwich Islands or Sydney, if I think HE is there. Of courseI have had to use some money--some of HIS rents--but it shall be paidback. I will tell you everything about my plans when I see you. 

Yours faithfully, SIBYL EVERSLEIGH. 

P. S. Why did you let me cry over that man's tomb in the church?

Randolph looked again at the date, and then hurriedly consulted theshipping list. She was due in ten days. Yet, delighted as he was withthat prospect, and touched as he had been with her courage and naivedetermination, after his first joy he laid the letter down with a sigh. For whatever was his ultimate ambition, he was still a mere salariedclerk; whatever was her self-sacrificing purpose, she was still the richheiress. The seal of secrecy had been broken, yet the situation remainedunchanged; their association must still be dominated by it. And heshrank from the thought of making her girlish appeal to him for help anopportunity for revealing his real feelings. 

This instinct was strengthened by the somewhat formal manner in whichMr. Dingwall announced her approaching visit. "Miss Eversleigh will staywith Mrs. Dingwall while she is here, on account of her--er--position, and the fact that she is without a chaperon. Mrs. Dingwall will, ofcourse, be glad to receive any friends Miss Eversleigh would like tosee. "

Randolph frankly returned that Miss Eversleigh had written to him, andthat he would be glad to present himself. Nothing more was said, but asthe days passed he could not help noticing that, in proportion as Mr. Dingwall's manner became more stiff and ceremonious, Mr. Revelstoke'susually crisp, good-humored suggestions grew more deliberate, andRandolph found himself once or twice the subject of the president'spenetrating but smiling scrutiny. And the day before Miss Eversleigh'sarrival his natural excitement was a little heightened by a summons toMr. Revelstoke's private office. 

As he entered, the president laid aside his pen and closed the door. 

"I have never made it my business, Trent, " he said, with good-humoredbrusqueness, "to interfere in my employees' private affairs, unless theyaffect their relations to the bank, and I haven't had the least occasionto do so with you. Neither has Mr. Dingwall, although it is on HISbehalf that I am now speaking. " As Randolph listened with a contractedbrow, he went on with a grim smile: "But he is an Englishman, you know, and has certain ideas of the importance of 'position, ' particularlyamong his own people. He wishes me, therefore, to warn you of whatHE calls the 'disparity' of your position and that of a young Englishlady--Miss Eversleigh--with whom you have some acquaintance, and inwhom, " he added with a still grimmer satisfaction, "he fears you are toodeeply interested. "

Randolph blazed. "If Mr. Dingwall had asked ME, sir, " he said hotly, "Iwould have told him that I have never yet had to be reminded that MissEversleigh is a rich heiress and I only a poor clerk, but as to hisusing her name in such a connection, or dictating to me the manner of"--

"Hold hard, " said Revelstoke, lifting his hand deprecatingly, yet withhis unchanged smile. "I don't agree with Mr. Dingwall, and I have everyreason to know the value of YOUR services, yet I admit something is dueto HIS prejudices. And in this matter, Trent, the Bank of Eureka, whileI am its president, doesn't take a back seat. I have concluded to makeyou manager of the branch bank at Marysville, an independent positionwith its salary and commissions. And if that doesn't suit Dingwall, why, " he added, rising from his desk with a short laugh, "he has abigger idea of the value of property than the bank has. "

"One moment, sir, I implore you, " burst out Randolph breathlessly, "ifyour kind offer is based upon the mistaken belief that I have the leastclaim upon Miss Eversleigh's consideration more than that of simplefriendship--if anybody has dared to give you the idea that I haveaspired by word or deed to more, or that the young lady has evercountenanced or even suspected such aspirations, it is utterly false, and grateful as I am for your kindness, I could not accept it. "

"Look here, Trent, " returned Revelstoke curtly, yet laying his hand onthe young man's shoulder not unkindly. "All that is YOUR private affair, which, as I told you, I don't interfere with. The other is a questionbetween Mr. Dingwall and myself of your comparative value. It won't hurtyou with ANYBODY to know how high we've assessed it. Don't spoil a goodthing!"

Grateful even in his uncertainty, Randolph could only thank him andwithdraw. Yet this fateful forcing of his hand in a delicate questiongave him a new courage. It was with a certain confidence now in hiscapacity as HER friend and qualified to advise HER that he called at Mr. Dingwall's the evening she arrived. It struck him that in the Dingwalls'reception of him there was mingled with their formality a certainrespect. 

Thanks to this, perhaps, he found her alone. She seemed to him morebeautiful than his recollection had painted her, in the development thatmaturity, freedom from restraint, and time had given her. For a momenthis new, fresh courage was staggered. But she had retained her youthfulsimplicity, and came toward him with the same naive and innocentyearning in her clear eyes that he remembered at their last meeting. Their first words were, naturally, of their great secret, and Randolphtold her the whole story of his unexpected and startling meeting withthe captain, and the captain's strange narrative, of his undertaking thejourney with him to recover his claim, establish his identity, and, asRandolph had hoped, restore to her that member of the family whom shehad most cared for. He recounted the captain's hesitation on arriving;his own journey to the rectory; the news she had given him; thereason of his singular behavior; his return to London; and the seconddisappearance of the captain. He read to her the letter he had receivedfrom him, and told her of his hopeless chase to the docks only to findhim gone. She listened to him breathlessly, with varying color, withan occasional outburst of pity, or a strange shining of the eyes, thatsometimes became clouded and misty, and at the conclusion with a calmand grave paleness. 

"But, " she said, "you should have told me all. "

"It was not my secret, " he pleaded. 

"You should have trusted me. "

"But the captain had trusted ME. "

She looked at him with grave wonder, and then said with her olddirectness: "But if I had been told such a secret affecting you, Ishould have told you. " She stopped suddenly, seeing his eyes fixed onher, and dropped her own lids with a slight color. "I mean, " she saidhesitatingly, "of course you have acted nobly, generously, kindly, wisely--but I hate secrets! Oh, why cannot one be always frank?"

A wild idea seized Randolph. "But I have another secret--you have notguessed--and I have not dared to tell you. Do you wish me to be franknow?"

"Why not?" she said simply, but she did not look up. 

Then he told her! But, strangest of all, in spite of his fears andconvictions, it flowed easily and naturally as a part of his othersecret, with an eloquence he had not dreamed of before. But when he toldher of his late position and his prospects, she raised her eyes to hisfor the first time, yet without withdrawing her hand from his, and saidreproachfully, --

"Yet but for THAT you would never have told me. "

"How could I?" he returned eagerly. "For but for THAT how could I helpyou to carry out YOUR trust? How could I devote myself to your plans, and enable you to carry them out without touching a dollar of thatinheritance which you believe to be wrongfully yours?"

Then, with his old boyish enthusiasm, he sketched a glowing picture oftheir future: how they would keep the Dornton property intact until thecaptain was found and communicated with; and how they would cautiouslycollect all the information accessible to find him until such timeas Randolph's fortunes would enable them both to go on a voyage ofdiscovery after him. And in the midst of this prophetic forecast, whichbrought them so closely together that she was enabled to examine hiswatch chain, she said, --

"I see you have kept Cousin Jack's ring. Did he ever see it?"

"He told me he had given it to you as his little sweetheart, and thathe"--

There was a singular pause here. 

"He never did THAT--at least, not in that way!" said Sybil Eversleigh. 

And, strangely enough, the optimistic Randolph's prophecies came true. He was married a month later to Sibyl Eversleigh, Mr. Dingwall givingaway the bride. He and his wife were able to keep their trust in regardto the property, for, without investing a dollar of it in the bank, the mere reputation of his wife's wealth brought him a flood of otherinvestors and a confidence which at once secured his success. In twoyears he was able to take his wife on a six months' holiday to Europevia Australia, but of the details of that holiday no one knew. It is, however, on record that ten or twelve years ago Dornton Hall, which hadbeen leased or unoccupied for a long time, was refitted for the heiress, her husband, and their children during a brief occupancy, and thatin that period extensive repairs were made to the interior of theold Norman church, and much attention given to the redecoration andrestoration of its ancient tombs. 

MR. MACGLOWRIE'S WIDOW

Very little was known of her late husband, yet that little was of asufficiently awe-inspiring character to satisfy the curiosity ofLaurel Spring. A man of unswerving animosity and candid belligerency, untempered by any human weakness, he had been actively engaged assurvivor in two or three blood feuds in Kentucky, and some desultorydueling, only to succumb, through the irony of fate, to an attack offever and ague in San Francisco. Gifted with a fine sense of humor, heis said, in his last moments, to have called the simple-minded clergymanto his bedside to assist him in putting on his boots. The kindly divine, although pointing out to him that he was too weak to rise, muchless walk, could not resist the request of a dying man. When it wasfulfilled, Mr. MacGlowrie crawled back into bed with the remark that hisrace had always "died with their boots on, " and so passed smilingly andtranquilly away. 

It is probable that this story was invented to soften the ignominy ofMacGlowrie's peaceful end. The widow herself was also reported to beendowed with relations of equally homicidal eccentricities. Her twobrothers, Stephen and Hector Boompointer, had Western reputations thatwere quite as lurid and remote. Her own experiences of a frontier lifehad been rude and startling, and her scalp--a singularly beautiful oneof blond hair--had been in peril from Indians on several occasions. Apair of scissors, with which she had once pinned the intruding hand ofa marauder to her cabin doorpost, was to be seen in her sitting room atLaurel Spring. A fair-faced woman with eyes the color of pale sherry, a complexion sallowed by innutritious food, slight and tall figure, shegave little suggestion of this Amazonian feat. But that it exercised awholesome restraint over the many who would like to have induced herto reenter the married state, there is little reason to doubt. LaurelSpring was a peaceful agricultural settlement. Few of its citizensdared to aspire to the dangerous eminence of succeeding the defunctMacGlowrie; few could hope that the sister of living Boompointerswould accept an obvious mesalliance with them. However sincere theiraffection, life was still sweet to the rude inhabitants of LaurelSpring, and the preservation of the usual quantity of limbs necessary tothem in their avocations. With their devotion thus chastened by caution, it would seem as if the charming mistress of Laurel Spring House wassecure from disturbing attentions. 

It was a pleasant summer afternoon, and the sun was beginning to strikeunder the laurels around the hotel into the little office where thewidow sat with the housekeeper--a stout spinster of a coarser Westerntype. Mrs. MacGlowrie was looking wearily over some accounts on thedesk before her, and absently putting back some tumbled sheaves from thestack of her heavy hair. For the widow had a certain indolent Southernnegligence, which in a less pretty woman would have been untidiness, and a characteristic hook and eyeless freedom of attire which on lessgraceful limbs would have been slovenly. One sleeve cuff was unbuttoned, but it showed the blue veins of her delicate wrist; the neck of herdress had lost a hook, but the glimpse of a bit of edging round thewhite throat made amends. Of all which, however, it should be said thatthe widow, in her limp abstraction, was really unconscious. 

"I reckon we kin put the new preacher in Kernel Starbottle's room, " saidMiss Morvin, the housekeeper. "The kernel's going to-night. "

"Oh, " said the widow in a tone of relief, but whether at the earlydeparture of the gallant colonel or at the successful solution of theproblem of lodging the preacher, Miss Morvin could not determine. Butshe went on tentatively:--

"The kernel was talkin' in the bar room, and kind o' wonderin' why youhadn't got married agin. Said you'd make a stir in Sacramento--but youwas jest berried HERE. "

"I suppose he's heard of my husband?" said the widow indifferently. 

"Yes--but he said he couldn't PLACE YOU, " returned Miss Morvin. 

The widow looked up. "Couldn't place ME?" she repeated. 

"Yes--hadn't heard o' MacGlowrie's wife and disremembered yourbrothers. "

"The colonel doesn't know everybody, even if he is a fighting man, " saidMrs. MacGlowrie with languid scorn. 

"That's just what Dick Blair said, " returned Miss Morvin. "And thoughhe's only a doctor, he jest stuck up agin' the kernel, and told thatstory about your jabbin' that man with your scissors--beautiful; andhow you once fought off a bear with a red-hot iron, so that you'd haveadmired to hear him. He's awfully gone on you!"

The widow took that opportunity to button her cuff. 

"And how long does the preacher calculate to stay?" she added, returningto business details. 

"Only a day. They'll have his house fixed up and ready for himto-morrow. They're spendin' a heap o' money on it. He ought to be thepow'ful preacher they say he is--to be worth it. "

But here Mrs. MacGlowrie's interest in the conversation ceased, and itdropped. 

In her anxiety to further the suit of Dick Blair, Miss Morvin hadscarcely reported the colonel with fairness. 

That gentleman, leaning against the bar in the hotel saloon with acocktail in his hand, had expatiated with his usual gallantry uponMrs. MacGlowrie's charms, and on his own "personal" responsibilityhad expressed the opinion that they were thrown away on Laurel Spring. That--blank it all--she reminded him of the blankest beautiful womanhe had seen even in Washington--old Major Beveridge's daughter fromKentucky. Were they sure she wasn't from Kentucky? Wasn't her nameBeveridge--and not Boompointer? Becoming more reminiscent over hissecond drink, the colonel could vaguely recall only one Boompointer--ablank skulking hound, sir--a mean white shyster--but, of course, hecouldn't have been of the same breed as such a blank fine woman as thewidow! It was here that Dick Blair interrupted with a heightened colorand a glowing eulogy of the widow's relations and herself, which, however, only increased the chivalry of the colonel--who would be thelast man, sir, to detract from--or suffer any detraction of--a lady'sreputation. It was needless to say that all this was intensely divertingto the bystanders, and proportionally discomposing to Blair, who alreadyexperienced some slight jealousy of the colonel as a man whose fightingreputation might possibly attract the affections of the widow of thebelligerent MacGlowrie. He had cursed his folly and relapsed into gloomysilence until the colonel left. 

For Dick Blair loved the widow with the unselfishness of a generousnature and a first passion. He had admired her from the first dayhis lot was cast in Laurel Spring, where coming from a rude frontierpractice he had succeeded the district doctor in a more peaceful anddomestic ministration. A skillful and gentle surgeon rather than ageneral household practitioner, he was at first coldly welcomed by thegloomy dyspeptics and ague-haunted settlers from riparian lowlands. Thefew bucolic idlers who had relieved the monotony of their lives by thestimulus of patent medicines and the exaltation of stomach bitters, alsolooked askance at him. A common-sense way of dealing with their ailmentsdid not naturally commend itself to the shopkeepers who vended thesenostrums, and he was made to feel the opposition of trade. But he wasgentle to women and children and animals, and, oddly enough, it wasto this latter dilection that he owed the widow's interest in him--aninterest that eventually made him popular elsewhere. 

The widow had a pet dog--a beautiful spaniel, who, however, hadassimilated her graceful languor to his own native love of ease to suchan extent that he failed in a short leap between a balcony and a window, and fell to the ground with a fractured thigh. The dog was supposed tobe crippled for life even if that life were worth preserving--when Dr. Blair came to the rescue, set the fractured limb, put it in splints andplaster after an ingenious design of his own, visited him daily, andeventually restored him to his mistress's lap sound in wind and limb. How far this daily ministration and the necessary exchange of sympathybetween the widow and himself heightened his zeal was not known. Therewere those who believed that the whole thing was an unmanly trick to getthe better of his rivals in the widow's good graces; there were otherswho averred that his treatment of a brute beast like a human being wassinful and unchristian. "He couldn't have done more for a regularlybaptized child, " said the postmistress. "And what mo' would a regularlybaptized child have wanted?" returned Mrs. MacGlowrie, with the drawlingSouthern intonation she fell back upon when most contemptuous. 

But Dr. Blair's increasing practice and the widow's preoccupationpresently ended their brief intimacy. It was well known that sheencouraged no suitors at the hotel, and his shyness and sensitivenessshrank from ostentatious advances. There seemed to be no chance of herbecoming, herself, his patient; her sane mind, indolent nerves, and calmcirculation kept her from feminine "vapors" of feminine excesses. Sheretained the teeth and digestion of a child in her thirty odd years, andabused neither. Riding and the cultivation of her little garden gaveher sufficient exercise. And yet the unexpected occurred! The day afterStarbottle left, Dr. Blair was summoned hastily to the hotel. Mrs. MacGlowrie had been found lying senseless in a dead faint in thepassage outside the dining room. In his hurried flight thither with themessenger he could learn only that she had seemed to be in her usualhealth that morning, and that no one could assign any cause for herfainting. 

He could find out little more when he arrived and examined her as shelay pale and unconscious on the sofa of her sitting room. It had notbeen thought necessary to loosen her already loose dress, and indeed hecould find no organic disturbance. The case was one of sudden nervousshock--but this, with his knowledge of her indolent temperament, seemedalmost absurd. They could tell him nothing but that she was evidently onthe point of entering the dining room when she fell unconscious. Hadshe been frightened by anything? A snake or a rat? Miss Morvinwas indignant! The widow of MacGlowrie--the repeller ofgrizzlies--frightened at "sich"! Had she been upset by any previousexcitement, passion, or the receipt of bad news? No!--she "wasn't thatkind, " as the doctor knew. And even as they were speaking he felt thewidow's healthy life returning to the pulse he was holding, and givinga faint tinge to her lips. Her blue-veined eyelids quivered slightlyand then opened with languid wonder on the doctor and her surroundings. Suddenly a quick, startled look contracted the yellow brown pupils ofher eyes, she lifted herself to a sitting posture with a hurried glancearound the room and at the door beyond. Catching the quick, observanteyes of Dr. Blair, she collected herself with an effort, which Dr. Blairfelt in her pulse, and drew away her wrist. 

"What is it? What happened?" she said weakly. 

"You had a slight attack of faintness, " said the doctor cheerily, "andthey called me in as I was passing, but you're all right now. "

"How pow'ful foolish, " she said, with returning color, but her eyesstill glancing at the door, "slumping off like a green gyrl at nothin'. "

"Perhaps you were startled?" said the doctor. 

Mrs. MacGlowrie glanced up quickly and looked away. "No!--Let me see!I was just passing through the hall, going into the dining room, when--everything seemed to waltz round me--and I was off! Where did theyfind me?" she said, turning to Miss Morvin. 

"I picked you up just outside the door, " replied the housekeeper. 

"Then they did not see me?" said Mrs. MacGlowrie. 

"Who's they?" responded the housekeeper with more directness thangrammatical accuracy. 

"The people in the dining room. I was just opening the door--and I feltthis coming on--and--I reckon I had just sense enough to shut the dooragain before I went off. "

"Then that accounts for what Jim Slocum said, " uttered Miss Morvintriumphantly. "He was in the dining room talkin' with the new preacher, when he allowed he heard the door open and shut behind him. Then heheard a kind of slump outside and opened the door again just to find youlyin' there, and to rush off and get me. And that's why he was so madat the preacher!--for he says he just skurried away without offerin'to help. He allows the preacher may be a pow'ful exhorter--but he ain'tworth much at 'works. '"

"Some men can't bear to be around when a woman's up to that sort offoolishness, " said the widow, with a faint attempt at a smile, but areturn of her paleness. 

"Hadn't you better lie down again?" said the doctor solicitously. 

"I'm all right now, " returned Mrs. MacGlowrie, struggling to her feet;"Morvin will look after me till the shakiness goes. But it was mightytouching and neighborly to come in, Doctor, " she continued, succeedingat last in bringing up a faint but adorable smile, which stirred Blair'spulses. "If I were my own dog--you couldn't have treated me better!"

With no further excuse for staying longer, Blair was obliged todepart--yet reluctantly, both as lover and physician. He was by no meanssatisfied with her condition. He called to inquire the next day--but shewas engaged and sent word to say she was "better. "

In the excitement attending the advent of the new preacher the slightillness of the charming widow was forgotten. He had taken thesettlement by storm. His first sermon at Laurel Spring exceeded eventhe extravagant reputation that had preceded him. Known as the "InspiredCowboy, " a common unlettered frontiersman, he was said to have developedwonderful powers of exhortatory eloquence among the Indians, andscarcely less savage border communities where he had lived, halfoutcast, half missionary. He had just come up from the Southernagricultural districts, where he had been, despite his rude antecedents, singularly effective with women and young people. The moody dyspepticsand lazy rustics of Laurel Spring were stirred as with a new patentmedicine. Dr. Blair went to the first "revival" meeting. Withoutundervaluing the man's influence, he was instinctively repelled byhis appearance and methods. The young physician's trained powers ofobservation not only saw an overwrought emotionalism in the speaker'seloquence, but detected the ring of insincerity in his more lucid speechand acts. Nevertheless, the hysteria of the preacher was communicated tothe congregation, who wept and shouted with him. Tired and discontentedhousewives found their vague sorrows and vaguer longings were only theresult of their "unregenerate" state; the lazy country youths feltthat the frustration of their small ambitions lay in their not being"convicted of sin. " The mourners' bench was crowded with wildlyemulating sinners. Dr. Blair turned away with mingled feelings ofamusement and contempt. At the door Jim Slocum tapped him on theshoulder: "Fetches the wimmin folk every time, don't he, Doctor?" saidJim. 

"So it seems, " said Blair dryly. 

"You're one o' them scientific fellers that look inter things--what doYOU allow it is?"

The young doctor restrained the crushing answer that rose to his lips. He had learned caution in that neighborhood. "I couldn't say, " he saidindifferently. 

"'Tain't no religion, " said Slocum emphatically; "it's jest purefas'nation. Did ye look at his eye? It's like a rattlesnake's, and themwimmin are like birds. They're frightened of him--but they hev to dojest what he 'wills' 'em. That's how he skeert the widder the otherday. "

The doctor was alert and on fire at once. "Scared the widow?" herepeated indignantly. 

"Yes. You know how she swooned away. Well, sir, me and that preacher, Brown, was the only one in that dinin' room at the time. The widderopened the door behind me and sorter peeked in, and that thar preachergive a start and looked up; and then, that sort of queer light come inhis eyes, and she shut the door, and kinder fluttered and flopped downin the passage outside, like a bird! And he crawled away like a snake, and never said a word! My belief is that either he hadn't time to turnon the hull influence, or else she, bein' smart, got the door shutbetwixt her and it in time! Otherwise, sure as you're born, she'dhev been floppin' and crawlin' and sobbin' arter him--jist like themcritters we've left. "

"Better not let the brethren hear you talk like that, or they'll lynchyou, " said the doctor, with a laugh. "Mrs. MacGlowrie simply had anattack of faintness from some overexertion, that's all. "

Nevertheless, he was uneasy as he walked away. Mrs. MacGlowrie hadevidently received a shock which was still unexplained, and, in spite ofSlocum's exaggerated fancy, there might be some foundation in his story. He did not share the man's superstition, although he was not a skepticregarding magnetism. Yet even then, the widow's action was one ofrepulsion, and as long as she was strong enough not to come to thesemeetings, she was not in danger. A day or two later, as he was passingthe garden of the hotel on horseback, he saw her lithe, graceful, languid figure bending over one of her favorite flower beds. The highfence partially concealed him from view, and she evidently believedherself alone. Perhaps that was why she suddenly raised herself from hertask, put back her straying hair with a weary, abstracted look, remainedfor a moment quite still staring at the vacant sky, and then, witha little catching of her breath, resumed her occupation in a dull, mechanical way. In that brief glimpse of her charming face, Blair wasshocked at the change; she was pale, the corners of her pretty mouthwere drawn, there were deeper shades in the orbits of her eyes, and inspite of her broad garden hat with its blue ribbon, her light floweredfrock and frilled apron, she looked as he fancied she might have lookedin the first crushing grief of her widowhood. Yet he would have passedon, respecting her privacy of sorrow, had not her little spanieldetected him with her keener senses. And Fluffy being truthful--as dogsare--and recognizing a dear friend in the intruder, barked joyously. 

The widow looked up, her eyes met Blair's, and she reddened. But he wastoo acute a lover to misinterpret what he knew, alas! was only confusionat her abstraction being discovered. Nevertheless, there was somethingelse in her brown eyes he had never seen before. A momentary lightingup of RELIEF--of even hopefulness--in his presence. It was enough forBlair; he shook off his old shyness like the dust of his ride, andgalloped around to the front door. 

But she met him in the hall with only her usual languid good humor. Nevertheless, Blair was not abashed. 

"I can't put you in splints and plaster like Fluffy, Mrs. MacGlowrie, "he said, "but I can forbid you to go into the garden unless you'relooking better. It's a positive reflection on my professional skill, andLaurel Spring will be shocked, and hold me responsible. "

Mrs. MacGlowrie had recovered enough of her old spirit to reply that shethought Laurel Spring could be in better business than looking at herover her garden fence. 

"But your dog, who knows you're not well, and doesn't think me quite afool, had the good sense to call me. You heard him. "

But the widow protested that she was as strong as a horse, and thatFluffy was like all puppies, conceited to the last degree. 

"Well, " said Blair cheerfully, "suppose I admit you are all right, physically, you'll confess you have some trouble on your mind, won'tyou? If I can't make you SHOW me your tongue, you'll let me hear you USEit to tell me what worries you. If, " he added more earnestly, "you won'tconfide in your physician--you will perhaps--to--to--a--FRIEND. "

But Mrs. MacGlowrie, evading his earnest eyes as well as his appeal, waswondering what good it would do either a doctor, or--a--a--she herselfseemed to hesitate over the word--"a FRIEND, to hear the worriments of asilly, nervous old thing--who had only stuck a little too closely to herbusiness. "

"You are neither nervous nor old, Mrs. MacGlowrie, " said the doctorpromptly, "though I begin to think you HAVE been too closely confinedhere. You want more diversion, or--excitement. You might even go tohear this preacher"--he stopped, for the word had slipped from his mouthunawares. 

But a swift look of scorn swept her pale face. "And you'd like me tofollow those skinny old frumps and leggy, limp chits, that slobber andcry over that man!" she said contemptuously. "No! I reckon I only want achange--and I'll go away, or get out of this for a while. "

The poor doctor had not thought of this possible alternative. His heartsank, but he was brave. "Yes, perhaps you are right, " he said sadly, "though it would be a dreadful loss--to Laurel Spring--to us all--if youwent. "

"Do I look so VERY bad, doctor?" she said, with a half-mischievous, half-pathetic smile. 

The doctor thought her upturned face very adorable, but restrained hisfeelings heroically, and contented himself with replying to the pathetichalf of her smile. "You look as if you had been suffering, " he saidgravely, "and I never saw you look so before. You seem as if you hadexperienced some great shock. Do you know, " he went on, in a lower toneand with a half-embarrassed smile, "that when I saw you just now in thegarden, you looked as I imagined you might have looked in the first daysof your widowhood--when your husband's death was fresh in your heart. "

A strange expression crossed her face. Her eyelids dropped instantly, and with both hands she caught up her frilled apron as if to meetthem and covered her face. A little shudder seemed to pass overher shoulders, and then a cry that ended in an uncontrollable andhalf-hysterical laugh followed from the depths of that apron, untilshaking her sides, and with her head still enveloped in its covering, she fairly ran into the inner room and closed the door behind her. 

Amazed, shocked, and at first indignant, Dr. Blair remained fixed tothe spot. Then his indignation gave way to a burning mortification as herecalled his speech. He had made a frightful faux pas! He had been foolenough to try to recall the most sacred memories of that dead husbandhe was trying to succeed--and her quick woman's wit had detected hisridiculous stupidity. Her laugh was hysterical--but that was onlynatural in her mixed emotions. He mounted his horse in confusion androde away. 

For a few days he avoided the house. But when he next saw her she hada charming smile of greeting and an air of entire obliviousness of hispast blunder. She said she was better. She had taken his advice andwas giving herself some relaxation from business. She had been ridingagain--oh, so far! Alone?--of course; she was always alone--else whatwould Laurel Spring say?

"True, " said Blair smilingly; "besides, I forgot that you are quite ableto take care of yourself in an emergency. And yet, " he added, admiringlylooking at her lithe figure and indolent grace, "do you know I never canassociate you with the dreadful scenes they say you have gone through. "

"Then please don't!" she said quickly; "really, I'd rather you wouldn't. I'm sick and tired of hearing of it!" She was half laughing and yet halfin earnest, with a slight color on her cheek. 

Blair was a little embarrassed. "Of course, I don't mean yourheroism--like that story of the intruder and the scissors, " hestammered. 

"Oh, THAT'S the worst of all! It's too foolish--it's sickening!" shewent on almost angrily. "I don't know who started that stuff. " Shepaused, and then added shyly, "I really am an awful coward and horriblynervous--as you know. "

He would have combated this--but she looked really disturbed, and hehad no desire to commit another imprudence. And he thought, too, that heagain had seen in her eyes the same hopeful, wistful light he had onceseen before, and was happy. 

This led him, I fear, to indulge in wilder dreams. His practice, although increasing, barely supported him, and the widow was rich. Herbusiness had been profitable, and she had repaid the advances made herwhen she first took the hotel. But this disparity in their fortuneswhich had frightened him before now had no fears for him. He felt thatif he succeeded in winning her affections she could afford to wait forhim, despite other suitors, until his talents had won an equal position. His rivals had always felt as secure in his poverty as they had in hispeaceful profession. How could a poor, simple doctor aspire to the handof the rich widow of the redoubtable MacGlowrie?

It was late one afternoon, and the low sun was beginning to strikeathwart the stark columns and down the long aisles of the redwoods onthe High Ridge. The doctor, returning from a patient at the loggers'camp in its depths, had just sighted the smaller groves of LaurelSprings, two miles away. He was riding fast, with his thoughts filledwith the widow, when he heard a joyous bark in the underbrush, andFluffy came bounding towards him. Blair dismounted to caress him, aswas his wont, and then, wisely conceiving that his mistress was not faraway, sauntered forward exploringly, leading his horse, the dog houndingbefore him and barking, as if bent upon both leading and announcing him. But the latter he effected first, for as Blair turned from the trailinto the deeper woods, he saw the figures of a man and woman walkingtogether suddenly separate at the dog's warning. The woman was Mrs. MacGlowrie--the man was the revival preacher!

Amazed, mystified, and indignant, Blair nevertheless obeyed his firstinstinct, which was that of a gentleman. He turned leisurely aside asif not recognizing them, led his horse a few paces further, mounted him, and galloped away without turning his head. But his heart was filledwith bitterness and disgust. This woman--who but a few days beforehad voluntarily declared her scorn and contempt for that man and hisadmirers--had just been giving him a clandestine meeting like one of themost infatuated of his devotees! The story of the widow's fainting, the coarse surmises and comments of Slocum, came back to him withoverwhelming significance. But even then his reason forbade him tobelieve that she had fallen under the preacher's influence--she, withher sane mind and indolent temperament. Yet, whatever her excuse orpurpose was, she had deceived him wantonly and cruelly! His abruptavoidance of her had prevented him from knowing if she, on her part, hadrecognized him as he rode away. If she HAD, she would understand why hehad avoided her, and any explanation must come from her. 

Then followed a few days of uncertainty, when his thoughts againreverted to the preacher with returning jealousy. Was she, after all, like other women, and had her gratuitous outburst of scorn of THEIRinfatuation been prompted by unsuccessful rivalry? He was too proud toquestion Slocum again or breathe a word of his fears. Yet he was notstrong enough to keep from again seeking the High Ridge, to discoverany repetition of that rendezvous. But he saw her neither there, norelsewhere, during his daily rounds. And one night his feverish anxietygetting the better of him, he entered the great "Gospel Tent" of therevival preacher. 

It chanced to be an extraordinary meeting, and the usual enthusiasticaudience was reinforced by some sight-seers from the neighboring countytown--the district judge and officials from the court in session, amongthem Colonel Starbottle. The impassioned revivalist--his eyes ablazewith fever, his lank hair wet with perspiration, hanging beside hisheavy but weak jaws--was concluding a fervent exhortation to hisauditors to confess their sins, "accept conviction, " and regenerate thenand there, without delay. They must put off "the old Adam, " and put onthe flesh of righteousness at once! They were to let no false shameor worldly pride keep them from avowing their guilty past before theirbrethren. Sobs and groans followed the preacher's appeals; his ownagitation and convulsive efforts seemed to spread in surging wavesthrough the congregation, until a dozen men and women arose, staggering like drunkards blindly, or led or dragged forward by sobbingsympathizers towards the mourners' bench. And prominent among them, butstepping jauntily and airily forward, was the redoubtable and worldlyColonel Starbottle!

At this proof of the orator's power the crowd shouted--but stoppedsuddenly, as the colonel halted before the preacher, and ascended therostrum beside him. Then taking a slight pose with his gold-headed canein one hand and the other thrust in the breast of his buttoned coat, hesaid in his blandest, forensic voice:--

"If I mistake not, sir, you are advising these ladies and gentlemen toa free and public confession of their sins and a--er--denunciationof their past life--previous to their conversion. If I ammistaken I--er--ask your pardon, and theirs and--er--hold myselfresponsible--er--personally responsible!"

The preacher glanced uneasily at the colonel, but replied, still in thehysterical intonation of his exordium:--

"Yes! a complete searching of hearts--a casting out of the seven Devilsof Pride, Vain Glory"--

"Thank you--that is sufficient, " said the colonel blandly. "But mightI--er--be permitted to suggest that you--er--er--SET THEM THE EXAMPLE!The statement of the circumstances attending your own past life andconversion would be singularly interesting and exemplary. "

The preacher turned suddenly and glanced at the colonel with furiouseyes set in an ashy face. 

"If this is the flouting and jeering of the Ungodly and Dissolute, " hescreamed, "woe to you! I say--woe to you! What have such as YOU to dowith my previous state of unregeneracy?"

"Nothing, " said the colonel blandly, "unless that state were also theSTATE OF ARKANSAS! Then, sir, as a former member of the Arkansas BAR--Imight be able to assist your memory--and--er--even corroborate yourconfession. "

But here the enthusiastic adherents of the preacher, vaguely consciousof some danger to their idol, gathered threateningly round the platformfrom which he had promptly leaped into their midst, leaving the colonelalone, to face the sea of angry upturned faces. But that gallant warriornever altered his characteristic pose. Behind him loomed the reputationof the dozen duels he had fought, the gold-headed stick on which heleaned was believed to contain eighteen inches of shining steel--and thepeople of Laurel Spring had discretion. 

He smiled suavely, stepped jauntily down, and made his way to theentrance without molestation. 

But here he was met by Blair and Slocum, and a dozen eager questions:--

"What was it?" "What had he done?" "WHO was he?"

"A blank shyster, who had swindled the widows and orphans in Arkansasand escaped from jail. "

"And his name isn't Brown?"

"No, " said the colonel curtly. 

"What is it?"

"That is a matter which concerns only myself and him, sir, " said thecolonel loftily; "but for which I am--er--personally responsible. "

A wild idea took possession of Blair. 

"And you say he was a noted desperado?" he said with nervous hesitation. 

The colonel glared. 

"Desperado, sir! Never! Blank it all!--a mean, psalm-singing, crawling, sneak thief!"

And Blair felt relieved without knowing exactly why. 

The next day it was known that the preacher, Gabriel Brown, had leftLaurel Spring on an urgent "Gospel call" elsewhere. 

Colonel Starbottle returned that night with his friends to the countytown. Strange to say, a majority of the audience had not grasped thefull significance of the colonel's unseemly interruption, and those whohad, as partisans, kept it quiet. Blair, tortured by doubt, had a newdelicacy added to his hesitation, which left him helpless until thewidow should take the initiative in explanation. 

A sudden summons from his patient at the loggers' camp the nextday brought him again to the fateful redwoods. But he was vexed andmystified to find, on arriving at the camp, that he had been made thevictim of some stupid blunder, and that no message had been sent fromthere. He was returning abstractedly through the woods when he wasamazed at seeing at a little distance before him the flutter of Mrs. MacGlowrie's well-known dark green riding habit and the figure ofthe lady herself. Her dog was not with her, neither was the revivalpreacher--or he might have thought the whole vision a trick of hismemory. But she slackened her pace, and he was obliged to rein upabreast of her in some confusion. 

"I hope I won't shock you again by riding alone through the woods with aman, " she said with a light laugh. 

Nevertheless, she was quite pale as he answered, somewhat coldly, thathe had no right to be shocked at anything she might choose to do. 

"But you WERE shocked, for you rode away the last time withoutspeaking, " she said; "and yet"--she looked up suddenly into his eyeswith a smileless face--"that man you saw me with once had a better rightto ride alone with me than any other man. He was"--

"Your lover?" said Blair with brutal brevity. 

"My husband!" returned Mrs. MacGlowrie slowly. 

"Then you are NOT a widow, " gasped Blair. 

"No. I am only a divorced woman. That is why I have had to live a liehere. That man--that hypocrite--whose secret was only half exposedthe other night, was my husband--divorced from me by the law, when, anescaped convict, he fled with another woman from the State three yearsago. " Her face flushed and whitened again; she put up her hand blindlyto her straying hair, and for an instant seemed to sway in the saddle. 

But Blair as quickly leaped from his horse, and was beside her. "Letme help you down, " he said quickly, "and rest yourself until you arebetter. " Before she could reply, he lifted her tenderly to the groundand placed her on a mossy stump a little distance from the trail. Hercolor and a faint smile returned to her troubled face. 

"Had we not better go on?" she said, looking around. "I never went sofar as to sit down in the woods with HIM that day. "

"Forgive me, " he said pleadingly, "but, of course, I knew nothing. Idisliked the man from instinct--I thought he had some power over you. "

"He has none--except the secret that would also have exposed himself. "

"But others knew it. Colonel Starbottle must have known his name? Andyet"--as he remembered he stammered--"he refused to tell me. "

"Yes, but not because he knew he was my husband, but because he knew hebore the same name. He thinks, as every one does, that my husband diedin San Francisco. The man who died there was my husband's cousin--adesperate man and a noted duelist. "

"And YOU assumed to be HIS widow?" said the astounded Blair. 

"Yes, but don't blame me too much, " she said pathetically. "It was awild, a silly deceit, but it was partly forced upon me. For when Ifirst arrived across the plains, at the frontier, I was still bearingmy husband's name, and although I was alone and helpless, I found myselfstrangely welcomed and respected by those rude frontiersmen. It was notlong before I saw it was because I was presumed to be the widow of ALLENMacGlowrie--who had just died in San Francisco. I let them think so, forI knew--what they did not--that Allen's wife had separated from him andmarried again, and that my taking his name could do no harm. I acceptedtheir kindness; they gave me my first start in business, which broughtme here. It was not much of a deceit, " she continued, with a slighttremble of her pretty lip, "to prefer to pass as the widow of a deaddesperado than to be known as the divorced wife of a living convict. Ithas hurt no one, and it has saved me just now. "

"You were right! No one could blame you, " said Blair eagerly, seizingher hand. 

But she disengaged it gently, and went on:--

"And now you wonder why I gave him a meeting here?"

"I wonder at nothing but your courage and patience in all thissuffering!" said Blair fervently; "and at your forgiving me for socruelly misunderstanding you. "

"But you must learn all. When I first saw MacGlowrie under his assumedname, I fainted, for I was terrified and believed he knew I was hereand had come to expose me even at his own risk. That was why I hesitatedbetween going away or openly defying him. But it appears he was morefrightened than I at finding me here--he had supposed I had changed myname after the divorce, and that Mrs. MacGlowrie, Laurel Spring, was hiscousin's widow. When he found out who I was he was eager to see meand agree upon a mutual silence while he was here. He thought only ofhimself, " she added scornfully, "and Colonel Starbottle's recognitionof him that night as the convicted swindler was enough to put him toflight. "

"And the colonel never suspected that you were his wife?" said Blair. 

"Never! He supposed from the name that he was some relation of myhusband, and that was why he refused to tell it--for my sake. Thecolonel is an old fogy--and pompous--but a gentleman--as good as theymake them!"

A slightly jealous uneasiness and a greater sense of shame came overBlair. 

"I seem to have been the only one who suspected and did not aid you, " hesaid sadly, "and yet God knows"--

The widow had put up her slim hand in half-smiling, half-patheticinterruption. 

"Wait! I have not told you everything. When I took over theresponsibility of being Allen MacGlowrie's widow, I had to take overHER relations and HER history as I gathered it from the frontiersmen. Inever frightened any grizzly--I never jabbed anybody with the scissors;it was SHE who did it. I never was among the Injins--I never had anyfighting relations; my paw was a plain farmer. I was only a peacefulBlue Grass girl--there! I never thought there was any harm in it; itseemed to keep the men off, and leave me free--until I knew you! And youknow I didn't want you to believe it--don't you?"

She hid her flushed face and dimples in her handkerchief. 

"But did you never think there might be another way to keep the men off, and sink the name of MacGlowrie forever?" said Blair in a lower voice. 

"I think we must be going back now, " said the widow timidly, withdrawingher hand, which Blair had again mysteriously got possession of in herconfusion. 

"But wait just a few minutes longer to keep me company, " said Blairpleadingly. "I came here to see a patient, and as there must have beensome mistake in the message--I must try to discover it. "

"Oh! Is that all?" said the widow quickly. "Why?"--she flushed again andlaughed faintly--"Well! I am that patient! I wanted to see you alone toexplain everything, and I could think of no other way. I'm afraid I'vegot into the habit of thinking nothing of being somebody else. "

"I wish you would let me select who you should be, " said the doctorboldly. 

"We really must go back--to the horses, " said the widow. 

"Agreed--if we will ride home together. "

They did. And before the year was over, although they both remained, thename of MacGlowrie had passed out of Laurel Spring. 

A WARD OF COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S

"The kernel seems a little off color to-day, " said the barkeeper ashe replaced the whiskey decanter, and gazed reflectively after thedeparting figure of Colonel Starbottle. 

"I didn't notice anything, " said a bystander; "he passed the time o' daycivil enough to me. "

"Oh, he's allus polite enough to strangers and wimmin folk even when heis that way; it's only his old chums, or them ez like to be thought so, that he's peppery with. Why, ez to that, after he'd had that quo'll withhis old partner, Judge Pratt, in one o' them spells, I saw him the nextminit go half a block out of his way to direct an entire stranger; andez for wimmin!--well, I reckon if he'd just got a head drawn on a man, and a woman spoke to him, he'd drop his battery and take off his hat toher. No--ye can't judge by that!"

And perhaps in his larger experience the barkeeper was right. He mighthave added, too, that the colonel, in his general outward bearing andjauntiness, gave no indication of his internal irritation. Yet he wasundoubtedly in one of his "spells, " suffering from a moody cynicismwhich made him as susceptible of affront as he was dangerous inresentment. 

Luckily, on this particular morning he reached his office and enteredhis private room without any serious rencontre. Here he opened his desk, and arranging his papers, he at once set to work with grim persistency. He had not been occupied for many minutes before the door opened to Mr. Pyecroft--one of a firm of attorneys who undertook the colonel's officework. 

"I see you are early to work, Colonel, " said Mr. Pyecroft cheerfully. 

"You see, sir, " said the colonel, correcting him with a slowdeliberation that boded no good--"you see a Southern gentleman--blankit!--who has stood at the head of his profession for thirty-five years, obliged to work like a blank nigger, sir, in the dirty squabbles ofpsalm-singing Yankee traders, instead of--er--attending to the affairsof--er--legislation!"

"But you manage to get pretty good fees out of it--Colonel?" continuedPyecroft, with a laugh. 

"Fees, sir! Filthy shekels! and barely enough to satisfy a debt ofhonor with one hand, and wipe out a tavern score for the entertainmentof--er--a few lady friends with the other!"

This allusion to his losses at poker, as well as an oyster suppergiven to the two principal actresses of the "North Star Troupe, " thenperforming in the town, convinced Mr. Pyecroft that the colonel was inone of his "moods, " and he changed the subject. 

"That reminds me of a little joke that happened in Sacramento last week. You remember Dick Stannard, who died a year ago--one of your friends?"

"I have yet to learn, " interrupted the colonel, with the same deadlydeliberation, "what right HE--or ANYBODY--had to intimate that heheld such a relationship with me. Am I to understand, sir, thathe--er--publicly boasted of it?"

"Don't know!" resumed Pyecroft hastily; "but it don't matter, for if hewasn't a friend it only makes the joke bigger. Well, his widow didn'tsurvive him long, but died in the States t'other day, leavin' theproperty in Sacramento--worth about three thousand dollars--toher little girl, who is at school at Santa Clara. The question ofguardianship came up, and it appears that the widow--who only knew youthrough her husband--had, some time before her death, mentioned YOURname in that connection! He! he!"

"What!" said Colonel Starbottle, starting up. 

"Hold on!" said Pyecroft hilariously. "That isn't all! Neither theexecutors nor the probate judge knew you from Adam, and the Sacramentobar, scenting a good joke, lay low and said nothing. Then the old fooljudge said that 'as you appeared to be a lawyer, a man of mature years, and a friend of the family, you were an eminently fit person, and oughtto be communicated with'--you know his hifalutin' style. Nobody saysanything. So that the next thing you'll know you'll get a letter fromthat executor asking you to look after that kid. Ha! ha! The boys saidthey could fancy they saw you trotting around with a ten year old girlholding on to your hand, and the Senorita Dolores or Miss Bellamontlooking on! Or your being called away from a poker deal some night bythe infant, singing, 'Gardy, dear gardy, come home with me now, theclock in the steeple strikes one!' And think of that old fool judge notknowing you! Ha! ha!"

A study of Colonel Starbottle's face during this speech would havepuzzled a better physiognomist than Mr. Pyecroft. His first look ofastonishment gave way to an empurpled confusion, from which a singleshort Silenus-like chuckle escaped, but this quickly changed again intoa dull coppery indignation, and, as Pyecroft's laugh continued, fadedout into a sallow rigidity in which his murky eyes alone seemed to keepwhat was left of his previous high color. But what was more singular, in spite of his enforced calm, something of his habitual old-fashionedloftiness and oratorical exaltation appeared to be returning to him ashe placed his hand on his inflated breast and faced Pyceroft. 

"The ignorance of the executor of Mrs. Stannard and the--er--probatejudge, " he began slowly, "may be pardonable, Mr. Pyecroft, since hisHonor would imply that, although unknown to HIM personally, I am atleast amicus curiae in this question of--er--guardianship. But I amgrieved--indeed I may say shocked--Mr. Pyecroft, that the--er--lastsacred trust of a dying widow--perhaps the holiest trust that canbe conceived by man--the care and welfare of her helpless orphanedgirl--should be made the subject of mirth, sir, by yourself and themembers of the Sacramento bar! I shall not allude, sir, to my ownfeelings in regard to Dick Stannard, one of my most cherished friends, "continued the colonel, in a voice charged with emotion, "but I canconceive of no nobler trust laid upon the altar of friendship than thecare and guidance of his orphaned girl! And if, as you tell me, theutterly inadequate sum of three thousand dollars is all that is left forher maintenance through life, the selection of a guardian sufficientlydevoted to the family to be willing to augment that pittance out of hisown means from time to time would seem to be most important. "

Before the astounded Pyecroft could recover himself, Colonel Starbottleleaned back in his chair, half closing his eyes, and abandoned himself, quite after his old manner, to one of his dreamy reminiscences. 

"Poor Dick Stannard! I have a vivid recollection, sir, of driving outwith him on the Shell Road at New Orleans in '54, and of his saying, 'Star'--the only man, sir, who ever abbreviated my name--'Star, ifanything happens to me or her, look after our child! It was during thatvery drive, sir, that, through his incautious neglect to fortify himselfagainst the swampy malaria by a glass of straight Bourbon with a pinchof bark in it, he caught that fever which undermined his constitution. Thank you, Mr. Pyecroft, for--er--recalling the circumstance. I shall, "continued the colonel, suddenly abandoning reminiscence, sitting up, andarranging his papers, "look forward with great interest to--er--letterfrom the executor. "

The next day it was universally understood that Colonel Starbottlehad been appointed guardian of Pansy Stannard by the probate judge ofSacramento. 

There are of record two distinct accounts of Colonel Starbottle's firstmeeting with his ward after his appointment as her guardian. One, givenby himself, varying slightly at times, but always bearing unvaryingcompliment to the grace, beauty, and singular accomplishments of thisapparently gifted child, was nevertheless characterized more by vague, dreamy reminiscences of the departed parents than by any personalexperience of the daughter. 

"I found the young lady, sir, " he remarked to Mr. Pyecroft, "recalling my cherished friend Stannard in--er--form and features, and--although--er--personally unacquainted with her deceased mother--whobelonged, sir, to one of the first families of Virginia--I am told thatshe is--er--remarkably like her. Miss Stannard is at present a pupil inone of the best educational establishments in Santa Clara, where she isreceiving tuition in--er--the English classics, foreign belleslettres, embroidery, the harp, and--er--the use of the--er--globes, and--er--blackboard--under the most fastidious care, and my own personalsupervision. The principal of the school, Miss Eudoxia Tish--associatedwith--er--er--Miss Prinkwell--is--er--remarkably gifted woman; and asI was present at one of the school exercises, I had the opportunity oftestifying to her excellence in--er--short address I made to the youngladies. " From such glittering but unsatisfying generalities as theseI prefer to turn to the real interview, gathered from contemporarywitnesses. 

It was the usual cloudless, dazzling, Californian summer day, temperedwith the asperity of the northwest trades that Miss Tish, lookingthrough her window towards the rose-embowered gateway of the seminary, saw an extraordinary figure advancing up the avenue. It was that ofa man slightly past middle age, yet erect and jaunty, whose costumerecalled the early water-color portraits of her own youthful days. Histightly buttoned blue frock coat with gilt buttons was opened far enoughacross the chest to allow the expanding of a frilled shirt, black stock, and nankeen waistcoat, and his immaculate white trousers were smartlystrapped over his smart varnished boots. A white bell-crowned hat, carried in his hand to permit the wiping of his forehead with a silkhandkerchief, and a gold-headed walking stick hooked over his arm, completed this singular equipment. He was followed, a few paces in therear, by a negro carrying an enormous bouquet, and a number of smallboxes and parcels tied up with ribbons. As the figure paused before thedoor, Miss Tish gasped, and cast a quick restraining glance around theclassroom. But it was too late; a dozen pairs of blue, black, round, inquiring, or mischievous eyes were already dancing and gloating overthe bizarre stranger through the window. 

"A cirkiss--or nigger minstrels--sure as you're born!" said Mary Frost, aged nine, in a fierce whisper. 

"No!--a agent from 'The Emporium, ' with samples, " returned Miss Briggs, aged fourteen. 

"Young ladies, attend to your studies, " said Miss Tish, as the servantbrought in a card. Miss Tish glanced at it with some nervousness, andread to herself, "Colonel Culpeper Starbottle, " engraved in script, andbelow it in pencil, "To see Miss Pansy Stannard, under favor of MissTish. " Rising with some perturbation, Miss Tish hurriedly intrustedthe class to an assistant, and descended to the reception room. She hadnever seen Pansy's guardian before (the executor had brought the child);and this extraordinary creature, whose visit she could not deny, mightbe ruinous to school discipline. It was therefore with an extra degreeof frigidity of demeanor that she threw open the door of the receptionroom, and entered majestically. But to her utter astonishment, thecolonel met her with a bow so stately, so ceremonious, and so commandingthat she stopped, disarmed and speechless. 

"I need not ask if I am addressing Miss Tish, " said the colonel loftily, "for without having the pleasure of--er--previous acquaintance, I canat once recognize the--er--Lady Superior and--er--chatelaine ofthis--er--establishment. " Miss Tish here gave way to a slight cough andan embarrassed curtsy, as the colonel, with a wave of his white handtowards the burden carried by his follower, resumed more lightly: "Ihave brought--er--few trifles and gewgaws for my ward--subject, ofcourse, to your rules and discretion. They include some--er--dainties, free from any deleterious substance, as I am informed--a sash--a ribbonor two for the hair, gloves, mittens, and a nosegay--from which, Itrust, it will be HER pleasure, as it is my own, to invite you to cullsuch blossoms as may suit your taste. Boy, you may set them down andretire!"

"At the present moment, " stammered Miss Tish, "Miss Stannard is engagedon her lessons. But"--She stopped again, hopelessly. 

"I see, " said the colonel, with an air of playful, poeticalreminiscence--"her lessons! Certainly!

 'We will--er--go to our places, With smiles on our faces, And say all our lessons distinctly and slow. '

Certainly! Not for worlds would I interrupt them; until they are done, we will--er--walk through the classrooms and inspect"--

"No! no!" interrupted the horrified, principal, with a dreadfulpresentiment of the appalling effect of the colonel's entry upon theclass. "No!--that is--I mean--our rules exclude--except on days ofpublic examination"--

"Say no more, my dear madam, " said the colonel politely. "Until she isfree I will stroll outside, through--er--the groves of the Academus"--

But Miss Tish, equally alarmed at the diversion this would create at theclassroom windows, recalled herself with an effort. "Please wait herea moment, " she said hurriedly; "I will bring her down;" and before thecolonel could politely open the door for her, she had fled. 

Happily unconscious of the sensation he had caused, Colonel Starbottleseated himself on the sofa, his white hands resting easily on thegold-headed cane. Once or twice the door behind him opened and closedquietly, scarcely disturbing him; or again opened more ostentatiouslyto the words, "Oh, excuse, please, " and the brief glimpse of a flaxenbraid, or a black curly head--to all of which the colonel noddedpolitely--even rising later to the apparition of a taller, demure younglady--and her more affected "Really, I beg your pardon!" The only resultof this evident curiosity was slightly to change the colonel's attitude, so as to enable him to put his other hand in his breast in his favoritepose. But presently he was conscious of a more active movement in thehall, of the sounds of scuffling, of a high youthful voice saying "Iwon't" and "I shan't!" of the door opening to a momentary apparition ofMiss Tish dragging a small hand and half of a small black-ribboned arminto the room, and her rapid disappearance again, apparently pulled backby the little hand and arm; of another and longer pause, of a whisperedconference outside, and then the reappearance of Miss Tish majestically, reinforced and supported by the grim presence of her partner, MissPrinkwell. 

"This--er--unexpected visit, " began Miss Tish--"not previously arrangedby letter"--

"Which is an invariable rule of our establishment, " supplemented MissPrinkwell--

"And the fact that you are personally unknown to us, " continued MissTish--

"An ignorance shared by the child, who exhibits a distaste for aninterview, " interpolated Miss Prinkwell, in a kind of antiphonalresponse--

"For which we have had no time to prepare her, " continued Miss Tish--

"Compels us most reluctantly"--But here she stopped short. ColonelStarbottle, who had risen with a deep bow at their entrance and remainedstanding, here walked quietly towards them. His usually high colorhad faded except from his eyes, but his exalted manner was still morepronounced, with a dreadful deliberation superadded. 

"I believe--er--I had--the honah--to send up my kyard!" (In his suprememoments the colonel's Southern accent was always in evidence. ) "Imay--er--be mistaken--but--er--that is my impression. " The colonelpaused, and placed his right hand statuesquely on his heart. 

The two women trembled--Miss Tish fancied the very shirt frill of thecolonel was majestically erecting itself--as they stammered in onevoice, --

"Ye-e-es!"

"That kyard contained my full name--with a request to see my ward--MissStannard, " continued the colonel slowly. "I believe that is the fact. "

"Certainly! certainly!" gasped the women feebly. 

"Then may I--er--point out to you that I AM--er--WAITING?"

Although nothing could exceed the laborious simplicity and huskysweetness of the colonel's utterance, it appeared to demoralize utterlyhis two hearers--Miss Prinkwell seemed to fade into the pattern of thewall paper, Miss Tish to droop submissively forward like a pink waxcandle in the rays of the burning sun. 

"We will bring her instantly. A thousand pardons, sir, " they uttered inthe same breath, backing towards the door. 

But here the unexpected intervened. Unnoticed by the three during thecolloquy, a little figure in a black dress had peeped through the door, and then glided into the room. It was a girl of about ten, who, in allcandor, could scarcely be called pretty, although the awkward change ofadolescence had not destroyed the delicate proportions of her hands andfeet nor the beauty of her brown eyes. These were, just then, round andwondering, and fixed alternately on the colonel and the two women. Butlike many other round and wondering eyes, they had taken in the fullmeaning of the situation, with a quickness the adult mind is not apt togive them credit for. They saw the complete and utter subjugation ofthe two supreme autocrats of the school, and, I grieve to say, they werefilled with a secret and "fearful joy. " But the casual spectator sawnone of this; the round and wondering eyes, still rimmed with recent andrecalcitrant tears, only looked big and innocently shining. 

The relief of the two women was sudden and unaffected. 

"Oh, here you are, dearest, at last!" said Miss Tish eagerly. "This isyour guardian, Colonel Starbottle. Come to him, dear!"

She took the hand of the child, who hung back with an odd mingling ofshamefacedness and resentment of the interference, when the voice ofColonel Starbottle, in the same deadly calm deliberation, said, --

"I--er--will speak with her--alone. "

The round eyes again saw the complete collapse of authority, as the twowomen shrank back from the voice, and said hurriedly, --

"Certainly, Colonel Starbottle; perhaps it would be better, " andingloriously quitted the room. 

But the colonel's triumph left him helpless. He was alone with asimple child, an unprecedented, unheard-of situation, which left himembarrassed and--speechless. Even his vanity was conscious that hisoratorical periods, his methods, his very attitude, were powerless here. The perspiration stood out on his forehead; he looked at her vaguely, and essayed a feeble smile. The child saw his embarrassment, even asshe had seen and understood his triumph, and the small woman within herexulted. She put her little hands on her waist, and with the fingersturned downwards and outwards pressed them down her hips to her bendedknees until they had forced her skirts into an egregious fullness beforeand behind, as if she were making a curtsy, and then jumped up andlaughed. 

"You did it! Hooray!"

"Did what?" said the colonel, pleased yet mystified. 

"Frightened 'em!--the two old cats! Frightened 'em outen their slippers!Oh, jiminy! Never, never, NEVER before was they so skeert! Never sinceschool kept did they have to crawl like that! They was skeert enoughFIRST when you come, but just now!--Lordy! They wasn't a-goin' to letyou see me--but they had to! had to! HAD TO!" and she emphasized eachrepetition with a skip. 

"I believe--er, " said the colonel blandly, "that I--er--intimated withsome firmness"--

"That's it--just it!" interrupted the child delightedly. "You--you--overdid 'em"

"What?"

"OVERDID 'EM! Don't you know? They're always so high and mighty! Kinder'Don't tech me. My mother's an angel; my father's a king'--all that sortof thing. They did THIS"--she drew herself up in a presumable imitationof the two women's majestic entrance--"and then, " she continued, "you--YOU jest did this"--here she lifted her chin, and puffing out hersmall chest, strode towards the colonel in evident simulation of hisgrandest manner. 

A short, deep chuckle escaped him--although the next moment his facebecame serious again. But Pansy in the mean time had taken possession ofhis coat sleeve and was rubbing her cheek against it like a young colt. At which the colonel succumbed feebly and sat down on the sofa, thechild standing beside him, leaning over and transferring her littlehands to the lapels of his frock coat, which she essayed to button overhis chest as she looked into his murky eyes. 

"The other girls said, " she began, tugging at the button, "that you wasa 'cirkiss'"--another tug--"'a nigger minstrel'"--and a third tug--"'aagent with samples'--but that showed all they knew!"

"Ah, " said the colonel with exaggerated blandness, "and--er--what didYOU--er--say?"

The child smiled. "I said you was a Stuffed Donkey--but that was BEFOREI knew you. I was a little skeert too; but NOW"--she succeeded inbuttoning the coat and making the colonel quite apoplectic, --"NOW Iain't frightened one bit--no, not one TINY bit! But, " she added, after apause, unbuttoning the coat again and smoothing down the lapels betweenher fingers, "you're to keep on frightening the old cats--mind! Nevermind about the GIRLS. I'll tell them. "

The colonel would have given worlds to be able to struggle up into anupright position with suitable oral expression. Not that his vanity wasat all wounded by these irresponsible epithets, which only excited anamused wonder, but he was conscious of an embarrassed pleasure in thechild's caressing familiarity, and her perfect trustfulness in himtouched his extravagant chivalry. He ought to protect her, and yetcorrect her. In the consciousness of these duties he laid his white handupon her head. Alas! she lifted her arm and instantly transferred hishand and part of his arm around her neck and shoulders, and comfortablysnuggled against him. The colonel gasped. Nevertheless, something mustbe said, and he began, albeit somewhat crippled in delivery:--

"The--er--use of elegant and precise language by--er--young ladiescannot be too sedulously cultivated"--

But here the child laughed, and snuggling still closer, gurgled: "That'sright! Give it to her when she comes down! That's the style!" andthe colonel stopped, discomfited. Nevertheless, there was a certainwholesome glow in the contact of this nestling little figure. 

Presently he resumed tentativery: "I have--er--brought you a fewdainties. "

"Yes, " said Pansy, "I see; but they're from the wrong shop, you dear oldsilly! They're from Tomkins's, and we girls just abominate his things. You oughter have gone to Emmons's. Never mind. I'll show you when we goout. We're going out, aren't we?" she said suddenly, lifting her headanxiously. "You know it's allowed, and it's RIGHTS 'to parents andguardians'!"

"Certainly, certainly, " said the colonel. He knew he would feel a littleless constrained in the open air. 

"Then we'll go now, " said Pansy, jumping up. "I'll just run upstairs andput on my things. I'll say it's 'orders' from you. And I'll wear my newfrock--it's longer. " (The colonel was slightly relieved at this; it hadseemed to him, as a guardian, that there was perhaps an abnormal displayof Pansy's black stockings. ) "You wait; I won't be long. "

She darted to the door, but reaching it, suddenly stopped, returned tothe sofa, where the colonel still sat, imprinted a swift kiss on hismottled cheek, and fled, leaving him invested with a mingled flavorof freshly ironed muslin, wintergreen lozenges, and recent bread andbutter. He sat still for some time, staring out of the window. It wasvery quiet in the room; a bumblebee blundered from the jasmine outsideinto the open window, and snored loudly at the panes. But the colonelheeded it not, and remained abstracted and silent until the door openedto Miss Tish and Pansy--in her best frock and sash, at which the colonelstarted and became erect again and courtly. 

"I am about to take my ward out, " he said deliberately, "to--er--taste the air in the Alameda, and--er--view the shops. Wemay--er--also--indulge in--er--slight suitable refreshment;--er--seedcake--or--bread and butter--and--a dish of tea. "

Miss Tish, now thoroughly subdued, was delighted to grant Miss Stannardthe half holiday permitted on such occasions. She begged the colonel tosuit his own pleasure, and intrusted "the dear child" to her guardian"with the greatest confidence. "

The colonel made a low bow, and Pansy, demurely slipping her handinto his, passed with him into the hall; there was a slight rustle ofvanishing skirts, and Pansy pressed his hand significantly. When theywere well outside, she said, in a lower voice:--

"Don't look up until we're under the gymnasium windows. " The colonel, mystified but obedient, strutted on. "Now!" said Pansy. He looked up, beheld the windows aglow with bright young faces, and bewildering withmany handkerchiefs and clapping hands, stopped, and then taking off hishat, acknowledged the salute with a sweeping bow. Pansy was delighted. "I knew they'd be there; I'd already fixed 'em. They're just dyin' toknow you. "

The colonel felt a certain glow of pleasure, "I--er--had alreadyintimated a--er--willingness to--er--inspect the classes;but--I--er--understood that the rules"--

"They're sick old rules, " interrupted the child. "Tish and Prinkwell arethe rules! You say just right out that you WILL! Just overdo her!"

The colonel had a vague sense that he ought to correct both the spiritand language of this insurrectionary speech, but Pansy pulled him along, and then swept him quite away with a torrent of prattle of the school, of her friends, of the teachers, of her life and its infinitely smallmiseries and pleasures. Pansy was voluble; never before had thecolonel found himself relegated to the place of a passive listener. Nevertheless, he liked it, and as they passed on, under the shade ofthe Alameda, with Pansy alternately swinging from his hand and skippingbeside him, there was a vague smile of satisfaction on his face. Passers-by turned to look after the strangely assorted pair, or smiled, accepting them, as the colonel fancied, as father and daughter. An oddfeeling, half of pain and half of pleasure, gripped at the heart of theempty and childless man. 

And now, as they approached the more crowded thoroughfares, theinstinct of chivalrous protection was keen in his breast. He piloted herskillfully; he jauntily suited his own to her skipping step; he liftedher with scrupulous politeness over obstacles; strutting beside her oncrowded pavements, he made way for her with his swinging stick. Allthe while, too, he had taken note of the easy carriage of her head andshoulders, and most of all of her small, slim feet and hands, that, tohis fastidious taste, betokened her race. "Ged, sir, " he mutteredto himself, "she's 'Blue Grass' stock, all through. " To admirationsucceeded pride, with a slight touch of ownership. When they went intoa shop, which, thanks to the ingenuous Pansy, they did pretty often, he would introduce her with a wave of the hand and the remark, "Iam--er--seeking nothing to-day, but if you will kindly--er--serve myWARD--Miss Stannard!" Later, when they went into the confectioner's forrefreshment, and Pansy frankly declared for "ice cream and cream cakes, "instead of the "dish of tea and bread and butter" he had ordered inpursuance of his promise, he heroically took it himself--to satisfyhis honor. Indeed, I know of no more sublime figure than ColonelStarbottle--rising superior to a long-withstood craving for a"cocktail, " morbidly conscious also of the ridiculousness of hisappearance to any of his old associates who might see him--drinkingluke-warm tea and pecking feebly at his bread and butter at a smalltable, beside his little tyrant. 

And this domination of the helpless continued on their way home. Although Miss Pansy no longer talked of herself, she was equallyvoluble in inquiry as to the colonel's habits, ways of life, friendsand acquaintances, happily restricting her interrogations, in regard tothose of her own sex, to "any LITTLE girls that he knew. " Saved by thisexonerating adjective, the colonel saw here a chance to indulgehis postponed monitorial duty, as well as his vivid imagination. Heaccordingly drew elaborate pictures of impossible children he hadknown--creatures precise in language and dress, abstinent of play andconfectionery, devoted to lessons and duties, and otherwise, in Pansy'sown words, "loathsome to the last degree!" As "daughters of oldestand most cherished friends, " they might perhaps have excited Pansy'schildish jealousy but for the singular fact that they had all long agobeen rewarded by marriage with senators, judges, and generals--alsoassociates of the colonel. This remoteness of presence somewhat marredtheir effect as an example, and the colonel was mortified, though notentirely displeased, to observe that their surprising virtues did notdestroy Pansy's voracity for sweets, the recklessness of her skipping, nor the freedom of her language. The colonel was remorseful--but happy. 

When they reached the seminary again, Pansy retired with her variouspurchases, but reappeared after an interval with Miss Tish. 

"I remember, " hesitated that lady, trembling under the fascination ofthe colonel's profound bow, "that you were anxious to look over theschool, and although it was not possible then, I shall be glad to showyou now through one of the classrooms. "

The colonel, glancing at Pansy, was momentarily shocked by a distortionof one side of her face, which seemed, however, to end in a wink of herinnocent brown eyes, but recovering himself, gallantly expressed hisgratitude. The next moment he was ascending the stairs, side by sidewith Miss Tish, and had a distinct impression that he had been pinchedin the calf by Pansy, who was following close behind. 

It was recess, but the large classroom was quite filled with pupils, many of them older and prettier girls, inveigled there, as it afterwardsappeared, by Pansy, in some precocious presentiment of her guardian'staste. The colonel's apologetic yet gallant bow on entering, and hiserect, old-fashioned elegance, instantly took their delighted attention. Indeed, all would have gone well had not Miss Prinkwell, with the viewof impressing the colonel as well as her pupils, majestically introducedhim as "a distinguished jurist deeply interested in the cause ofeducation, as well as guardian of their fellow pupil. " That opportunitywas not thrown away on Colonel Starbottle. 

Stepping up to the desk of the astounded principal, he laid the pointsof his fingers delicately upon it, and, with a preparatory inclinationof his head towards her, placed his other hand in his breast, and withan invocatory glance at the ceiling, began. 

It was the colonel's habit at such moments to state at first, with greatcare and precision, the things that he "would not say, " that he "NEEDnot say, " and apparently that it was absolutely unnecessary even toallude to. It was therefore, not strange that the colonel informed themthat he need not say that he counted his present privilege amongthe highest that had been granted him; for besides the privilege ofbeholding the galaxy of youthful talent and excellence before him, besides the privilege of being surrounded by a garland of the blossomsof the school in all their freshness and beauty, it was well understoodthat he had the greater privilege of--er--standing in loco parentis toone of these blossoms. It was not for him to allude to the high trustimposed upon him by--er--deceased and cherished friend, and daughter ofone of the first families of Virginia, by the side of one who must feelthat she was the recipient of trusts equally supreme (here the colonelpaused, and statuesquely regarded the alarmed Miss Prinkwell as if hewere in doubt of it), but he would say that it should be HIS devotedmission to champion the rights of the orphaned and innocent whenever andwherever the occasion arose, against all odds, and even in the face ofmisguided authority. (Having left the impression that Miss Prinkwellcontemplated an invasion of those rights, the colonel became morelenient and genial. ) He fully recognized her high and noble office; hesaw in her the worthy successor of those two famous instructresses ofAthens--those Greek ladies--er--whose names had escaped his memory, but which--er--no doubt Miss Prinkwell would be glad to recall to herpupils, with some account of their lives. (Miss Prinkwell colored; shehad never heard of them before, and even the delight of the class in thecolonel's triumph was a little dampened by this prospect of hearing moreabout them. ) But the colonel was only too content with seeing before himthese bright and beautiful faces, destined, as he firmly believed, inafter years to lend their charm and effulgence to the highestplaces as the happy helpmeets of the greatest in the land. Hewas--er--leaving a--er--slight testimonial of his regard in the formof some--er--innocent refreshments in the hands of his ward, whowould--er--act as--er--his proxy in their distribution; and thecolonel sat down to the flutter of handkerchiefs, an applause only halfrestrained, and the utter demoralization of Miss Prinkwell. 

But the time of his departure had come by this time, and he was tooexperienced a public man to risk the possibility of an anticlimax byprotracting his leave-taking. And in an ominous shining of Pansy's bigeyes as the time approached he felt an embarrassment as perplexing asthe odd presentiment of loneliness that was creeping over him. Butwith an elaborate caution as to the dangers of self-indulgence, and theprivate bestowal of a large gold piece slipped into her hand, a promiseto come again soon, and an exaction that she would write to him often, the colonel received in return a wet kiss, a great deal of wet cheekpressed against his own, and a momentary tender clinging, like thatwhich attends the pulling up of some small flower, as he passed outinto the porch. In the hall, on the landing above him, there was a closepacking of brief skirts against the railing, and a voice, apparentlyproceeding from a pair of very small mottled legs protruding through thebalusters, said distinctly, "Free cheers for Ternel Tarbottle!" And tothis benediction the colonel, hat in hand, passed out of this Eden intothe world again. 

The colonel's next visit to the seminary did not produce the samesensation as the first, although it was accompanied with equaldisturbance to the fair principals. Had he been a less conceited man hemight have noticed that their antagonism, although held in restraint bytheir wholesome fear of him, was in danger of becoming more a convictionthan a mere suspicion. He was made aware of it through Pansy'sresentment towards them, and her revelation of a certain inquisitionthat she had been subjected to in regard to his occupation, habits, andacquaintances. Naturally of these things Pansy knew very little, butthis had not prevented her from saying a great deal. There had beenenough in her questioners' manner to make her suspect that her guardianwas being attacked, and to his defense she brought the mendacityand imagination of a clever child. What she had really said did nottranspire except through her own comments to the colonel: "And of courseyou've killed people--for you're a kernel, you know?" (Here the coloneladmitted, as a point of fact, that he had served in the Mexican war. )"And you kin PREACH, for they heard you do it when you was here before, "she added confidently; "and of course you own niggers--for there's'Jim. '" (The colonel here attempted to explain that Jim, being in a freeState, was now a free man, but Pansy swept away such fine distinctions. )"And you're rich, you know, for you gave me that ten-dollar gold pieceall for myself. So I jest gave 'em as good as they sent--the old spiesand curiosity shops!" The colonel, more pleased at Pansy's devotion thanconcerned over the incident itself, accepted this interpretation of hischaracter as a munificent, militant priest with a smiling protest. But alater incident caused him to remember it more seriously. 

They had taken their usual stroll through the Alameda, and had made theround of the shops, where the colonel had exhibited his usual liberalityof purchase and his exalted parental protection, and so had passed on totheir usual refreshment at the confectioner's, the usual ices and cakesfor Pansy, but this time--a concession also to the tyrant Pansy--a glassof lemon soda and a biscuit for the colonel. He was coughing over hisunaccustomed beverage, and Pansy, her equanimity and volubility restoredby sweets, was chirruping at his side; the large saloon was filling upwith customers--mainly ladies and children, embarrassing to him asthe only man present, when suddenly Pansy's attention was divertedby another arrival. It was a good-looking young woman, overdressed, striking, and self-conscious, who, with an air of one who was in thehabit of challenging attention, affectedly seated herself with a malecompanion at an empty table, and began to pull off an overtight glove. 

"My!" said Pansy in admiring wonder, "ain't she fine?"

Colonel Starbottle looked up abstractedly, but at the first glancehis face flushed redly, deepened to a purple, and then became gray andstern. He had recognized in the garish fair one Miss Flora Montague, the"Western Star of Terpsichore and Song, " with whom he had supped a fewdays before at Sacramento. The lady was "on tour" with her "Combinationtroupe. "

The colonel leaned over and fixed his murky eyes on Pansy. "The roomis filling up; the place is stifling; I must--er--request youto--er--hurry. "

There was a change in the colonel's manner, which the quick-wittedchild heeded. But she had not associated it with the entrance of thestrangers, and as she obediently gulped down her ice, she went oninnocently, --

"That fine lady's smilin' and lookin' over here. Seems to know you; sodoes the man with her. "

"I--er--must request you, " said the colonel, with husky precision, "NOTto look that way, but finish your--er--repast. "

His tone was so decided that the child's lips pouted, but before shecould speak a shadow leaned over their table. It was the companion ofthe "fine lady. "

"Don't seem to see us, Colonel, " he said with coarse familiarity, layinghis hand on the colonel's shoulder. "Florry wants to know what's up. "

The colonel rose at the touch. "Tell her, sir, " he said huskily, butwith slow deliberation, "that I 'am up' and leaving this place withmy ward, Miss Stannard. Good-morning. " He lifted Pansy with infinitecourtesy from her chair, took her hand, strolled to the counter, threwdown a gold piece, and passing the table of the astonished fair one withan inflated breast, swept with Pansy out of the shop. In the street hepaused, bidding the child go on; and then, finding he was not followedby the woman's escort, rejoined his little companion. 

For a few moments they walked silently side by side. Then Pansy'scuriosity, getting the better of her pout, demanded information. She hadapplied a child's swift logic to the scene. The colonel was angry, andhad punished the woman for something. She drew closer to his side, andlooking up with her big eyes, said confidentially. 

"What had she been a-doing?"

The colonel was amazed, embarrassed, and speechless. He was totallyunprepared for the question, and as unable to answer it. His abruptdeparture from the shop had been to evade the very truth now demanded ofhim. Only a supreme effort of mendacity was left him. He wiped his browwith his handkerchief, coughed, and began deliberately:--

"The--er--lady in question is in the habit of using a scentcalled--er--patchouli, a--er--perfume exceedingly distressing to me. I detected it instantly on her entrance. I wished to avoid it--withoutfurther contact. It is--er--singular but accepted fact that some peopleare--er--peculiarly affected by odors. I had--er--old cherished friendwho always--er--fainted at the odor of jasmine; and I was intimatelyacquainted with General Bludyer, who--er--dropped like a shot on thepresentation of a simple violet. The--er--habit of using such perfumesexcessively in public, " continued the colonel, looking down upon theinnocent Pansy, and speaking in tones of deadly deliberation, "cannot betoo greatly condemned, as well as the habit of--er--frequentingplaces of public resort in extravagant costumes, with--er--individualswho--er--intrude upon domestic privacy. I trust you will eschew suchperfumes, places, costumes, and--er--companions FOREVER and--ON ALLOCCASIONS!" The colonel had raised his voice to his forensic emphasis, and Pansy, somewhat alarmed, assented. Whether she entirely accepted thecolonel's explanation was another matter. 

The incident, although not again alluded to, seemed to shadow therest of their brief afternoon holiday, and the colonel's manner wasunmistakably graver. But it seemed to the child more affectionate andthoughtful. He had previously at parting submitted to be kissed byPansy with stately tolerance and an immediate resumption of his loftiestmanner. On this present leave-taking he laid his straight closely shavenlips on the crown of her dark head, and as her small arms clipped hisneck, drew her closely to his side. The child uttered a slight cry; thecolonel hurriedly put his hand to his breast. Her round cheek hadcome in contact with his derringer--a small weapon of beauty andprecision--which invariably nestled also at his side, in his waistcoatpocket. The child laughed; so did the colonel, but his cheek flushedmightily. 

It was four months later, and a turbulent night. The early rains, driven by a strong southwester against the upper windows of the MagnoliaRestaurant, sometimes blurred the radiance of the bright lights within, and the roar of the encompassing pines at times drowned the soundsof song and laughter that rose from a private supper room. Even theclattering arrival and departure of the Sacramento stage coach, whichdisturbed the depths below, did not affect these upper revelers. ForColonel Starbottle, Jack Hamlin, Judge Beeswinger, and Jo Wynyard, assisted by Mesdames Montague, Montmorency, Bellefield, and "Tinky"Clifford, of the "Western Star Combination Troupe, " then performing "ontour, " were holding "high jinks" in the supper room. The colonel hadbeen of late moody, irritable, and easily upset. In the words of afriend and admirer, "he was kam only at twelve paces. "

In a lull in the general tumult a Chinese waiter was seen at the doorvainly endeavoring to attract the attention of the colonel by signsand interjections. Mr. Hamlin's quick eye first caught sight of theintruder. "Come in, Confucius, " said Jack pleasantly; "you're a triflelate for a regular turn, but any little thing in the way of knifeswallowing"--

"Lill missee to see connle! Waitee waitee, bottom side housee, "interrupted the Chinaman, dividing his speech between Jack and thecolonel. 

"What! ANOTHER lady? This is no place for me!" said Jack, rising withfinely simulated decorum. 

"Ask her up, " chirped "Tinky" Clifford. 

But at this moment the door opened against the Chinaman, and a smallfigure in a cloak and hat, dripping with raindrops, glided swiftly in. After a moment's half-frightened, half-admiring glance at the party, she darted forward with a little cry and threw her wet arms round thecolonel. The rest of the company, arrested in their festivity, gaspedwith vague and smiling wonder; the colonel became purple and gasped. But only for a moment. The next instant he was on his legs, holding thechild with one hand, while with the other he described a stately sweepof the table. 

"My ward--Miss Pansy Stannard, " he said with husky brevity. But drawingthe child aside, he whispered quickly, "What has happened? Why are youhere?"

But Pansy, child-like, already diverted by the lights, the table piledwith delicacies, the gayly dressed women, and the air of festivity, answered half abstractedly, and as much, perhaps, to the curious eyesabout her as to the colonel's voice, --

"I runned away!"

"Hush!" whispered the colonel, aghast. 

But Pansy, responding again to the company rather than her guardian'scounsel, and as if appealing to them, went on half poutingly: "Yes! Irunned away because they teased me! Because they didn't like you andsaid horrid things. Because they told awful, dreadful lies! Because theysaid I wasn't no orphan!--that my name wasn't Stannard, and that you'dmade it all up. Because they said I was a liar--and YOU WAS MY FATHER!"

A sudden outbreak of laughter here shook the room, and even drownedthe storm outside; again and again it rose, as the colonel staggeredgaspingly to his feet. For an instant it seemed as if his struggles torestrain himself would end in an apoplectic fit. Perhaps it was for thisreason that Jack Hamlin checked his own light laugh and became alertand grave. Yet the next moment Colonel Starbottle went as suddenly deadwhite, as leaning over the table he said huskily, but deliberately, "Imust request the ladies present to withdraw. "

"Don't mind US, Colonel, " said Judge Beeswinger, "it's all in the familyhere, you know! And now I look at the girl--hang it all! she DOES favoryou, old man. Ha! ha!"

"And as for the ladies, " said Wynyard with a weak, vinous laugh, "unlessany of 'em is inclined to take the matter as PERSONAL--eh?"

"Stop!" roared the colonel. 

There was no mistaking his voice nor his intent now. The two men, insulted and instantly sobered, were silent. Mr. Hamlin rose, playfullybut determinedly tapped his fair companions on the shoulders, saying, "Run away and play, girls, " actually bundled them, giggling andprotesting, from the room, closed the door, and stood with his backagainst it. Then it was seen that the colonel, still very white, washolding the child by the hand, as she shrank back wonderingly and alittle frightened against him. 

"I thank YOU, Mr. Hamlin, " said the colonel in a lower voice--yet with aslight touch of his habitual stateliness in it, "for being here to bearwitness, in the presence of this child, to my unqualified statement thata more foul, vile, and iniquitous falsehood never was uttered than thatwhich has been poured into her innocent ears!" He paused, walked to thedoor, still holding her hand, and, as Mr. Hamlin stepped aside, openedit, told her to await him in the public parlor, closed the door again, and once more faced the two men. "And, " he continued more deliberately, "for the infamous jests that you, Judge Beeswinger, and you, Mr. Wynyard, have dared to pass in her presence and mine, I shall expectfrom each of you the fullest satisfaction--personal satisfaction. Myseconds will wait on you in the morning!"

The two men stood up sobered--yet belligerent. 

"As you like, sir, " said Beeswinger, flashing. 

"The sooner the better for me, " added Wynyard curtly. 

They passed the unruffled Jack Hamlin with a smile and a vaguelysignificant air, as if calling him as a witness to the colonel'smadness, and strode out of the room. 

As the door closed behind them, Mr. Hamlin lightly settled his whitewaistcoat, and, with his hands on his hips, lounged towards the colonel. "And THEN?" he said quietly. 

"Eh?" said the colonel. 

"After you've shot one or both of these men, or one of 'em has knockedyou out, what's to become of that child?"

"If--I am--er--spared, sir, " said the colonel huskily, "I shall continueto defend her--against calumny and sneers"--

"In this style, eh? After her life has been made a hell by herassociation with a man of your reputation, you propose to whitewash itby a quarrel with a couple of drunken scallawags like Beeswinger andWynyard, in the presence of three painted trollops and a d----d scamplike myself! Do you suppose this won't be blown all over Californiabefore she can be sent back to school? Do you suppose those cacklinghussies in the next room won't give the whole story away to the next manwho stands treat?" (A fine contempt for the sex in general was one ofMr. Hamlin's most subtle attractions for them. )

"Nevertheless, sir, " stammered the colonel, "the prompt punishment ofthe man who has dared"--

"Punishment!" interrupted Hamlin, "who's to punish the man who hasdared most? The one man who is responsible for the whole thing? Who's topunish YOU?"

"Mr. Hamlin--sir!" gasped the colonel, falling back, as his handinvoluntarily rose to the level of his waistcoat pocket and hisderringer. 

But Mr. Hamlin only put down the wine glass he had lifted from the tableand was delicately twirling between his fingers, and looked fixedly atthe colonel. 

"Look here, " he said slowly. "When the boys said that you accepted theguardianship of that child NOT on account of Dick Stannard, but only asa bluff against the joke they'd set up at you, I didn't believe them!When these men and women to-night tumbled to that story of the childbeing YOURS, I didn't believe that! When it was said by others that youwere serious about making her your ward, and giving her your property, because you doted on her like a father, I didn't believe that. "

"And--why not THAT?" said the colonel quickly, yet with an odd tremor inhis voice. 

"Because, " said Hamlin, becoming suddenly as grave as the colonel, "Icould not believe that any one who cared a picayune for the child couldundertake a trust that might bring her into contact with a life andcompany as rotten as ours. I could not believe that even the mostGod-forsaken, conceited fool would, for the sake of a little sentimentalparade and splurge among people outside his regular walk, allow theprospects of that child to be blasted. I couldn't believe it, even ifhe thought he was acting like a father. I didn't believe it--but I'mbeginning to believe it now!"

There was little to choose between the attitudes and expressions of thetwo set stern faces now regarding each other, silently, a foot apart. But the colonel was the first to speak:--

"Mr. Hamlin--sir! You said a moment ago that Iwas--er--ahem--responsible for this evening's affair--but youexpressed a doubt as to who could--er--punish me for it. I accept theresponsibility you have indicated, sir, and offer you that chance. Butas this matter between us must have precedence over--my engagements withthat canaille, I shall expect you with your seconds at sunrise on BurntRidge. Good-evening, sir. "

With head erect the colonel left the room. Mr. Hamlin slightly shruggedhis shoulders, turned to the door of the room whither he had justbanished the ladies, and in a few minutes his voice was heardmelodiously among the gayest. 

For all that he managed to get them away early. When he had bundled theminto a large carryall, and watched them drive away through the storm, he returned for a minute to the waiting room for his overcoat. He wassurprised to hear the sound of the child's voice in the supper room, andthe door being ajar, he could see quite distinctly that she was seatedat the table, with a plate full of sweets before her, while ColonelStarbottle, with his back to the door, was sitting opposite to her, hisshoulders slightly bowed as he eagerly watched her. It seemed to Mr. Hamlin that it was the close of an emotional interview, for Pansy'svoice was broken, partly by sobs, and partly, I grieve to say, by thehurried swallowing of the delicacies before her. Yet, above the beatingof the storm outside, he could hear her saying, --

"Yes! I promise to be good--(sob)--and to go with Mrs. Pyecroft--(sob)--and to try to like another guardian--(sob)--and not tocry any more--(sob)--and--oh, please, DON'T YOU DO IT EITHER!"

But here Mr. Hamlin slipped out of the room and out of the house, witha rather grave face. An hour later, when the colonel drove up to thePyecrofts' door with Pansy, he found that Mr. Pyecroft was slightlyembarrassed, and a figure, which, in the darkness, seemed to resembleMr. Hamlin's, had just emerged from the door as he entered. 

Yet the sun was not up on Burnt Ridge earlier than Mr. Hamlin. The stormof the night before had blown itself out; a few shreds of mist hungin the valleys from the Ridge, that lay above coldly reddening. Then abreeze swept over it, and out of the dissipating mist fringe Mr. Hamlinsaw two black figures, closely buttoned up like himself, emerge, whichhe recognized as Beeswinger and Wynyard, followed by their seconds. But the colonel came not, Hamlin joined the others in an animatedconfidential conversation, attended by a watchful outlook for themissing adversary. Five, ten minutes elapsed, and yet the usually promptcolonel was not there. Mr. Hamlin looked grave; Wynyard and Beeswingerexchanged interrogatory glances. Then a buggy was seen driving furiouslyup the grade, and from it leaped Colonel Starbottle, accompanied by DickMacKinstry, his second, carrying his pistol case. And then--strangelyenough for men who were waiting the coming of an antagonist who was adead shot--they drew a breath of relief!

MacKinstry slightly preceded his principal, and the others could seethat Starbottle, though erect, was walking slowly. They were surprisedalso to observe that he was haggard and hollow eyed, and seemed, in thefew hours that had elapsed since they last saw him, to have aged tenyears. MacKinstry, a tall Kentuckian, saluted, and was the first one tospeak. 

"Colonel Starbottle, " he said formally, "desires to express his regretsat this delay, which was unavoidable, as he was obliged to attendhis ward, who was leaving by the down coach for Sacramento with Mrs. Pyecroft, this morning. " Hamlin, Wynyard, and Beeswinger exchangedglances. "Colonel Starbottle, " continued MacKinstry, turning to hisprincipal, "desires to say a word to Mr. Hamlin. "

As Mr. Hamlin would have advanced from the group, Colonel Starbottlelifted his hand deprecatingly. "What I have to say must be said beforethese gentlemen, " he began slowly. "Mr. Hamlin--sir! when I solicitedthe honor of this meeting I was under a grievous misapprehension of theintent and purpose of your comments on my action last evening. Ithink, " he added, slightly inflating his buttoned-up figure, "thatthe reputation I have always borne in--er--meetings of this kindwill prevent any--er--misunderstanding of my present action--which isto--er--ask permission to withdraw my challenge--and to humbly beg yourpardon. "

The astonishment produced by this unexpected apology, and Mr. Hamlin'sprompt grasp of the colonel's hand, had scarcely passed before thecolonel drew himself up again, and turning to his second said, "And nowI am at the service of Judge Beeswinger and Mr. Wynyard--whichever mayelect to honor me first. "

But the two men thus addressed looked for a moment strangely foolish andembarrassed. Yet the awkwardness was at last broken by Judge Beeswingerfrankly advancing towards the colonel with an outstretched hand. "Wecame here only to apologize, Colonel Starbottle. Without possessing yourreputation and experience in these matters, we still think we can claim, as you have, an equal exemption from any misunderstanding when wesay that we deeply regret our foolish and discourteous conduct lastevening. "

A quick flush mounted to the colonel's haggard cheek as he drew backwith a suspicious glance at Hamlin. 

"Mr. Hamlin!--gentlemen!--if this is--er--!"

But before he could finish his sentence Hamlin had clapped his handon the colonel's shoulder. "You'll take my word, colonel, that thesegentlemen honestly intended to apologize, and came here for thatpurpose;--and--SO DID I--only you anticipated me!"

In the laughter that followed Mr. Hamlin's frankness the colonel'sfeatures relaxed grimly, and he shook the hands of his late possibleantagonists. 

"And now, " said Mr. Hamlin gayly, "you'll all adjourn to breakfast withme--and try to make up for the supper we left unfinished last night. "

It was the only allusion to that interruption and its consequences, forduring the breakfast the colonel said nothing in regard to his ward, and the other guests were discreetly reticent. But Mr. Hamlin was notsatisfied. He managed to get the colonel's servant, Jim, aside, andextracted from the negro that Colonel Starbottle had taken the childthat night to Pyecroft's; that he had had a long interview withPyecroft; had written letters and "walked de flo'" all night; that he(Jim) was glad the child was gone!

"Why?" asked Hamlin, with affected carelessness. 

"She was just makin' de kernel like any o' de low-down No'th'nfolks--keerful, and stingy, and mighty 'fraid o' de opinions o' debiggety people. And fo' what? Jess to strut round wid dat child like hewas her 'spectable go to meeting fader!"

"And was the child sorry to leave him?" asked Hamlin. 

"Wull--no, sah. De mighty curos thing, Marse Jack, about the gals--bigand little--is dey just USE de kernel--dat's all! Dey just use de oleman like a pole to bring down deir persimmons--see?"

But Mr. Hamlin did not smile. 

Later it was known that Colonel Starbottle had resigned his guardianshipwith the consent of the court. Whether he ever again saw his late wardwas not known, nor if he remained loyal to his memories of her. 

Readers of these chronicles may, however, remember that years after, when the colonel married the widow of a certain Mr. Tretherick, both inhis courtship and his short married life he was singularly indifferentto the childish graces of Carrie Tretherick, her beloved littledaughter, and that his obtuseness in that respect provoked the widow'sire. 

PROSPER'S "OLD MOTHER"

"It's all very well, " said Joe Wynbrook, "for us to be sittin' here, slingin' lies easy and comfortable, with the wind whistlin' in the pinesoutside, and the rain just liftin' the ditches to fill our sluice boxeswith gold ez we're smokin' and waitin', but I tell you what, boys--itain't home! No, sir, it ain't HOME!"

The speaker paused, glanced around the bright, comfortable barroom, the shining array of glasses beyond, and the circle of complacent facesfronting the stove, on which his own boots were cheerfully steaming, lifted a glass of whiskey from the floor under his chair, and in spiteof his deprecating remark, took a long draught of the spirits with everysymptom of satisfaction. 

"If ye mean, " returned Cyrus Brewster, "that it ain't the old farmhouseof our boyhood, 'way back in the woods, I'll agree with you; but ye'lljust remember that there wasn't any gold placers lying round on themedder on that farm. Not much! Ef thar had been, we wouldn't have leftit. "

"I don't mean that, " said Joe Wynbrook, settling himself comfortablyback in his chair; "it's the family hearth I'm talkin' of. The soothin'influence, ye know--the tidiness of the women folks. "

"Ez to the soothin' influence, " remarked the barkeeper, leaning hiselbows meditatively on his counter, "afore I struck these diggin's Ihad a grocery and bar, 'way back in Mizzoori, where there was fiveold-fashioned farms jined. Blame my skin ef the men folks weren't adarned sight oftener over in my grocery, sittin' on barrils and histin'in their reg'lar corn-juice, than ever any of you be here--with allthese modern improvements. "

"Ye don't catch on, any of you, " returned Wynbrook impatiently. "Ef itwas a mere matter o' buildin' houses and becomin' family men, I reckonthat this yer camp is about prosperous enough to do it, and able to getgals enough to marry us, but that would be only borryin' trouble andlettin' loose a lot of jabberin' women to gossip agin' each other andspile all our friendships. No, gentlemen! What we want here--each ofus--is a good old mother! Nothin' new-fangled or fancy, but the reg'larold-fashioned mother we was used to when we was boys!"

The speaker struck a well-worn chord--rather the worse for wear, and onethat had jangled falsely ere now, but which still produced its effect. The men were silent. Thus encouraged, Wynbrook proceeded:--

"Think o' comin' home from the gulch a night like this and findin' yerold mother a-waitin' ye! No fumblin' around for the matches ye'd left inthe gulch; no high old cussin' because the wood was wet or you forgotto bring it in; no bustlin' around for your dry things and findin' youforgot to dry 'em that mornin'--but everything waitin' for ye and ready. And then, mebbe, she brings ye in some doughnuts she's just cooked forye--cooked ez only SHE kin cook 'em! Take Prossy Riggs--alongside of mehere--for instance! HE'S made the biggest strike yet, and is puttin'up a high-toned house on the hill. Well! he'll hev it finished off andfurnished slap-up style, you bet! with a Chinese cook, and a Biddy, anda Mexican vaquero to look after his horse--but he won't have no motherto housekeep! That is, " he corrected himself perfunctorily, turning tohis companion, "you've never spoke o' your mother, so I reckon you'reabout fixed up like us. "

The young man thus addressed flushed slightly, and then nodded his headwith a sheepish smile. He had, however, listened to the conversationwith an interest almost childish, and a reverent admiration of hiscomrades--qualities which, combined with an intellect not particularlybrilliant, made him alternately the butt and the favorite of the camp. Indeed, he was supposed to possess that proportion of stupidityand inexperience which, in mining superstition, gives "luck" to itspossessor. And this had been singularly proven in the fact that he hadmade the biggest "strike" of the season. 

Joe Wynbrook's sentimentalism, albeit only argumentative and halfserious, had unwittingly touched a chord of simple history, and theflush which had risen to his cheek was not entirely bashfulness. Thehome and relationship of which they spoke so glibly, HE had neverknown; he was a foundling! As he lay awake that night he remembered thecharitable institution which had protected his infancy, the masterto whom he had later been apprenticed; that was all he knew of hischildhood. In his simple way he had been greatly impressed by thestrange value placed by his companions upon the family influence, and hehad received their extravagance with perfect credulity. In his absoluteignorance and his lack of humor he had detected no false quality intheir sentiment. And a vague sense of his responsibility, as one who hadbeen the luckiest, and who was building the first "house" in the camp, troubled him. He lay staringly wide awake, hearing the mountain wind, and feeling warm puffs of it on his face through the crevices of the logcabin, as he thought of the new house on the hill that was to belathed and plastered and clapboarded, and yet void and vacant of thatmysterious "mother"! And then, out of the solitude and darkness, atremendous idea struck him that made him sit up in his bunk!

A day or two later "Prossy" Riggs stood on a sand-blown, wind-sweptsuburb of San Francisco, before a large building whom forbiddingexterior proclaimed that it was an institution of formal charity. Itwas, in fact, a refuge for the various waifs and strays of ill-advisedor hopeless immigration. As Prosper paused before the door, certain toldrecollections of a similar refuge were creeping over him, and, oddlyenough, he felt as embarrassed as if he had been seeking relief forhimself. The perspiration stood out on his forehead as he entered theroom of the manager. 

It chanced, however, that this official, besides being a man of shrewdexperience of human weakness, was also kindly hearted, and having, afterhis first official scrutiny of his visitor and his resplendent watchchain, assured himself that he was not seeking personal relief, courteously assisted him in his stammering request. 

"If I understand you, you want some one to act as your housekeeper?"

"That's it! Somebody to kinder look arter things--and me--ginrally, "returned Prosper, greatly relieved. 

"Of what age?" continued the manager, with a cautious glance at therobust youth and good-looking, simple face of Prosper. 

"I ain't nowise partickler--ez long ez she's old--ye know. Ye follow me?Old--ez of--betwixt you an' me, she might be my own mother. "

The manager smiled inwardly. A certain degree of discretion wasnoticeable in this rustic youth! "You are quite right, " he answeredgravely, "as yours is a mining camp where there are no other women, Still, you don't want any one TOO old or decrepit. There is an elderlymaiden lady"--But a change was transparently visible on Prosper's simpleface, and the manager paused. 

"She oughter be kinder married, you know--ter be like a mother, "stammered Prosper. 

"Oh, ay. I see, " returned the manager, again illuminated by Prosper'sunexpected wisdom. 

He mused for a moment. "There is, " he began tentatively, "a lady inreduced circumstances--not an inmate of this house, but who has receivedsome relief from us. She was the wife of a whaling captain who died someyears ago, and broke up her home. She was not brought up to work, andthis, with her delicate health, has prevented her from seeking activeemployment. As you don't seem to require that of her, but rather wantan overseer, and as your purpose, I gather, is somewhat philanthropical, you might induce her to accept a 'home' with you. Having seen betterdays, she is rather particular, " he added, with a shrewd smile. 

Simple Prosper's face was radiant. "She'll have a Chinaman and a Biddyto help her, " he said quickly. Then recollecting the tastes of hiscomrades, he added, half apologetically, half cautiously, "Ef she could, now and then, throw herself into a lemming pie or a pot of doughnuts, jest in a motherly kind o' way, it would please the boys. "

"Perhaps you can arrange that, too, " returned the manager, "but I shallhave to broach the whole subject to her, and you had better call againto-morrow, when I will give you her answer. "

"Ye kin say, " said Prosper, lightly fingering his massive gold chain andsomewhat vaguely recalling the language of advertisement, "that she kinhave the comforts of a home and no questions asked, and fifty dollars amonth. "

Rejoiced at the easy progress of his plan, and half inclined to believehimself a miracle of cautious diplomacy, Prosper, two days later, accompanied the manager to the cottage on Telegraph Hill where therelict of the late Captain Pottinger lamented the loss of her spouse, infull view of the sea he had so often tempted. On their way thither themanager imparted to Prosper how, according to hearsay, that lamentedseaman had carried into the domestic circle those severe habitsof discipline which had earned for him the prefix of "Bully" and"Belaying-pin" Pottinger during his strenuous life. "They say thatthough she is very quiet and resigned, she once or twice stood up to thecaptain; but that's not a bad quality to have, in a rough community, asI presume yours is, and would insure her respect. "

Ushered at last into a small tank-like sitting room, whose chiefdecorations consisted of large abelone shells, dried marine algae, coral, and a swordfish's broken weapon, Prosper's disturbed fancydiscovered the widow, sitting, apparently, as if among her husband'sremains at the bottom of the sea. She had a dejected yet somewhat ruddyface; her hair was streaked with white, but primly disposed over herears like lappets, and her garb was cleanly but sombre. There was nodoubt but that she was a lugubrious figure, even to Prosper's optimisticand inexperienced mind. He could not imagine her as beaming on hishearth! It was with some alarm that, after the introduction had beencompleted, he beheld the manager take his leave. As the door closed, the bashful Prosper felt the murky eyes of the widow fixed upon him. Agentle cough, accompanied with the resigned laying of a black mittenedhand upon her chest, suggested a genteel prelude to conversation, withpossible pulmonary complications. 

"I am induced to accept your proposal temporarily, " she said, in a voiceof querulous precision, "on account of pressing pecuniary circumstanceswhich would not have happened had my claim against the shipowners formy dear husband's loss been properly raised. I hope you fully understandthat I am unfitted both by ill health and early education from doingany menial or manual work in your household. I shall simply oversee anddirect. I shall expect that the stipend you offer shall be paid monthlyin advance. And as my medical man prescribes a certain amount ofstimulation for my system, I shall expect to be furnished with suchviands--or even"--she coughed slightly--"such beverages as may benecessary. I am far from strong--yet my wants are few. "

"Ez far ez I am ketchin' on and followin' ye, ma'am, " returned Prospertimidly, "ye'll hev everything ye want--jest like it was yer own home. In fact, " he went on, suddenly growing desperate as the difficulties ofadjusting this unexpectedly fastidious and superior woman to his planseemed to increase, "ye'll jest consider me ez yer"--But here her murkyeyes were fixed on his and he faltered. Yet he had gone too far toretreat. "Ye see, " he stammered, with a hysterical grimness that wasintended to be playful--"ye see, this is jest a little secret betwixtand between you and me; there'll be only you and me in the house, and itwould kinder seem to the boys more homelike--ef--ef--you and mehad--you bein' a widder, you know--a kind of--of"--here his smile becameghastly--"close relationship. "

The widow of Captain Pottinger here sat up so suddenly that she seemedto slip through her sombre and precise enwrappings with an exposureof the real Mrs. Pottinger that was almost improper. Her high colordeepened; the pupils of her black eyes contracted in the light theinnocent Prosper had poured into them. Leaning forward, with her fingersclasped on her bosom, she said: "Did you tell this to the manager?"

"Of course not, " said Prosper; "ye see, it's only a matter 'twixt youand me. "

Mrs. Pottinger looked at Prosper, drew a deep breath, and then gazedat the abelone shells for moral support. A smile, half querulous, half superior, crossed her face as she said: "This is very abrupt andunusual. There is, of course, a disparity in our ages! You have neverseen me before--at least to my knowledge--although you may have heardof me. The Spraggs of Marblehead are well known--perhaps better than thePottingers. And yet, Mr. Griggs"--

"Riggs, " suggested Prosper hurriedly. 

"Riggs. Excuse me! I was thinking of young Lieutenant Griggs of theNavy, whom I knew in the days now past. Mr. Riggs, I should say. Thenyou want me to"--

"To be my old mother, ma'am, " said Prosper tremblingly. "That is, topretend and look ez ef you was! You see, I haven't any, but I thought itwould be nice for the boys, and make it more like home in my new house, ef I allowed that my old mother would be comin' to live with me. Theydon't know I never had a mother to speak of. They'll never find it out!Say ye will, Mrs. Pottinger! Do!"

And here the unexpected occurred. Against all conventional rules andall accepted traditions of fiction, I am obliged to state that Mrs. Pottinger did NOT rise up and order the trembling Prosper to leave thehouse! She only gripped the arm of her chair a little tighter, leanedforward, and disdaining her usual precision and refinement of speech, said quietly: "It's a bargain. If THAT'S what you're wanting, myson, you can count upon me as becoming your old mother, Cecilia JanePottinger Riggs, every time!"

A few days later the sentimentalist Joe Wynbrook walked into the WildCat saloon, where his comrades were drinking, and laid a letter down onthe bar with every expression of astonishment and disgust. "Look, " hesaid, "if that don't beat all! Ye wouldn't believe it, but here's ProssyRiggs writin' that he came across his mother--his MOTHER, gentlemen--in'Frisco; she hevin', unbeknownst to him, joined a party visiting thecoast! And what does this blamed fool do? Why, he's goin' to bringher--that old woman--HERE! Here--gentlemen--to take charge of that newhouse--and spoil our fun. And the God-forsaken idiot thinks that we'llLIKE it!"

It was one of those rare mornings in the rainy season when there was asuspicion of spring in the air, and after a night of rainfall the sunbroke through fleecy clouds with little islets of blue sky--whenProsper Riggs and his mother drove into Wild Cat camp. An expressionof cheerfulness was on the faces of his old comrades. For it had beenrecognized that, after all, "Prossy" had a perfect right to bring hisold mother there--his well-known youth and inexperience preventing thisbaleful performance from being established as a precedent. For thesereasons hats were cheerfully doffed, and some jackets put on, as thebuggy swept up the hill to the pretty new cottage, with its green blindsand white veranda, on the crest. 

Yet I am afraid that Prosper was not perfectly happy, even in thetriumphant consummation of his plans. Mrs. Pottinger's sudden andbusiness-like acquiescence in it, and her singular lapse from hergenteel precision, were gratifying but startling to his ingenuousness. And although from the moment she accepted the situation she wasfertile in resources and full of precaution against any possibility ofdetection, he saw, with some uneasiness, that its control had passed outof his hands. 

"You say your comrades know nothing of your family history?" she hadsaid to him on the journey thither. "What are you going to tell them?"

"Nothin', 'cept your bein' my old mother, " said Prosper hopelessly. 

"That's not enough, my son. " (Another embarrassment to Prosper was hereasy grasp of the maternal epithets. ) "Now listen! You were born justsix months after your father, Captain Riggs (formerly Pottinger) sailedon his first voyage. You remember very little of him, of course, as hewas away so much. "

"Hadn't I better know suthin about his looks?" said Prospersubmissively. 

"A tall dark man, that's enough, " responded Mrs. Pottinger sharply. 

"Hadn't he better favor me?" said Prosper, with his small cunningrecognizing the fact that he himself was a decided blond. 

"Ain't at all necessary, " said the widow firmly. "You were always wildand ungovernable, " she continued, "and ran away from school to join someWestern emigration. That accounts for the difference of our styles. "

"But, " continued Prosper, "I oughter remember suthin about our oldtimes--runnin' arrants for you, and bringin' in the wood o' frostymornin's, and you givin' me hot doughnuts, " suggested Prosper dubiously. 

"Nothing of the sort, " said Mrs. Pottinger promptly. "We lived in thecity, with plenty of servants. Just remember, Prosper dear, your motherwasn't THAT low-down country style. "

Glad to be relieved from further invention, Prosper was, nevertheless, somewhat concerned at this shattering of the ideal mother in thevery camp that had sung her praises. But he could only trust to herrecognizing the situation with her usual sagacity, of which he stood inrespectful awe. 

Joe Wynbrook and Cyrus Brewster had, as older members of the camp, purposely lingered near the new house to offer any assistance to "Prossyand his mother, " and had received a brief and passing introduction tothe latter. So deep and unexpected was the impression she made uponthem that these two oracles of the camp retired down the hill in awkwardsilence for some time, neither daring to risk his reputation by commentor oversurprise. 

But when they approached the curious crowd below awaiting them, CyrusBrewster ventured to say, "Struck me ez ef that old gal was ratherhigh-toned for Prossy's mother. "

Joe Wynbrook instantly seized the fatal admission to show the advantageof superior insight:--

"Struck YOU! Why, it was no more than I expected all along! What did weknow of Prossy? Nothin'! What did he ever tell us'? Nothin'! And why'?'Cos it was his secret. Lord! a blind mule could see that. All thisfoolishness and simplicity o' his come o' his bein' cuddled and pamperedas a baby. Then, like ez not, he was either kidnapped or led away bysome feller--and nearly broke his mother's heart. I'll bet my bottomdollar he has been advertised for afore this--only we didn't see thepaper. Like as not they had agents out seekin' him, and he jest ran intotheir hands in 'Frisco! I had a kind o' presentiment o' this when heleft, though I never let on anything. "

"I reckon, too, that she's kinder afraid he'll bolt agin. Did ye noticehow she kept watchin' him all the time, and how she did the bossin' o'everything? And there's ONE thing sure! He's changed--yes! He don't lookas keerless and free and foolish ez he uster. "

Here there was an unmistakable chorus of assent from the crowd that hadjoined them. Every one--even those who had not been introduced tothe mother--had noticed his strange restraint and reticence. In theimpulsive logic of the camp, conduct such as this, in the face of thatsuperior woman--his mother--could only imply that her presence wasdistasteful to him; that he was either ashamed of their noticing hisinferiority to her, or ashamed of THEM! Wild and hasty as was theirdeduction, it was, nevertheless, voiced by Joe Wynbrook in a tone ofimpartial and even reluctant conviction. "Well, gentlemen, some of yemay remember that when I heard that Prossy was bringin' his mother hereI kicked--kicked because it only stood to reason that, being HIS mother, she'd be that foolish she'd upset the camp. There wasn't room enough fortwo such chuckle-heads--and one of 'em being a woman, she couldn't beshut up or sat upon ez we did to HIM. But now, gentlemen, ez we see sheain't that kind, but high-toned and level-headed, and that she's got thegrip on Prossy--whether he likes it or not--we ain't goin' to let himgo back on her! No, sir! we ain't goin' to let him break her heart thesecond time! He may think we ain't good enough for her, but ez long ezshe's civil to us, we'll stand by her. "

In this conscientious way were the shackles of that unhallowedrelationship slowly riveted on the unfortunate Prossy. In hisintercourse with his comrades during the next two or three days theirattitude was shown in frequent and ostentatious praise of his mother, and suggestive advice, such as: "I wouldn't stop at the saloon, Prossy;your old mother is wantin' ye;" or, "Chuck that 'ere tarpolin over yourshoulders, Pross, and don't take your wet duds into the house that yerold mother's bin makin' tidy. " Oddly enough, much of this advice wasquite sincere, and represented--for at least twenty minutes--the honestsentiments of the speaker. Prosper was touched at what seemed a revivalof the sentiment under which he had acted, forgot his uneasiness, andbecame quite himself again--a fact also noticed by his critics. "Ye'veonly to keep him up to his work and he'll be the widder's joy agin, "said Cyrus Brewster. Certainly he was so far encouraged that he had along conversation with Mrs. Pottinger that night, with the result thatthe next morning Joe Wynbrook, Cyrus Brewster, Hank Mann, and KentuckyIke were invited to spend the evening at the new house. As the men, clean shirted and decently jacketed, filed into the neat sitting roomwith its bright carpet, its cheerful fire, its side table with a snowycloth on which shining tea and coffee pots were standing, their heartsthrilled with satisfaction. In a large stuffed rocking chair, Prossy'sold mother, wrapped up in a shawl and some mysterious ill health whichseemed to forbid any exertion, received them with genteel languor and anextended black mitten. 

"I cannot, " said Mrs. Pottinger, with sad pensiveness, "offer you thehospitality of my own home, gentlemen--you remember, Prosper, dear, thelarge salon and our staff of servants at Lexington Avenue!--but since myson has persuaded me to take charge of his humble cot, I hope you willmake all allowances for its deficiencies--even, " she added, casting alook of mild reproach on the astonished Prosper--"even if HE cannot. "

"I'm sure he oughter to be thankful to ye, ma'am, " said Joe Wynbrookquickly, "for makin' a break to come here to live, jest ez we'rethankful--speakin' for the rest of this camp--for yer lightin' us up ezyou're doin'! I reckon I'm speakin' for the crowd, " he added, lookinground him. 

Murmurs of "That's so" and "You bet" passed through the company, and oneor two cast a half-indignant glance at Prosper. 

"It's only natural, " continued Mrs. Pottinger resignedly, "that havinglived so long alone, my dear Prosper may at first be a little impatientof his old mother's control, and perhaps regret his invitation. "

"Oh no, ma'am, " said the embarrassed Prosper. 

But here the mercurial Wynbrook interposed on behalf of amity and thecamp's esprit de corps. "Why, Lord! ma'am, he's jest bin longin' for ye!Times and times agin he's talked about ye; sayin' how ef he could onlyget ye out of yer Fifth Avenue saloon to share his humble lot with himhere, he'd die happy! YOU'VE heard him talk, Brewster?"

"Frequent, " replied the accommodating Brewster. 

"Part of the simple refreshment I have to offer you, " continued Mrs. Pottinger, ignoring further comment, "is a viand the exact quality ofwhich I am not familiar with, but which my son informs me is a greatfavorite with you. It has been prepared by Li Sing, under my direction. Prosper, dear, see that the--er--doughnuts--are brought in with thecoffee. "

Satisfaction beamed on the faces of the company, with perhaps the soleexception of Prosper. As a dish containing a number of brown glisteningspheres of baked dough was brought in, the men's eyes shone insympathetic appreciation. Yet that epicurean light was for a momentdulled as each man grasped a sphere, and then sat motionless with itin his hand, as if it was a ball and they were waiting the signal forplaying. 

"I am told, " said Mrs. Pottinger, with a glance of Christian toleranceat Prosper, "that lightness is considered desirable by some--perhaps yougentlemen may find them heavy. "

"Thar is two kinds, " said the diplomatic Joe cheerfully, as he began tonibble his, sideways, like a squirrel, "light and heavy; some likes 'emone way, and some another. "

They were hard and heavy, but the men, assisted by the steaming coffee, finished them with heroic politeness. "And now, gentlemen, " said Mrs. Pottinger, leaning back in her chair and calmly surveying the party, "you have my permission to light your pipes while you partake of somewhiskey and water. "

The guests looked up--gratified but astonished. "Are ye sure, ma'am, youdon't mind it?" said Joe politely. 

"Not at all, " responded Mrs. Pottinger briefly. "In fact, as myphysician advises the inhalation of tobacco smoke for my asthmaticdifficulties, I will join you. " After a moment's fumbling in a beadedbag that hung from her waist, she produced a small black clay pipe, filled it from the same receptacle, and lit it. 

A thrill of surprise went round the company, and it was noticed thatProsper seemed equally confounded. Nevertheless, this awkwardness wasquickly overcome by the privilege and example given them, and with, aglass of whiskey and water before them, the men were speedily at theirease. Nor did Mrs. Pottinger disdain to mingle in their desultory talk. Sitting there with her black pipe in her mouth, but still precise andsuperior, she told a thrilling whaling adventure of Prosper's father(drawn evidently from the experience of the lamented Pottinger), whichnot only deeply interested her hearers, but momentarily exalted Prosperin their minds as the son of that hero. "Now you speak o' that, ma'am, "said the ingenuous Wynbrook, "there's a good deal o' Prossy in that yarno' his father's; same kind o' keerless grit! You remember, boys, thatday the dam broke and he stood thar, the water up to his neck, heavin'logs in the break till he stopped it. " Briefly, the evening, in spiteof its initial culinary failure and its surprises, was a decided socialsuccess, and even the bewildered and doubting Prosper went to bedrelieved. It was followed by many and more informal gatherings at thehouse, and Mrs Pottinger so far unbent--if that term could be used ofone who never altered her primness of manner--as to join in a game ofpoker--and even permitted herself to win. 

But by the end of six weeks another change in their feelings towardsProsper seemed to creep insidiously over the camp. He had been receivedinto his former fellowship, and even the presence of his mother hadbecome familiar, but he began to be an object of secret commiseration. They still frequented the house, but among themselves afterwards theytalked in whispers. There was no doubt to them that Prosper's old motherdrank not only what her son had provided, but what she surreptitiouslyobtained from the saloon. There was the testimony of the barkeeper, himself concerned equally with the camp in the integrity of the Riggshousehold. And there was an even darker suspicion. But this must begiven in Joe Wynbrook's own words:--

"I didn't mind the old woman winnin' and winnin' reg'lar--for poker'san unsartin game;--it ain't the money that we're losin'--for it's allin the camp. But when she's developing a habit o' holdin' FOUR aces whensomebody else hez TWO, who don't like to let on because it's Prosper'sold mother--it's gettin' rough! And dangerous too, gentlemen, if therehappened to be an outsider in, or one of the boys should kick. Why, Isaw Bilson grind his teeth--he holdin' a sequence flush--ace high--whenthe dear old critter laid down her reg'lar four aces and raked in thepile. We had to nearly kick his legs off under the table afore he'dunderstand--not havin' an old mother himself. "

"Some un will hev to tackle her without Prossy knowin' it. For it wouldjest break his heart, arter all he's gone through to get her here!" saidBrewster significantly. 

"Onless he DID know it and it was that what made him so sorrowful whenthey first came. B'gosh! I never thought o' that, " said Wynbrook, withone of his characteristic sudden illuminations. 

"Well, gentlemen, whether he did or not, " said the barkeeper stoutly, "he must never know that WE know it. No, not if the old gal cleans outmy bar and takes the last scad in the camp. "

And to this noble sentiment they responded as one man. 

How far they would have been able to carry out that heroic resolve wasnever known, for an event occurred which eclipsed its importance. Onemorning at breakfast Mrs. Pottinger fixed a clouded eye upon Prosper. 

"Prosper, " she said, with fell deliberation "you ought to know you havea sister. "

"Yes, ma'am, " returned Prosper, with that meekness with which he usuallyreceived these family disclosures. 

"A sister, " continued the lady, "whom you haven't seen since you werea child; a sister who for family reasons has been living with otherrelatives; a girl of nineteen. "

"Yea, ma'am, " said Prosper humbly. "But ef you wouldn't mind writin' allthat down on a bit o' paper--ye know my short memory! I would get it byheart to-day in the gulch. I'd have it all pat enough by night, ef, " headded, with a short sigh, "ye was kalkilatin' to make any illusions toit when the boys are here. "

"Your sister Augusta, " continued Mrs. Pottinger, calmly ignoring thesedetails, "will be here to-morrow to make me a visit. "

But here the worm Prosper not only turned, but stood up, nearlyupsetting the table. "It can't be did, ma'am it MUSTN'T be did!" he saidwildly. "It's enough for me to have played this camp with YOU--but nowto run in"--

"Can't be did!" repeated Mrs. Pottinger, rising in her turn and fixingupon the unfortunate Prosper a pair of murky piratical eyes that hadonce quelled the sea-roving Pottinger. "Do you, my adopted son, dare totell me that I can't have my own flesh and blood beneath my roof?"

"Yes! I'd rather tell the whole story--I'd rather tell the boys I fooledthem--than go on again!" burst out the excited Prosper. 

But Mrs. Pottinger only set her lips implacably together. "Very well, tell them then, " she said rigidly; "tell them how you lured me from myhumble dependence in San Francisco with the prospect of a home with you;tell them how you compelled me to deceive their trusting hearts withyour wicked falsehoods; tell them how you--a foundling--borrowed me foryour mother, my poor dead husband for your father, and made me inventfalsehood upon falsehood to tell them while you sat still and listened!"

Prosper gasped. 

"Tell them, " she went on deliberately, "that when I wanted to bringmy helpless child to her only home--THEN, only then--you determinedto break your word to me, either because you meanly begrudged her thatshare of your house, or to keep your misdeeds from her knowledge! Tellthem that, Prossy, dear, and see what they'll say!"

Prosper sank back in his chair aghast. In his sudden instinct of revolthe had forgotten the camp! He knew, alas, too well what they would say!He knew that, added to their indignation at having been duped, theirchivalry and absurd sentiment would rise in arms against the abandonmentof two helpless women!

"P'r'aps ye're right, ma'am, " he stammered. "I was only thinkin', " headded feebly, "how SHE'D take it. "

"She'll take it as I wish her to take it, " said Mrs. Pottinger firmly. 

"Supposin', ez the camp don't know her, and I ain't bin talkin' o'havin' any SISTER, you ran her in here as my COUSIN? See? You bein' heraunt?"

Mrs. Pottinger regarded him with compressed lips for some time. Thenshe said, slowly and half meditatively: "Yes, it might be done! She willprobably be willing to sacrifice her nearer relationship to save herselffrom passing as your sister. It would be less galling to her pride, andshe wouldn't have to treat you so familiarly. "

"Yes, ma'am, " said Prosper, too relieved to notice the uncomplimentarynature of the suggestion. "And ye see I could call her 'Miss Pottinger, 'which would come easier to me. "

In its high resolve to bear with the weaknesses of Prosper's mother, the camp received the news of the advent of Prosper's cousin solely withreference to its possible effect upon the aunt's habits, and very littleother curiosity. Prosper's own reticence, they felt, was probably due tothe tender age at which he had separated from his relations. But whenit was known that Prosper's mother had driven to the house with a verypretty girl of eighteen, there was a flutter of excitement in thatimpressionable community. Prosper, with his usual shyness, had evaded anearly meeting with her, and was even loitering irresolutely on his wayhome from work, when, as he approached the house, to his discomfiturethe door suddenly opened, the young lady appeared and advanced directlytowards him. 

She was slim, graceful, and prettily dressed, and at any other momentProsper might have been impressed by her good looks. But her brows wereknit, her dark eyes--in which there was an unmistakable reminiscenceof Mrs. Pottinger--were glittering, and although she was apparentlyanticipating their meeting, it was evidently with no cousinly interest. When within a few feet of him she stopped. Prosper with a feeble smileoffered his hand. She sprang back. 

"Don't touch me! Don't come a step nearer or I'll scream!"

Prosper, still with smiling inanity, stammered that he was only "goin'to shake hands, " and moved sideways towards the house. 

"Stop!" she said, with a stamp of her slim foot. "Stay where you are!We must have our talk out HERE. I'm not going to waste words with you inthere, before HER. "

Prosper stopped. 

"What did you do this for?" she said angrily. "How dared you? How couldyou? Are you a man, or the fool she takes you for?"

"Wot did I do WOT for?" said Prosper sullenly. 

"This! Making my mother pretend you were her son! Bringing her hereamong these men to live a lie!"

"She was willin', " said Prosper gloomily. "I told her what she had todo, and she seemed to like it. "

"But couldn't you see she was old and weak, and wasn't responsible forher actions? Or were you only thinking of yourself?"

This last taunt stung him. He looked up. He was not facing a helpless, dependent old woman as he had been the day before, but a handsome, clever girl, in every way his superior--and in the right! In his vaguesense of honor it seemed more creditable for him to fight it out withHER. He burst out: "I never thought of myself! I never had an oldmother; I never knew what it was to want one--but the men did! And asI couldn't get one for them, I got one for myself--to share and sharealike--I thought they'd be happier ef there was one in the camp!"

There was the unmistakable accent of truth in his voice. There came afaint twitching of the young girl's lips and the dawning of a smile. Butit only acted as a goad to the unfortunate Prosper. "Ye kin laugh, MissPottinger, but it's God's truth! But one thing I didn't do. No! Whenyour mother wanted to bring you in here as my sister, I kicked! I did!And you kin thank me, for all your laughin', that you're standing inthis camp in your own name--and ain't nothin' but my cousin. "

"I suppose you thought your precious friends didn't want a SISTER too?"said the girl ironically. 

"It don't make no matter wot they want now, " he said gloomily. "For, " headded, with sudden desperation, "it's come to an end! Yes! You and yourmother will stay here a spell so that the boys don't suspicion nothin'of either of ye. Then I'll give it out that you're takin' your aunt awayon a visit. Then I'll make over to her a thousand dollars for all thetrouble I've given her, and you'll take her away. I've bin a fool, MissPottinger, mebbe I am one now, but what I'm doin' is on the square, andit's got to be done!"

He looked so simple and so good--so like an honest schoolboy confessinga fault and abiding by his punishment, for all his six feet of altitudeand silky mustache--that Miss Pottinger lowered her eyes. But sherecovered herself and said sharply:--

"It's all very well to talk of her going away! But she WON'T. You havemade her like you--yes! like you better than me--than any of us! Shesays you're the only one who ever treated her like a mother--as a mothershould be treated. She says she never knew what peace and comfortwere until she came to you. There! Don't stare like that! Don'tyou understand? Don't you see? Must I tell you again that she isstrange--that--that she was ALWAYS queer and strange--and queerer onaccount of her unfortunate habits--surely you knew THEM, Mr. Riggs! Shequarreled with us all. I went to live with my aunt, and she took herselfoff to San Francisco with a silly claim against my father's shipowners. Heaven only knows how she managed to live there; but she alwaysimpressed people with her manners, and some one always helped her! Atlast I begged my aunt to let me seek her, and I tracked her here. There! If you've confessed everything to me, you have made me confesseverything to you, and about my own mother, too! Now, what is to bedone?"

"Whatever is agreeable to you is the same to me, Miss Pottinger, " hesaid formally. 

"But you mustn't call me 'Miss Pottinger' so loud. Somebody might hearyou, " she returned mischievously. 

"All right--'cousin, ' then, " he said, with a prodigious blush. "Supposin' we go in. "

In spite of the camp's curiosity, for the next few days they delicatelywithheld their usual evening visits to Prossy's mother. "They'll bewantin' to talk o' old times, and we don't wanter be too previous, "suggested Wynbrook. But their verdict, when they at last met thenew cousin, was unanimous, and their praises extravagant. To theirinexperienced eyes she seemed to possess all her aunt's gentility andprecision of language, with a vivacity and playfulness all her own. Ina few days the whole camp was in love with her. Yet she dispensedher favors with such tactful impartiality and with such innocentenjoyment--free from any suspicion of coquetry--that there were noheartburnings, and the unlucky man who nourished a fancied slightwould have been laughed at by his fellows. She had a town-bred girl'scuriosity and interest in camp life, which she declared was like a"perpetual picnic, " and her slim, graceful figure halting beside a ditchwhere the men were working seemed to them as grateful as the new springsunshine. The whole camp became tidier; a coat was considered de rigueurat "Prossy's mother" evenings; there was less horseplay in the trails, and less shouting. "It's all very well to talk about 'old mothers, '"said the cynical barkeeper, "but that gal, single handed, has done morein a week to make the camp decent than old Ma'am Riggs has in a month o'Sundays. "

Since Prosper's brief conversation with Miss Pottinger before the house, the question "What is to be done?" had singularly lapsed, nor had itbeen referred to again by either. The young lady had apparently thrownherself into the diversions of the camp with the thoughtless gayety ofa brief holiday maker, and it was not for him to remind her--even had hewished to--that her important question had never been answered. He hadenjoyed her happiness with the relief of a secret shared by her. Threeweeks had passed; the last of the winter's rains had gone. Spring wasstirring in underbrush and wildwood, in the pulse of the waters, in thesap of the great pines, in the uplifting of flowers. Small wonder ifProsper's boyish heart had stirred a little too. 

In fact, he had been possessed by another luminous idea--a wild ideathat to him seemed almost as absurd as the one which had brought himall this trouble. It had come to him like that one--out of a starlitnight--and he had risen one morning with a feverish intent to put itinto action! It brought him later to take an unprecedented walk alonewith Miss Pottinger, to linger under green leaves in unfrequented woods, and at last seemed about to desert him as he stood in a little hollowwith her hand in his--their only listener an inquisitive squirrel. Yetthis was all the disappointed animal heard him stammer, --

"So you see, dear, it would THEN be no lie--for--don't you see?--she'dbe really MY mother as well as YOURS. "

The marriage of Prosper Riggs and Miss Pottinger was quietly celebratedat Sacramento, but Prossy's "old mother" did not return with the happypair. 

Of Mrs. Pottinger's later career some idea may be gathered from a letterwhich Prosper received a year after his marriage. "Circumstances, " wroteMrs. Pottinger, "which had induced me to accept the offer of a widowerto take care of his motherless household, have since developed into amore enduring matrimonial position, so that I can always offer my dearProsper a home with his mother, should he choose to visit this locality, and a second father in Hiram W. Watergates, Esq. , her husband. "

THE CONVALESCENCE OF JACK HAMLIN

The habitually quiet, ascetic face of Seth Rivers was somewhat disturbedand his brows were knitted as he climbed the long ascent of Windy Hillto its summit and his own rancho. Perhaps it was the effect of thecharacteristic wind, which that afternoon seemed to assault him from allpoints at once and did not cease its battery even at his front door, buthustled him into the passage, blew him into the sitting room, and thencelebrated its own exit from the long, rambling house by the bangingof doors throughout the halls and the slamming of windows in the remotedistance. 

Mrs. Rivers looked up from her work at this abrupt onset of herhusband, but without changing her own expression of slightly fatiguedself-righteousness. Accustomed to these elemental eruptions, she laidher hands from force of habit upon the lifting tablecloth, and then rosesubmissively to brush together the scattered embers and ashes from thelarge hearthstone, as she had often done before. 

"You're in early, Seth, " she said. 

"Yes. I stopped at the Cross Roads Post Office. Lucky I did, or you'dhev had kempany on your hands afore you knowed it--this very night! Ifound this letter from Dr. Duchesne, " and he produced a letter from hispocket. 

Mrs. Rivers looked up with an expression of worldly interest. Dr. Duchesne had brought her two children into the world with somedifficulty, and had skillfully attended her through a long illnessconsequent upon the inefficient maternity of soulful but fragileAmerican women of her type. The doctor had more than a mere localreputation as a surgeon, and Mrs. Rivers looked up to him as her soleconnecting link with a world of thought beyond Windy Hill. 

"He's comin' up yer to-night, bringin' a friend of his--a patient thathe wants us to board and keep for three weeks until he's well agin, "continued Mr. Rivers. "Ye know how the doctor used to rave about thepure air on our hill. "

Mrs. Rivers shivered slightly, and drew her shawl over her shoulders, but nodded a patient assent. 

"Well, he says it's just what that patient oughter have to cure him. He's had lung fever and other things, and this yer air and gin'ral quietis bound to set him up. We're to board and keep him without any fuss orfeathers, and the doctor sez he'll pay liberal for it. This yer's whathe sez, " concluded Mr. Rivers, reading from the letter: "'He is nowfully convalescent, though weak, and really requires no other medicinethan the--ozone'--yes, that's what the doctor calls it--'of Windy Hill, and in fact as little attendance as possible. I will not let him keepeven his negro servant with him. He'll give you no trouble, if he can beprevailed upon to stay the whole time of his cure. '"

"There's our spare room--it hasn't been used since Parson Greenwood washere, " said Mrs. Rivers reflectively. "Melinda could put it to rights inan hour. At what time will he come?"

"He'd come about nine. They drive over from Hightown depot. But, " headded grimly, "here ye are orderin' rooms to be done up and ye don'tknow who for. "

"You said a friend of Dr. Duchesne, " returned Mrs. Rivers simply. 

"Dr. Duchesne has many friends that you and me mightn't cotton to, "said her husband. "This man is Jack Hamlin. " As his wife's remote andintrospective black eyes returned only vacancy, he added quickly. "Thenoted gambler!"

"Gambler?" echoed his wife, still vaguely. 

"Yes--reg'lar; it's his business. "

"Goodness, Seth! He can't expect to do it here. "

"No, " said Seth quickly, with that sense of fairness to his fellowman which most women find it so difficult to understand. "No--and heprobably won't mention the word 'card' while he's here. "

"Well?" said Mrs. Rivers interrogatively. 

"And, " continued Seth, seeing that the objection was not pressed, "he'sone of them desprit men! A reg'lar fighter! Killed two or three men indools!"

Mrs. Rivers stared. "What could Dr. Duchesne have been thinking of? Why, we wouldn't be safe in the house with him!"

Again Seth's sense of equity triumphed. "I never heard of his fightin'anybody but his own kind, and when he was bullyragged. And ez to womenhe's quite t'other way in fact, and that's why I think ye oughter knowit afore you let him come. He don't go round with decent women. Infact"--But here Mr. Rivers, in the sanctity of conjugal confidences andthe fullness of Bible reading, used a few strong scriptural substantiveshappily unnecessary to repeat here. 

"Seth!" said Mrs. Rivers suddenly, "you seem to know this man. "

The unexpectedness and irrelevancy of this for a moment startled Seth. But that chaste and God-fearing man had no secrets. "Only by hearsay, Jane, " he returned quietly; "but if ye say the word I'll stop his comin'now. "

"It's too late, " said Mrs. Rivers decidedly. 

"I reckon not, " returned her husband, "and that's why I came straighthere. I've only got to meet them at the depot and say this thing can'tbe done--and that's the end of it. They'll go off quiet to the hotel. "

"I don't like to disappoint the doctor, Seth, " said Mrs. Rivers. "Wemight, " she added, with a troubled look of inquiry at her husband, "wemight take that Mr. Hamlin on trial. Like as not he won't stay, anyway, when he sees what we're like, Seth. What do you think? It would be onlyour Christian duty, too. "

"I was thinkin' o' that as a professin' Christian, Jane, " said herhusband. "But supposin' that other Christians don't look at it in thatlight. Thar's Deacon Stubbs and his wife and the parson. Ye rememberwhat he said about 'no covenant with sin'?"

"The Stubbses have no right to dictate who I'll have in my house, " saidMrs. Rivers quickly, with a faint flush in her rather sallow cheeks. 

"It's your say and nobody else's, " assented her husband with grimsubmissiveness. "You do what you like. "

Mrs. Rivers mused. "There's only myself and Melinda here, " she said withsublime naivete; "and the children ain't old enough to be corrupted. Iam satisfied if you are, Seth, " and she again looked at him inquiringly. 

"Go ahead, then, and get ready for 'em, " said Seth, hurrying awaywith unaffected relief. "If you have everything fixed by nine o'clock, that'll do. "

Mrs. Rivers had everything "fixed" by that hour, including herselfpresumably, for she had put on a gray dress which she usually worewhen shopping in the county town, adding a prim collar and cuffs. Apearl-encircled brooch, the wedding gift of Seth, and a solitaire ringnext to her wedding ring, with a locket containing her children's hair, accented her position as a proper wife and mother. At a quarter to nineshe had finished tidying the parlor, opening the harmonium so thatthe light might play upon its polished keyboard, and bringing fromthe forgotten seclusion of her closet two beautifully bound volumes ofTupper's "Poems" and Pollok's "Course of Time, " to impart a literarygrace to the centre table. She then drew a chair to the table and satdown before it with a religious magazine in her lap. The wind roaredover the deep-throated chimney, the clock ticked monotonously, and thenthere came the sound of wheels and voices. 

But Mrs. Rivers was not destined to see her guest that night. Dr. Duchesne, under the safe lee of the door, explained that Mr. Hamlinhad been exhausted by the journey, and, assisted by a mild opiate, wasasleep in the carriage; that if Mrs. Rivers did not object, they wouldcarry him at once to his room. In the flaring and guttering of candles, the flashing of lanterns, the flapping of coats and shawls, and thebewildering rush of wind, Mrs. Rivers was only vaguely conscious of aslight figure muffled tightly in a cloak carried past her in the armsof a grizzled negro up the staircase, followed by Dr. Duchesne. Withthe closing of the front door on the tumultuous world without, a silencefell again on the little parlor. 

When the doctor made his reappearance it was to say that his patient wasbeing undressed and put to bed by his negro servant, who, however, wouldreturn with the doctor to-night, but that the patient would be left witheverything that was necessary, and that he would require no attentionfrom the family until the next day. Indeed, it was better that heshould remain undisturbed. As the doctor confined his confidences andinstructions entirely to the physical condition of their guest, Mrs. Rivers found it awkward to press other inquiries. 

"Of course, " she said at last hesitatingly, but with a certain primnessof expression, "Mr. Hamlin must expect to find everything here verydifferent from what he is accustomed to--at least from what my husbandsays are his habits. "

"Nobody knows that better than he, Mrs. Rivers, " returned the doctorwith an equally marked precision of manner, "and you could not have aguest who would be less likely to make you remind him of it. "

A little annoyed, yet not exactly knowing why, Mrs. Rivers abandoned thesubject, and as the doctor shortly afterwards busied himself in the careof his patient, with whom he remained until the hour of his departure, she had no chance of renewing it. But as he finally shook hands with hishost and hostess, it seemed to her that he slightly recurred to it. "Ihave the greatest hope of the curative effect of this wonderful localityon my patient, but even still more of the beneficial effect of thecomplete change of his habits, his surroundings, and their influences. "Then the door closed on the man of science and the grizzled negroservant, the noise of the carriage wheels was shut out with the song ofthe wind in the pine tops, and the rancho of Windy Hill possessed Mr. Jack Hamlin in peace. Indeed, the wind was now falling, as was itscustom at that hour, and the moon presently arose over a hushed andsleeping landscape. 

For the rest of the evening the silent presence in the room aboveaffected the household; the half-curious servants and ranch hands spokein whispers in the passages, and at evening prayers, in the dining room, Seth Rivers, kneeling before and bowed over a rush-bottomed chair whoselegs were clutched by his strong hands, included "the stranger withinour gates" in his regular supplications. When the hour for retiringcame, Seth, with a candle in his hand, preceded his wife up thestaircase, but stopped before the door of their guest's room. "Ireckon, " he said interrogatively to Mrs. Rivers, "I oughter see ef he'swantin' anythin'?"

"You heard what the doctor said, " returned Mrs. Rivers cautiously. At the same time she did not speak decidedly, and the frontiersman'sinstinct of hospitality prevailed. He knocked lightly; there was noresponse. He turned the door handle softly. The door opened. A faintclean perfume--an odor of some general personality rather than anyparticular thing--stole out upon them. The light of Seth's candle strucka few glints from some cut-glass and silver, the contents of the guest'sdressing case, which had been carefully laid out upon a small table byhis negro servant. There was also a refined neatness in the dispositionof his clothes and effects which struck the feminine eye of even thetidy Mrs. Rivers as something new to her experience. Seth drew nearerthe bed with his shaded candle, and then, turning, beckoned his wife toapproach. Mrs. Rivers hesitated--but for the necessity of silenceshe would have openly protested--but that protest was shut up in hercompressed lips as she came forward. 

For an instant that awe with which absolute helplessness invests thesleeping and dead was felt by both husband and wife. Only the upper partof the sleeper's face was visible above the bedclothes, held in positionby a thin white nervous hand that was encircled at the wrist by aruffle. Seth stared. Short brown curls were tumbled over a forehead dampwith the dews of sleep and exhaustion. But what appeared more singular, the closed eyes of this vessel of wrath and recklessness were fringedwith lashes as long and silky as a woman's. Then Mrs. Rivers gentlypulled her husband's sleeve, and they both crept back with a greatersense of intrusion and even more cautiously than they had entered. Nordid they speak until the door was closed softly and they were alone onthe landing. Seth looked grimly at his wife. 

"Don't look much ez ef he could hurt anybody. "

"He looks like a sick man, " returned Mrs. Rivers calmly. 

The unconscious object of this criticism and attention slept until late;slept through the stir of awakened life within and without, through thechallenge of early cocks in the lean-to shed, through the creakingof departing ox teams and the lazy, long-drawn commands of teamsters, through the regular strokes of the morning pump and the splash of wateron stones, through the far-off barking of dogs and the half-intelligibleshouts of ranchmen; slept through the sunlight on his ceiling, throughits slow descent of his wall, and awoke with it in his eyes! He woke, too, with a delicious sense of freedom from pain, and of even drawinga long breath without difficulty--two facts so marvelous and dreamlikethat he naturally closed his eyes again lest he should waken to a worldof suffering and dyspnoea. Satisfied at last that this relief was real, he again opened his eyes, but upon surroundings so strange, so wildlyabsurd and improbable, that he again doubted their reality. He waslying in a moderately large room, primly and severely furnished, buthis attention was for the moment riveted to a gilt frame upon the wallbeside him bearing the text, "God Bless Our Home, " and then on anotherframe on the opposite wall which admonished him to "Watch and Pray. "Beside them hung an engraving of the "Raising of Lazarus, " and aHogarthian lithograph of "The Drunkard's Progress. " Mr. Hamlin closedhis eyes; he was dreaming certainly--not one of those wild, fantasticvisions that had so miserably filled the past long nights of pain andsuffering, but still a dream! At last, opening one eye stealthily, hecaught the flash of the sunlight upon the crystal and silver articlesof his dressing case, and that flash at once illuminated his memory. Heremembered his long weeks of illness and the devotion of Dr. Duchesne. He remembered how, when the crisis was past, the doctor had urged acomplete change and absolute rest, and had told him of a secluded ranchoin some remote locality kept by an honest Western pioneer whose familyhe had attended. He remembered his own reluctant assent, impelled bygratitude to the doctor and the helplessness of a sick man. Henow recalled the weary journey thither, his exhaustion and thesemi-consciousness of his arrival in a bewildering wind on a shadowyhilltop. And this was the place!

He shivered slightly, and ducked his head under the cover again. But thebrightness of the sun and some exhilarating quality in the air temptedhim to have another outlook, avoiding as far as possible the grimlydecorated walls. If they had only left him his faithful servant hecould have relieved himself of that mischievous badinage which alwaysalternately horrified and delighted that devoted negro. But he wasalone--absolutely alone--in this conventicle!

Presently he saw the door open slowly. It gave admission to the smallround face and yellow ringlets of a little girl, and finally to herwhole figure, clasping a doll nearly as large as herself. For a momentshe stood there, arrested by the display of Mr. Hamlin's dressing caseon the table. Then her glances moved around the room and rested upon thebed. Her blue eyes and Mr. Hamlin's brown ones met and mingled. Withouta moment's hesitation she moved to the bedside. Taking her doll's handsin her own, she displayed it before him. 

"Isn't it pitty?"

Mr. Hamlin was instantly his old self again. Thrusting his handcomfortably under the pillow, he lay on his side and gazed at it longand affectionately. "I never, " he said in a faint voice, but withimmovable features, "saw anything so perfectly beautiful. Is it alive?"

"It's a dolly, " she returned gravely, smoothing down its frock andstraightening its helpless feet. Then seized with a spontaneous idea, like a young animal she suddenly presented it to him with both hands andsaid, --

"Kiss it. "

Mr. Hamlin implanted a chaste salute on its vermilion cheek. "Would youmind letting me hold it for a little?" he said with extreme diffidence. 

The child was delighted, as he expected. Mr. Hamlin placed it in asitting posture on the edge of his bed, and put an ostentatious paternalarm around it. 

"But you're alive, ain't you?" he said to the child. 

This subtle witticism convulsed her. "I'm a little girl, " she gurgled. 

"I see; her mother?"

"Ess. "

"And who's your mother?"

"Mammy. "

"Mrs. Rivers?"

The child nodded until her ringlets were shaken on her cheek. Aftera moment she began to laugh bashfully and with repression, yet asMr. Hamlin thought a little mischievously. Then as he looked at herinterrogatively she suddenly caught hold of the ruffle of his sleeve. 

"Oo's got on mammy's nighty. "

Mr. Hamlin started. He saw the child's obvious mistake and actually felthimself blushing. It was unprecedented--it was the sheerest weakness--itmust have something to do with the confounded air. 

"I grieve to say you are deeply mistaken--it is my very own, " hereturned with great gravity. Nevertheless, he drew the coverlet closeover his shoulder. But here he was again attracted by another face atthe half-opened door--a freckled one, belonging to a boy apparently ayear or two older than the girl. He was violently telegraphing to her tocome away, although it was evident that he was at the same time deeplyinterested in the guest's toilet articles. Yet as his bright gray eyesand Mr. Hamlin's brown ones met, he succumbed, as the girl had, andwalked directly to the bedside. But he did it bashfully--as the girl hadnot. He even attempted a defensive explanation. 

"She hadn't oughter come in here, and mar wouldn't let her, and sheknows it, " he said with superior virtue. 

"But I asked her to come as I'm asking you, " said Mr. Hamlin promptly, "and don't you go back on your sister or you'll never be president ofthe United States. " With this he laid his hand on the boy's tow head, and then, lifting himself on his pillow to a half-sitting posture, putan arm around each of the children, drawing them together, with the dolloccupying the central post of honor. "Now, " continued Mr. Hamlin, albeitin a voice a little faint from the exertion, "now that we're comfortabletogether I'll tell you the story of the good little boy who became apirate in order to save his grandmother and little sister from beingeaten by a wolf at the door. "

But, alas! that interesting record of self-sacrifice never was told. Forit chanced that Melinda Bird, Mrs. Rivers's help, following the trail ofthe missing children, came upon the open door and glanced in. There, toher astonishment, she saw the domestic group already described, and toher eyes dominated by the "most beautiful and perfectly elegant" youngman she had ever seen. But let not the incautious reader suppose thatshe succumbed as weakly as her artless charges to these fascinations. The character and antecedents of that young man had been alreadydelivered to her in the kitchen by the other help. With that singleglance she halted; her eyes sought the ceiling in chaste exaltation. Falling back a step, she called in ladylike hauteur and precision, "MaryEmmeline and John Wesley. "

Mr. Hamlin glanced at the children. "It's Melindy looking for us, "said John Wesley. But they did not move. At which Mr. Hamlin called outfaintly but cheerfully, "They're here, all right. "

Again the voice arose with still more marked and lofty distinctness, "John Wesley and Mary Em-me-line. " It seemed to Mr. Hamlin that humanaccents could not convey a more significant and elevated ignoring ofsome implied impropriety in his invitation. He was for a moment crushed. 

But he only said to his little friends with a smile, "You'd better gonow and we'll have that story later. "

"Affer beckus?" suggested Mary Emmeline. 

"In the woods, " added John Wesley. 

Mr. Hamlin nodded blandly. The children trotted to the door. It closedupon them and Miss Bird's parting admonition, loud enough for Mr. Hamlinto hear, "No more freedoms, no more intrudings, you hear. "

The older culprit, Hamlin, retreated luxuriously under his blankets, but presently another new sensation came over him--absolutely, hunger. Perhaps it was the child's allusion to "beckus, " but he found himselfwondering when it would be ready. This anxiety was soon relieved by theappearance of his host himself bearing a tray, possibly in deference toMiss Bird's sense of propriety. It appeared also that Dr. Duchesne hadpreviously given suitable directions for his diet, and Mr. Hamlin foundhis repast simple but enjoyable. Always playfully or ironically politeto strangers, he thanked his host and said he had slept splendidly. 

"It's this yer 'ozone' in the air that Dr. Duchesne talks about, " saidSeth complacently. 

"I am inclined to think it is also those texts, " said Mr. Hamlingravely, as he indicated them on the wall. "You see they reminded me ofchurch and my boyhood's slumbers there. I have never slept so peacefullysince. " Seth's face brightened so interestedly at what he believed tobe a suggestion of his guest's conversion that Mr. Hamlin was fain tochange the subject. When his host had withdrawn he proceeded to dresshimself, but here became conscious of his weakness and was obligedto sit down. In one of those enforced rests he chanced to be near thewindow, and for the first time looked on the environs of his placeof exile. For a moment he was staggered. Everything seemed to pitchdownward from the rocky outcrop on which the rambling house and farmsheds stood. Even the great pines around it swept downward like a greenwave, to rise again in enormous billows as far as the eye could reach. He could count a dozen of their tumbled crests following each other ontheir way to the distant plain. In some vague point of that shimmeringhorizon of heat and dust was the spot he came from the preceding night. Yet the recollection of it and his feverish past seemed to confuse him, and he turned his eyes gladly away. 

Pale, a little tremulous, but immaculate and jaunty in his whiteflannels and straw hat, he at last made his way downstairs. To hisgreat relief he found the sitting room empty, as he would have willinglydeferred his formal acknowledgments to his hostess later. A singleglance at the interior determined him not to linger, and he slippedquietly into the open air and sunshine. The day was warm and still, asthe wind only came up with the going down of the sun, and the atmospherewas still redolent with the morning spicing of pine and hay and astronger balm that seemed to fill his breast with sunshine. He walkedtoward the nearest shade--a cluster of young buckeyes--and having witha certain civic fastidiousness flicked the dust from a stump with hishandkerchief he sat down. It was very quiet and calm. The life andanimation of early morning had already vanished from the hill, or seemedto be suspended with the sun in the sky. He could see the ranchmen andoxen toiling on the green terraced slopes below, but no sound reachedhis ears. Even the house he had just quitted seemed empty of lifethroughout its rambling length. His seclusion was complete. Could hestand it for three weeks? Perhaps it need not be for so long; hewas already stronger! He foresaw that the ascetic Seth might becomewearisome. He had an intuition that Mrs. Rivers would be equally so; heshould certainly quarrel with Melinda, and this would probably debar himfrom the company of the children--his only hope. 

But his seclusion was by no means so complete as he expected. He presently was aware of a camp-meeting hymn hummed somewhatostentatiously by a deep contralto voice, which he at once recognized asMelinda's, and saw that severe virgin proceeding from the kitchen alongthe ridge until within a few paces of the buckeyes, when she stoppedand, with her hand shading her eyes, apparently began to examine thedistant fields. She was a tall, robust girl, not without certain rusticattractions, of which she seemed fully conscious. This latter weaknessgave Mr. Hamlin a new idea. He put up the penknife with which he hadbeen paring his nails while wondering why his hands had become so thin, and awaited events. She presently turned, approached the buckeyes, plucked a spike of the blossoms with great girlish lightness, and thenapparently discovering Mr. Hamlin, started in deep concern and said withsomewhat stentorian politeness: "I BEG your pardon--didn't know I wasintruding!"

"Don't mention it, " returned Jack promptly, but without moving. "I sawyou coming and was prepared; but generally--as I have something thematter with my heart--a sudden joy like this is dangerous. "

Somewhat mystified, but struggling between an expression of rigorousdecorum and gratified vanity, Miss Melinda stammered, "I was only"--

"I knew it--I saw what you were doing, " interrupted Jack gravely, "onlyI wouldn't do it if I were you. You were looking at one of those youngmen down the hill. You forgot that if you could see him he could seeyou looking too, and that would only make him conceited. And a girl withYOUR attractions don't require that. "

"Ez if, " said Melinda, with lofty but somewhat reddening scorn, "therewas a man on this hull rancho that I'd take a second look at. "

"It's the first look that does the business, " returned Jack simply. "Butmaybe I was wrong. Would you mind--as you're going straight back tothe house" (Miss Melinda had certainly expressed no suchintention)--"turning those two little kids loose out here? I've a sortof engagement with them. "

"I will speak to their mar, " said Melinda primly, yet with a certainsign of relenting, as she turned away. 

"You can say to her that I regretted not finding her in the sitting roomwhen I came down, " continued Jack tactfully. 

Apparently the tact was successful, for he was delighted a few momentslater by the joyous onset of John Wesley and Mary Emmeline upon thebuckeyes, which he at once converted into a game of hide and seek, permitting himself at last to be shamelessly caught in the open. But here he wisely resolved upon guarding against further grown-upinterruption, and consulting with his companions found that on oneof the lower terraces there was a large reservoir fed by a mountainrivulet, but they were not allowed to play there. Thither, however, thereckless Jack hied with his playmates and was presently ensconced undera willow tree, where he dexterously fashioned tiny willow canoes withhis penknife and sent them sailing over a submerged expanse of nearlyan acre. But half an hour of this ingenious amusement was brought to anabrupt termination. While cutting bark, with his back momentarily turnedon his companions, he heard a scream, and turned quickly to seeJohn Wesley struggling in the water, grasping a tree root, and MaryEmmeline--nowhere! In another minute he saw the strings of her pinaforeappear on the surface a few yards beyond, and in yet another minute, with a swift rueful glance at his white flannels, he had plunged afterher. A disagreeable shock of finding himself out of his depths was, however, followed by contact with the child's clothing, and clutchingher firmly, a stroke or two brought him panting to the bank. Herea gasp, a gurgle, and then a roar from Mary Emmeline, followed by asympathetic howl from John Wesley, satisfied him that the danger wasover. Rescuing the boy from the tree root, he laid them both on thegrass and contemplated them exercising their lungs with miserablesatisfaction. But here he found his own breathing impeded in addition toa slight faintness, and was suddenly obliged to sit down beside them, atwhich, by some sympathetic intuition, they both stopped crying. 

Encouraged by this, Mr. Hamlin got them to laughing again, and thenproposed a race home in their wet clothes, which they accepted, Mr. Hamlin, for respiratory reasons, lagging in their rear until he had thesatisfaction of seeing them captured by the horrified Melinda in frontof the kitchen, while he slipped past her and regained his own room. Here he changed his saturated clothes, tried to rub away a certainchilliness that was creeping over him, and lay down in his dressinggown to miserable reflections. He had nearly drowned the children andoverexcited himself, in spite of his promise to the doctor! He wouldnever again be intrusted with the care of the former nor be believed bythe latter!

But events are not always logical in sequence. Mr. Hamlin wentcomfortably to sleep and into a profuse perspiration. He was awakened bya rapping at his door, and opening it, was surprised to find Mrs. Riverswith anxious inquiries as to his condition. "Indeed, " she said, with anemotion which even her prim reserve could not conceal, "I did not knowuntil now how serious the accident was, and how but for you and DivineProvidence my little girl might have been drowned. It seems Melinda sawit all. "

Inwardly objurgating the spying Melinda, but relieved that his playmateshadn't broken their promise of secrecy, Mr. Hamlin laughed. 

"I'm afraid that your little girl wouldn't have got into the water atall but for me--and you must give all the credit of getting her outto the other fellow. " He stopped at the severe change in Mrs. Rivers'sexpression, and added quite boyishly and with a sudden drop from hisusual levity, "But please don't keep the children away from me for allthat, Mrs. Rivers. "

Mrs. Rivers did not, and the next day Jack and his companions soughtfresh playing fields and some new story-telling pastures. Indeed, it wasa fine sight to see this pale, handsome, elegantly dressed young fellowlounging along between a blue-checkered pinafored girl on one side anda barefooted boy on the other. The ranchmen turned and looked afterhim curiously. One, a rustic prodigal, reduced by dissipation to theswine-husks of ranching, saw fit to accost him familiarly. 

"The last time I saw you dealing poker in Sacramento, Mr. Hamlin, I didnot reckon to find you up here playing with a couple of kids. "

"No!" responded Mr. Hamlin suavely, "and yet I remember I was playingwith some country idiots down there, and you were one of them. Well!understand that up here I prefer the kids. Don't let me have to remindyou of it. "

Nevertheless, Mr. Hamlin could not help noticing that for the nexttwo or three days there were many callers at the ranch and that he wasobliged in his walks to avoid the highroad on account of the impertinentcuriosity of wayfarers. Some of them were of that sex which he would nothave contented himself with simply calling "curious. "

"To think, " said Melinda confidently to her mistress, "that that tharMrs. Stubbs, who wouldn't go to the Hightown Hotel because there was aplay actress thar, has been snoopin' round here twice since that youngfeller came. "

Of this fact, however, Mr. Hamlin was blissfully unconscious. 

Nevertheless, his temper was growing uncertain; the angle of his smartstraw hat was becoming aggressive to strangers; his politeness sardonic. And now Sunday morning had come with an atmosphere of starched piety andwell-soaped respectability at the rancho, and the children were to betaken with the rest of the family to the day-long service at Hightown. As these Sabbath pilgrimages filled the main road, he was fain to takehimself and his loneliness to the trails and byways, and even to invadethe haunts of some other elegant outcasts like himself--to wit, acrested hawk, a graceful wild cat beautifully marked, and an eloquentlyreticent rattlesnake. Mr. Hamlin eyed them without fear, and certainlywithout reproach. They were not out of their element. 

Suddenly he heard his name called in a stentorian contralto. Animpatient ejaculation rose to his lips, but died upon them as he turned. It was certainly Melinda, but in his present sensitive loneliness itstruck him for the first time that he had never actually seen her beforeas she really was. Like most men in his profession he was a quick readerof thoughts and faces when he was interested, and although this was thesame robust, long-limbed, sunburnt girl he had met, he now seemed to seethrough her triple incrustation of human vanity, conventional piety, and outrageous Sabbath finery an honest, sympathetic simplicity thatcommanded his respect. 

"You are back early from church, " he said. 

"Yes. One service is good enough for me when thar ain't no specialpreacher, " she returned, "so I jest sez to Silas, 'as I ain't here tolisten to the sisters cackle ye kin put to the buckboard and drive mehome ez soon ez you please. '"

"And so his name is Silas, " suggested Mr. Hamlin cheerfully. 

"Go 'long with you, Mr. Hamlin, and don't pester, " she returned, withheifer-like playfulness. "Well, Silas put to, and when we rose the hillhere I saw your straw hat passin' in the gulch, and sez to Silas, sez I, 'Ye kin pull up here, for over yar is our new boarder, Jack Hamlin, andI'm goin' to talk with him. ' 'All right, ' sez he, 'I'd sooner trustye with that gay young gambolier every day of the week than with themsaints down thar on Sunday. He deals ez straight ez he shoots, and isabout as nigh onto a gentleman as they make 'em. '"

For one moment or two Miss Bird only saw Jack's long lashes. When hiseyes once more lifted they were shining. "And what did you say?" hesaid, with a short laugh. 

"I told him he needn't be Christopher Columbus to have discovered that. "She turned with a laugh toward Jack, to be met by the word "shake, " andan outstretched thin white hand which grasped her large red one with afrank, fraternal pressure. 

"I didn't come to tell ye that, " remarked Miss Bird as she sat down on aboulder, took off her yellow hat, and restacked her tawny mane underit, "but this: I reckoned I went to Sunday meetin' as I ought ter. Ikalkilated to hear considerable about 'Faith' and 'Works, ' and sich, but I didn't reckon to hear all about you from the Lord's Prayer to theDoxology. You were in the special prayers ez a warnin', in the sermonez a text; they picked out hymns to fit ye! And always a drefful exampleand a visitation. And the rest o' the tune it was all gabble, gabble bythe brothers and sisters about you. I reckon, Mr. Hamlin, that they knoweverything you ever did since you were knee-high to a grasshopper, and agood deal more than you ever thought of doin'. The women is all dead seton convertin' ye and savin' ye by their own precious selves, and the menis ekally dead set on gettin' rid o' ye on that account. "

"And what did Seth and Mrs. Rivers say?" asked Hamlin composedly, butwith kindling eyes. 

"They stuck up for ye ez far ez they could. But ye see the parsonhez got a holt upon Seth, havin' caught him kissin' a convert at campmeeting; and Deacon Turner knows suthin about Mrs. Rivers's sister, whokicked over the pail and jumped the fence years ago, and she's afeard a'him. But what I wanted to tell ye was that they're all comin' up here totake a look at ye--some on 'em to-night. You ain't afeard, are ye?" sheadded, with a loud laugh. 

"Well, it looks rather desperate, doesn't it?" returned Jack, withdancing eyes. 

"I'll trust ye for all that, " said Melinda. "And now I reckon I'll trotalong to the rancho. Ye needn't offer ter see me home, " she added, as Jack made a movement to accompany her. "Everybody up here ain't asfair-minded ez Silas and you, and Melinda Bird hez a character tolose! So long!" With this she cantered away, a little heavily, perhaps, adjusting her yellow hat with both hands as she clattered down the steephill. 

That afternoon Mr. Hamlin drew largely on his convalescence to mount ahalf-broken mustang, and in spite of the rising afternoon wind to gallopalong the highroad in quite as mischievous and breezy a fashion. He waswont to allow his mustang's nose to hang over the hind rails of wagonsand buggies containing young couples, and to dash ahead of sobercarryalls that held elderly "members in good standing. "

An accomplished rider, he picked up and brought back the flying parasolof Mrs. Deacon Stubbs without dismounting. He finally came home a littleblown, but dangerously composed. 

There was the usual Sunday evening gathering at Windy HillRancho--neighbors and their wives, deacons and the pastor--but theircuriosity was not satisfied by the sight of Mr. Hamlin, who kept his ownroom and his own counsel. There was some desultory conversation, chieflyon church topics, for it was vaguely felt that a discussion of theadvisability or getting rid of the guest of their host was somewhatdifficult under this host's roof, with the guest impending at anymoment. Then a diversion was created by some of the church choirpracticing the harmonium with the singing of certain more or lesslugubrious anthems. Mrs. Rivers presently joined in, and in a somewhatfaded soprano, which, however, still retained considerable musical tasteand expression, sang, "Come, ye disconsolate. " The wind moaned over thedeep-throated chimney in a weird harmony with the melancholy of thathuman appeal as Mrs. Rivers sang the first verse:--

 "Come, ye disconsolate, where'er ye languish, Come to the Mercy Seat, fervently kneel; Here bring your wounded hearts--here tell your anguish, Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal!"

A pause followed, and the long-drawn, half-human sigh of the mountainwind over the chimney seemed to mingle with the wail of the harmonium. And then, to their thrilled astonishment, a tenor voice, high, clear, but tenderly passionate, broke like a skylark over their heads in thelines of the second verse:--

 "Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying, Hope of the penitent--fadeless and pure; Here speaks the Comforter, tenderly saying, Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure!"

The hymn was old and familiar enough, Heaven knows. It had beenquite popular at funerals, and some who sat there had had its strangemelancholy borne upon them in time of loss and tribulations, butnever had they felt its full power before. Accustomed as they were toemotional appeal and to respond to it, as the singer's voice died awayabove them, their very tears flowed and fell with that voice. A fewsobbed aloud, and then a voice asked tremulously, --

"Who is it?"

"It's Mr. Hamlin, " said Seth quietly. "I've heard him often hummin'things before. "

There was another silence, and the voice of Deacon Stubbs broke inharshly, --

"It's rank blasphemy. "

"If it's rank blasphemy to sing the praise o' God, not only better thansome folks in the choir, but like an angel o' light, I wish you'd do alittle o' that blaspheming on Sundays, Mr. Stubbs. "

The speaker was Mrs. Stubbs, and as Deacon Stubbs was a notoriously badsinger the shot told. 

"If he's sincere, why does he stand aloof? Why does he not join us?"asked the parson. 

"He hasn't been asked, " said Seth quietly. "If I ain't mistaken this yergathering this evening was specially to see how to get rid of him. "

There was a quick murmur of protest at this. The parson exchangedglances with the deacon and saw that they were hopelessly in theminority. 

"I will ask him myself, " said Mrs. Rivers suddenly. 

"So do, Sister Rivers; so do, " was the unmistakable response. 

Mrs. Rivers left the room and returned in a few moments with a handsomeyoung man, pale, elegant, composed, even to a grave indifference. What his eyes might have said was another thing; the long lashes werescarcely raised. 

"I don't mind playing a little, " he said quietly to Mrs. Rivers, as ifcontinuing a conversation, "but you'll have to let me trust my memory. "

"Then you--er--play the harmonium?" said the parson, with an attempt atformal courtesy. 

"I was for a year or two the organist in the choir of Dr. Todd's churchat Sacramento, " returned Mr. Hamlin quietly. 

The blank amazement on the faces of Deacons Stubbs and Turner and theparson was followed by wreathed smiles from the other auditors andespecially from the ladies. Mr. Hamlin sat down to the instrument, and in another moment took possession of it as it had never been heldbefore. He played from memory as he had implied, but it was the memoryof a musician. He began with one or two familiar anthems, in which theyall joined. A fragment of a mass and a Latin chant followed. An "AveMaria" from an opera was his first secular departure, but his delightedaudience did not detect it. Then he hurried them along in unfamiliarlanguage to "O mio Fernando" and "Spiritu gentil, " which they fondlyimagined were hymns, until, with crowning audacity, after a fewpreliminary chords of the "Miserere, " he landed them broken-hearted inthe Trovatore's donjon tower with "Non te scordar de mi. "

Amidst the applause he heard the preacher suavely explain that thosePopish masses were always in the Latin language, and rose from theinstrument satisfied with his experiment. Excusing himself as an invalidfrom joining them in a light collation in the dining room, and begginghis hostess's permission to retire, he nevertheless lingered a fewmoments by the door as the ladies filed out of the room, followed bythe gentlemen, until Deacon Turner, who was bringing up the rear, wasabreast of him. Here Mr. Hamlin became suddenly deeply interested ina framed pencil drawing which hung on the wall. It was evidently aschoolgirl's amateur portrait, done by Mrs. Rivers. Deacon Turner haltedquickly by his side as the others passed out--which was exactly what Mr. Hamlin expected. 

"Do you know the face?" said the deacon eagerly. 

Thanks to the faithful Melinda, Mr. Hamlin did know it perfectly. It wasa pencil sketch of Mrs. Rivers's youthfully erring sister. But he onlysaid he thought he recognized a likeness to some one he had seen inSacramento. 

The deacon's eye brightened. "Perhaps the same one--perhaps, " he addedin a submissive and significant tone "a--er--painful story. "

"Rather--to him, " observed Hamlin quietly. 

"How?--I--er--don't understand, " said Deacon Turner. 

"Well, the portrait looks like a lady I knew in Sacramento who had beenin some trouble when she was a silly girl, but had got over it quietly. She was, however, troubled a good deal by some mean hound who was everynow and then raking up the story wherever she went. Well, one of herfriends--I might have been among them, I don't exactly remember justnow--challenged him, but although he had no conscientious convictionsabout slandering a woman, he had some about being shot for it, anddeclined. The consequence was he was cowhided once in the street, andthe second time tarred and feathered and ridden on a rail out of town. That, I suppose, was what you meant by your 'painful story. ' But is thisthe woman?"

"No, no, " said the deacon hurriedly, with a white face, "you have quitemisunderstood. "

"But whose is this portrait?" persisted Jack. 

"I believe that--I don't know exactly--but I think it is a sister ofMrs. Rivers's, " stammered the deacon. 

"Then, of course, it isn't the same woman, " said Jack in simulatedindignation. 

"Certainly--of course not, " returned the deacon. 

"Phew!" said Jack. "That was a mighty close call. Lucky we were alone, wasn't it?"

"Yes, " said the deacon, with a feeble smile. 

"Seth, " continued Jack, with a thoughtful air, "looks like a quiet man, but I shouldn't like to have made that mistake about his sister-in-lawbefore him. These quiet men are apt to shoot straight. Better keep thisto ourselves. "

Deacon Turner not only kept the revelation to himself but apparently hisown sacred person also, as he did not call again at Windy HillRancho during Mr. Hamlin's stay. But he was exceedingly polite in hisreferences to Jack, and alluded patronizingly to a "little chat" theyhad had together. And when the usual reaction took place in Mr. Hamlin'sfavor and Jack was actually induced to perform on the organ at HightownChurch next Sunday, the deacon's voice was loudest in his praise. EvenParson Greenwood allowed himself to be non-committal as to the truth ofthe rumor, largely circulated, that one of the most desperate gamblersin the State had been converted through his exhortations. 

So, with breezy walks and games with the children, occasionalconfidences with Melinda and Silas, and the Sabbath "singing ofanthems, " Mr. Hamlin's three weeks of convalescence drew to a close. Hehad lately relaxed his habit of seclusion so far as to mingle with thecompany gathered for more social purposes at the rancho, and once ortwice unbent so far as to satisfy their curiosity in regard to certaindetails of his profession. 

"I have no personal knowledge of games of cards, " said Parson Greenwoodpatronizingly, "and think I am right in saying that our brothers andsisters are equally inexperienced. I am--ahem--far from believing, however, that entire ignorance of evil is the best preparation forcombating it, and I should be glad if you'd explain to the company theintricacies of various games. There is one that you mentioned, witha--er--scriptural name. "

"Faro, " said Hamlin, with an unmoved face. 

"Pharaoh, " repeated the parson gravely; "and one which you call 'poker, 'which seems to require great self-control. "

"I couldn't make you understand poker without your playing it, " saidJack decidedly. 

"As long as we don't gamble--that is, play for money--I see noobjection, " returned the parson. 

"And, " said Jack musingly, "you could use beans. "

It was agreed finally that there would be no falling from grace in theirplaying among themselves, in an inquiring Christian spirit, under Jack'sguidance, he having decided to abstain from card playing during hisconvalescence, and Jack permitted himself to be persuaded to show themthe following evening. 

It so chanced, however, that Dr. Duchesne, finding the end of Jack's"cure" approaching, and not hearing from that interesting invalid, resolved to visit him at about this time. Having no chance to appriseJack of his intention, on coming to Hightown at night he procured aconveyance at the depot to carry him to Windy Hill Rancho. The wind blewwith its usual nocturnal rollicking persistency, and at the end ofhis turbulent drive it seemed almost impossible to make himself heardamongst the roaring of the pines and some astounding preoccupation ofthe inmates. After vainly knocking, the doctor pushed open the frontdoor and entered. He rapped at the closed sitting room door, butreceiving no reply, pushed it open upon the most unexpected andastounding scene he had ever witnessed. Around the centre table severalrespectable members of the Hightown Church, including the parson, weregathered with intense and eager faces playing poker, and behind theparson, with his hands in his pockets, carelessly lounged the doctor'spatient, the picture of health and vigor. A disused pack of cards wasscattered on the floor, and before the gentle and precise Mrs. Riverswas heaped a pile of beans that would have filled a quart measure. 

When Dr. Duchesne had tactfully retreated before the hurried andstammering apologies of his host and hostess, and was alone with Jackin his rooms, he turned to him with a gravity that was more than halfaffected and said, "How long, sir, did it take you to effect thiscorruption?"

"Upon my honor, " said Jack simply, "they played last night for thefirst time. And they forced me to show them. But, " added Jack after asignificant pause, "I thought it would make the game livelier and bemore of a moral lesson if I gave them nearly all good pat hands. So Iran in a cold deck on them--the first time I ever did such a thing inmy life. I fixed up a pack of cards so that one had three tens, anotherthree jacks, and another three queens, and so on up to three aces. In aminute they had all tumbled to the game, and you never saw such betting. Every man and woman there believed he or she had struck a sure thing, and staked accordingly. A new panful of beans was brought on, and Seth, your friend, banked for them. And at last the parson raked in the wholepile. "

"I suppose you gave him the three aces, " said Dr. Duchesne gloomily. 

"The parson, " said Jack slowly, "HADN'T A SINGLE PAIR IN HIS HAND. It was the stoniest, deadest, neatest BLUFF I ever saw. And when he'dfrightened off the last man who held out and laid that measly hand ofhis face down on that pile of kings, queens, and aces, and lookedaround the table as he raked in the pile, there was a smile of humbleself-righteousness on his face that was worth double the money. "

A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT RIDGE

The schoolmaster of Chestnut Ridge was interrupted in his after-schoolsolitude by the click of hoof and sound of voices on the little bridlepath that led to the scant clearing in which his schoolhouse stood. Helaid down his pen as the figures of a man and woman on horsebackpassed the windows and dismounted before the porch. He recognized thecomplacent, good-humored faces of Mr. And Mrs. Hoover, who owned aneighboring ranch of some importance and who were accounted well to dopeople by the community. Being a childless couple, however, while theygenerously contributed to the support of the little school, they hadnot added to its flock, and it was with some curiosity that the youngschoolmaster greeted them and awaited the purport of their visit. Thiswas protracted in delivery through a certain polite dalliance with thereal subject characteristic of the Southwestern pioneer. 

"Well, Almiry, " said Mr. Hoover, turning to his wife after the firstgreeting with the schoolmaster was over, "this makes me feel likeold times, you bet! Why, I ain't bin inside a schoolhouse since I wasknee-high to a grasshopper. Thar's the benches, and the desks, and thebooks and all them 'a b, abs, ' jest like the old days. Dear! Dear! Butthe teacher in those days was ez old and grizzled ez I be--and some o'the scholars--no offense to you, Mr. Brooks--was older and bigger noryou. But times is changed: yet look, Almiry, if thar ain't a hunk o'stale gingerbread in that desk jest as it uster be! Lord! how it allcomes back! Ez I was sayin' only t'other day, we can't be too gratefulto our parents for givin' us an eddication in our youth;" and Mr. Hoover, with the air of recalling an alma mater of sequestered gloom andcloistered erudition, gazed reverently around the new pine walls. 

But Mrs. Hoover here intervened with a gracious appreciation of theschoolmaster's youth after her usual kindly fashion. "And don't youforget it, Hiram Hoover, that these young folks of to-day kin teach theold schoolmasters of 'way back more'n you and I dream of. We've heardof your book larnin', Mr. Brooks, afore this, and we're proud to hev youhere, even if the Lord has not pleased to give us the children to sendto ye. But we've always paid our share in keeping up the schoolfor others that was more favored, and now it looks as if He had notforgotten us, and ez if"--with a significant, half-shy glance at herhusband and a corroborating nod from that gentleman--"ez if, reelly, wemight be reckonin' to send you a scholar ourselves. "

The young schoolmaster, sympathetic and sensitive, felt somewhatembarrassed. The allusion to his extreme youth, mollified though it wasby the salve of praise from the tactful Mrs. Hoover, had annoyed him, and perhaps added to his slight confusion over the information shevouchsafed. He had not heard of any late addition to the Hoover family, he would not have been likely to, in his secluded habits; and althoughhe was accustomed to the naive and direct simplicity of the pioneer, he could scarcely believe that this good lady was announcing a maternalexpectation. He smiled vaguely and begged them to be seated. 

"Ye see, " said Mr. Hoover, dropping upon a low bench, "the way the thingpans out is this. Almiry's brother is a pow'ful preacher down the coastat San Antonio and hez settled down thar with a big Free Will BaptistChurch congregation and a heap o' land got from them Mexicans. Thar'sa lot o' poor Spanish and Injin trash that belong to the land, andAlmiry's brother hez set about convertin' 'em, givin' 'em convickshionand religion, though the most of 'em is Papists and followers of theScarlet Woman. Thar was an orphan, a little girl that he got outer thehands o' them priests, kinder snatched as a brand from the burnin', andhe sent her to us to be brought up in the ways o' the Lord, knowin'that we had no children of our own. But we thought she oughter get thebenefit o' schoolin' too, besides our own care, and we reckoned to bringher here reg'lar to school. "

Relieved and pleased to help the good-natured couple in the care of thehomeless waif, albeit somewhat doubtful of their religious methods, theschoolmaster said he would be delighted to number her among his littleflock. Had she already received any tuition?

"Only from them padres, ye know, things about saints, Virgin Marys, visions, and miracles, " put in Mrs. Hoover; "and we kinder thought ezyou know Spanish you might be able to get rid o' them in exchange for'conviction o' sins' and 'justification by faith, ' ye know. "

"I'm afraid, " said Mr. Brooks, smiling at the thought of displacing theChurch's "mysteries" for certain corybantic displays and thaumaturgicalexhibitions he had witnessed at the Dissenters' camp meeting, "that Imust leave all that to you, and I must caution you to be carefulwhat you do lest you also shake her faith in the alphabet and themultiplication table. "

"Mebbee you're right, " said Mrs. Hoover, mystified but good-natured;"but thar's one thing more we oughter tell ye. She's--she's a trifledark complected. "

The schoolmaster smiled. "Well?" he said patiently. 

"She isn't a nigger nor an Injin, ye know, but she's kinder ahalf-Spanish, half-Mexican Injin, what they call 'mes--mes'"--

"Mestiza, " suggested Mr. Brooks; "a half-breed or mongrel. "

"I reckon. Now thar wouldn't be any objection to that, eh?" said Mr. Hoover a little uneasily. 

"Not by me, " returned the schoolmaster cheerfully. "And although thisschool is state-aided it's not a 'public school' in the eye of the law, so you have only the foolish prejudices of your neighbors to deal with. "He had recognized the reason of their hesitation and knew the strongracial antagonism held towards the negro and Indian by Mr. Hoover'sSouthwestern compatriots, and he could not refrain from "rubbing it in. "

"They kin see, " interposed Mrs. Hoover, "that she's not a nigger, forher hair don't 'kink, ' and a furrin Injin, of course, is different fromone o' our own. "

"If they hear her speak Spanish, and you simply say she is a foreigner, as she is, it will be all right, " said the schoolmaster smilingly. "Lether come, I'll look after her. "

Much relieved, after a few more words the couple took their departure, the schoolmaster promising to call the next afternoon at the Hoovers'ranch and meet his new scholar. "Ye might give us a hint or two how sheoughter be fixed up afore she joins the school. "

The ranch was about four miles from the schoolhouse, and as Mr. Brooksdrew rein before the Hoovers' gate he appreciated the devotion of thecouple who were willing to send the child that distance twice a day. The house, with its outbuildings, was on a more liberal scale than itsneighbors, and showed few of the makeshifts and half-hearted advancestowards permanent occupation common to the Southwestern pioneers, whowere more or less nomads in instinct and circumstance. He was usheredinto a well-furnished sitting room, whose glaring freshness was subduedand repressed by black-framed engravings of scriptural subjects. As Mr. Brooks glanced at them and recalled the schoolrooms of the old missions, with their monastic shadows which half hid the gaudy, tinseled saintsand flaming or ensanguined hearts upon the walls, he feared that thelittle waif of Mother Church had not gained any cheerfulness in theexchange. 

As she entered the room with Mrs. Hoover, her large dark eyes--the mostnotable feature in her small face--seemed to sustain the schoolmaster'sfanciful fear in their half-frightened wonder. She was clinging closelyto Mrs. Hoover's side, as if recognizing the good woman's maternalkindness even while doubtful of her purpose; but on the schoolmasteraddressing her in Spanish, a singular change took place in theirrelative positions. A quick look of intelligence came into hermelancholy eyes, and with it a slight consciousness of superiority toher protectors that was embarrassing to him. For the rest he observedmerely that she was small and slightly built, although her figure washidden in a long "check apron" or calico pinafore with sleeves--a localgarment--which was utterly incongruous with her originality. Her skinwas olive, inclining to yellow, or rather to that exquisite shade ofbuff to be seen in the new bark of the madrono. Her face was oval, andher mouth small and childlike, with little to suggest the aboriginaltype in her other features. 

The master's questions elicited from the child the fact that she couldread and write, that she knew her "Hail Mary" and creed (happily theProtestant Mrs. Hoover was unable to follow this questioning), but healso elicited the more disturbing fact that her replies and confidencessuggested a certain familiarity and equality of condition which he couldonly set down to his own youthfulness of appearance. He was apprehensivethat she might even make some remark regarding Mrs. Hoover, and was notsorry that the latter did not understand Spanish. But before he left hemanaged to speak with Mrs. Hoover alone and suggested a change inthe costume of the pupil when she came to school. "The better she isdressed, " suggested the wily young diplomat, "the less likely is she toawaken any suspicion of her race. "

"Now that's jest what's botherin' me, Mr. Brooks, " returned Mrs. Hoover, with a troubled face, "for you see she is a growin' girl, " and sheconcluded, with some embarrassment, "I can't quite make up my mind howto dress her. "

"How old is she?" asked the master abruptly. 

"Goin' on twelve, but, "--and Mrs. Hoover again hesitated. 

"Why, two of my scholars, the Bromly girls, are over fourteen, " said themaster, "and you know how they are dressed;" but here he hesitated inhis turn. It had just occurred to him that the little waif was from theextreme South, and the precocious maturity of the mixed races there waswell known. He even remembered, to his alarm, to have seen brides oftwelve and mothers of fourteen among the native villagers. This mightalso account for the suggestion of equality in her manner, and even fora slight coquettishness which he thought he had noticed in her whenhe had addressed her playfully as a muchacha. "I should dress her insomething Spanish, " he said hurriedly, "something white, you know, withplenty of flounces and a little black lace, or a black silk skirt anda lace scarf, you know. She'll be all right if you don't make her looklike a servant or a dependent, " he added, with a show of confidence hewas far from feeling. "But you haven't told me her name, " he concluded. 

"As we're reckonin' to adopt her, " said Mrs. Hoover gravely, "you'llgive her ours. "

"But I can't call her 'Miss Hoover, '" suggested the master; "what's herfirst name?"

"We was thinkin' o' 'Serafina Ann, '" said Mrs. Hoover with more gravity. 

"But what is her name?" persisted the master. 

"Well, " returned Mrs. Hoover, with a troubled look, "me and Hiramconsider it's a heathenish sort of name for a young gal, but you'll findit in my brother's letter. " She took a letter from under the lid of alarge Bible on the table and pointed to a passage in it. 

"The child was christened 'Concepcion, '" read the master. "Why, that'sone of the Marys!"

"The which?" asked Mrs. Hoover severely. 

"One of the titles of the Virgin Mary; 'Maria de la Concepcion, '" saidMr. Brooks glibly. 

"It don't sound much like anythin' so Christian and decent as 'Maria' or'Mary, '" returned Mrs. Hoover suspiciously. 

"But the abbreviation, 'Concha, ' is very pretty. In fact it's just thething, it's so very Spanish, " returned the master decisively. "Andyou know that the squaw who hangs about the mining camp is called'Reservation Ann, ' and old Mrs. Parkins's negro cook is called 'AuntSerafina, ' so 'Serafina Ann' is too suggestive. 'Concha Hoover' 's thename. "

"P'r'aps you're right, " said Mrs. Hoover meditatively. 

"And dress her so she'll look like her name and you'll be all right, "said the master gayly as he took his departure. 

Nevertheless, it was with some anxiety the next morning he heard thesound of hoofs on the rocky bridle path leading to the schoolhouse. Hehad already informed his little flock of the probable addition to theirnumbers and their breathless curiosity now accented the appearanceof Mr. Hoover riding past the window, followed by a little figure onhorseback, half hidden in the graceful folds of a serape. The nextmoment they dismounted at the porch, the serape was cast aside, and thenew scholar entered. 

A little alarmed even in his admiration, the master nevertheless thoughthe had never seen a more dainty figure. Her heavily flounced white skirtstopped short just above her white-stockinged ankles and littlefeet, hidden in white satin, low-quartered slippers. Her black silk, shell-like jacket half clasped her stayless bust clad in an under-bodiceof soft muslin that faintly outlined a contour which struck him asalready womanly. A black lace veil which had protected her head, shehad on entering slipped down to her shoulders with a graceful gesture, leaving one end of it pinned to her hair by a rose above her littleyellow ear. The whole figure was so inconsistent with its presentsetting that the master inwardly resolved to suggest a modification ofit to Mrs. Hoover as he, with great gravity, however, led the girl tothe seat he had prepared for her. Mr. Hoover, who had been assistingdiscipline as he conscientiously believed by gazing with hushed, reverent reminiscence on the walls, here whispered behind his largehand that he would call for her at "four o'clock" and tiptoed out of theschoolroom. The master, who felt that everything would depend uponhis repressing the children's exuberant curiosity and maintaining thediscipline of the school for the next few minutes, with supernaturalgravity addressed the young girl in Spanish and placed before her afew slight elementary tasks. Perhaps the strangeness of the language, perhaps the unwonted seriousness of the master, perhaps also theimpassibility of the young stranger herself, all contributed to arrestthe expanding smiles on little faces, to check their wandering eyes, and hush their eager whispers. By degrees heads were again loweredover their tasks, the scratching of pencils on slates, and thefar-off rapping of Woodpeckers again indicated the normal quiet of theschoolroom, and the master knew he had triumphed, and the ordeal waspast. 

But not as regarded himself, for although the new pupil had accepted hisinstructions with childlike submissiveness, and even as it seemed tohim with childlike comprehension, he could not help noticing thatshe occasionally glanced at him with a demure suggestion of someunderstanding between them, or as if they were playing at master andpupil. This naturally annoyed him and perhaps added a severer dignity tohis manner, which did not appear to be effective, however, and whichhe fancied secretly amused her. Was she covertly laughing at him? Yetagainst this, once or twice, as her big eyes wandered from her task overthe room, they encountered the curious gaze of the other children, andhe fancied he saw an exchange of that freemasonry of intelligence commonto children in the presence of their elders even when strangers to eachother. He looked forward to recess to see how she would get on with hercompanions; he knew that this would settle her status in the school, andperhaps elsewhere. Even her limited English vocabulary would not in anyway affect that instinctive, childlike test of superiority, but he wassurprised when the hour of recess came and he had explained to her inSpanish and English its purpose, to see her quietly put her arm aroundthe waist of Matilda Bromly, the tallest girl in the school, as the twowhisked themselves off to the playground. She was a mere child afterall!

Other things seemed to confirm this opinion. Later, when the childrenreturned from recess, the young stranger had instantly become a popularidol, and had evidently dispensed her favors and patronage generously. The elder Bromly girl was wearing her lace veil, another had possessionof her handkerchief, and a third displayed the rose which had adornedher left ear, things of which the master was obliged to take note with aview of returning them to the prodigal little barbarian at the close ofschool. Later he was, however, much perplexed by the mysterious passageunder the desks of some unknown object which apparently was makingthe circuit of the school. With the annoyed consciousness that he wasperhaps unwittingly participating in some game, he finally "nailed it"in the possession of Demosthenes Walker, aged six, to the spontaneousoutcry of "Cotched!" from the whole school. When produced from MasterWalker's desk in company with a horned toad and a piece of gingerbread, it was found to be Concha's white satin slipper, the young girl herself, meanwhile, bending demurely over her task with the bereft foot tucked uplike a bird's under her skirt. The master, reserving reproof of thisand other enormities until later, contented himself with commanding theslipper to be brought to him, when he took it to her with the satiricalremark in Spanish that the schoolroom was not a dressing room--Camarapara vestirse. To his surprise, however, she smilingly held out the tinystockinged foot with a singular combination of the spoiled child and thecoquettish senorita, and remained with it extended as if waiting for himto kneel and replace the slipper. But he laid it carefully on her desk. 

"Put it on at once, " he said in English. 

There was no mistaking the tone of his voice, whatever his language. Concha darted a quick look at him like the momentary resentment ofan animal, but almost as quickly her eyes became suffused, and with ahurried movement she put on the slipper. 

"Please, sir, it dropped off and Jimmy Snyder passed it on, " said asmall explanatory voice among the benches. 

"Silence!" said the master. 

Nevertheless, he was glad to see that the school had not noticed thegirl's familiarity even though they thought him "hard. " He was notsure upon reflection but that he had magnified her offense and had beenunnecessarily severe, and this feeling was augmented by his occasionallyfinding her looking at him with the melancholy, wondering eyes of achidden animal. Later, as he was moving among the desks' overlookingthe tasks of the individual pupils, he observed from a distance that herhead was bent over her desk while her lips were moving as if repeatingto herself her lesson, and that afterwards, with a swift look around theroom to assure herself that she was unobserved, she made a hurried signof the cross. It occurred to him that this might have followed somepenitential prayer of the child, and remembering her tuition by thepadres it gave him an idea. He dismissed school a few moments earlier inorder that he might speak to her alone before Mr. Hoover arrived. 

Referring to the slipper incident and receiving her assurances that"she" (the slipper) was much too large and fell often "so, " a factreally established by demonstration, he seized his opportunity. "Buttell me, when you were with the padre and your slipper fell off, you didnot expect him to put it on for you?"

Concha looked at him coyly and then said triumphantly, "Ah, no! but hewas a priest, and you are a young caballero. "

Yet even after this audacity Mr. Brooks found he could only recommendto Mr. Hoover a change in the young girl's slippers, the absence of therose-pinned veil, and the substitution of a sunbonnet. For the resthe must trust to circumstances. As Mr. Hoover--who with large paternaloptimism had professed to see already an improvement in her--helped herinto the saddle, the schoolmaster could not help noticing that she hadevidently expected him to perform that act of courtesy, and that shelooked correspondingly reproachful. 

"The holy fathers used sometimes to let me ride with them on theirmules, " said Concha, leaning over her saddle towards the schoolmaster. 

"Eh, what, missy?" said the Protestant Mr. Hoover, pricking up his ears. "Now you just listen to Mr. Brooks's doctrines, and never mind themPapists, " he added as he rode away, with the firm conviction that themaster had already commenced the task of her spiritual conversion. 

The next day the master awoke to find his little school famous. Whateverwere the exaggerations or whatever the fancies carried home to theirparents by the children, the result was an overwhelming interest in theproceedings and personnel of the school by the whole district. Peoplehad already called at the Hoover ranch to see Mrs. Hoover's prettyadopted daughter. The master, on his way to the schoolroom that morning, had found a few woodmen and charcoal burners lounging on the bridlepath that led from the main road. Two or three parents accompaniedtheir children to school, asserting they had just dropped in to see how"Aramanta" or "Tommy" were "gettin' on. " As the school began to assembleseveral unfamiliar faces passed the windows or were boldly flattenedagainst the glass. The little schoolhouse had not seen such a gatheringsince it had been borrowed for a political meeting in the previousautumn. And the master noticed with some concern that many of the faceswere the same which he had seen uplifted to the glittering periods ofColonel Starbottle, "the war horse of the Democracy. "

For he could not shut his eyes to the fact that they came from nomere curiosity to see the novel and bizarre; no appreciation ofmere picturesqueness or beauty; and alas! from no enthusiasm for theprogression of education. He knew the people among whom he had lived, and he realized the fatal question of "color" had been raised in somemysterious way by those Southwestern emigrants who had carried into this"free state" their inherited prejudices. A few words convinced him thatthe unhappy children had variously described the complexion of their newfellow pupil, and it was believed that the "No'th'n" schoolmaster, aidedand abetted by "capital" in the person of Hiram Hoover, had introducedeither a "nigger wench, " a "Chinese girl, " or an "Injin baby" to thesame educational privileges as the "pure whites, " and so contaminatedthe sons of freemen in their very nests. He was able to reassure manythat the child was of Spanish origin, but a majority preferred theevidence of their own senses, and lingered for that purpose. As the hourfor her appearance drew near and passed, he was seized with a suddenfear that she might not come, that Mr. Hoover had been prevailed uponby his compatriots, in view of the excitement, to withdraw her from theschool. But a faint cheer from the bridle path satisfied him, and thenext moment a little retinue swept by the window, and he understood. The Hoovers had evidently determined to accent the Spanish characterof their little charge. Concha, with a black riding skirt over herflounces, was now mounted on a handsome pinto mustang glittering withsilver trappings, accompanied by a vaquero in a velvet jacket, Mr. Hoover bringing up the rear. He, as he informed the master, hadmerely come to show the way to the vaquero, who hereafter would alwaysaccompany the child to and from school. Whether or not he had beeninduced to this display by the excitement did not transpire. Enough thatthe effect was a success. The riding skirt and her mustang's fripperieshad added to Concha's piquancy, and if her origin was still doubted bysome, the child herself was accepted with enthusiasm. The parents whowere spectators were proud of this distinguished accession to theirchildren's playmates, and when she dismounted amid the acclaim of herlittle companions, it was with the aplomb of a queen. 

The master alone foresaw trouble in this encouragement of her precociousmanner. He received her quietly, and when she had removed her ridingskirt, glancing at her feet, said approvingly, "I am glad to see youhave changed your slippers; I hope they fit you more firmly than theothers. "

The child shrugged her shoulders. "Quien sabe. But Pedro (the vaquero)will help me now on my horse when he comes for me. "

The master understood the characteristic non sequitur as an allusionto his want of gallantry on the previous day, but took no notice of it. Nevertheless, he was pleased to see during the day that she was payingmore attention to her studies, although they were generally rehearsedwith the languid indifference to all mental accomplishment whichbelonged to her race. Once he thought to stimulate her activity throughher personal vanity. 

"Why can you not learn as quickly as Matilda Bromly? She is only twoyears older than you, " he suggested. 

"Ah! Mother of God!--why does she then try to wear roses like me? Andwith that hair. It becomes her not. "

The master became thus aware for the first time that the elder Bromlygirl, in "the sincerest form of flattery" to her idol, was wearing ayellow rose in her tawny locks, and, further, that Master Bromly withexquisite humor had burlesqued his sister's imitation with a very smallcarrot stuck above his left ear. This the master promptly removed, adding an additional sum to the humorist's already overflowing slate byway of penance, and returned to Concha. "But wouldn't you like to be asclever as she?--you can if you will only learn. "

"What for should I? Look you; she has a devotion for the tall one--theboy Brown! Ah! I want him not. "

Yet, notwithstanding this lack of noble ambition, Concha seemed to haveabsorbed the "devotion" of the boys, big and little, and as the masterpresently discovered even that of many of the adult population. Therewere always loungers on the bridle path at the opening and closingof school, and the vaquero, who now always accompanied her, became anobject of envy. Possibly this caused the master to observe him closely. He was tall and thin, with a smooth complexionless face, but tothe master's astonishment he had the blue gray eye of the higher orCastilian type of native Californian. Further inquiry proved that he wasa son of one of the old impoverished Spanish grant holders whose leaguesand cattle had been mortgaged to the Hoovers, who now retained the sonto control the live stock "on shares. " "It looks kinder ez ef he mighthev an eye on that poorty little gal when she's an age to marry, "suggested a jealous swain. For several days the girl submitted to herschool tasks with her usual languid indifference and did not againtransgress the ordinary rules. Nor did Mr. Brooks again refer to theirhopeless conversation. But one afternoon he noticed that in the silenceand preoccupation of the class she had substituted another volume forher text-book and was perusing it with the articulating lips of theunpracticed reader. He demanded it from her. With blazing eyes andboth hands thrust into her desk she refused and defied him. Mr. Brooks slipped his arms around her waist, quietly lifted her from thebench--feeling her little teeth pierce the back of his hand as he didso, but secured the book. Two of the elder boys and girls had risen withexcited faces. 

"Sit down!" said the master sternly. 

They resumed their places with awed looks. The master examined the book. It was a little Spanish prayer book. "You were reading this?" he said inher own tongue. 

"Yes. You shall not prevent me!" she burst out. "Mother of God! THEYwill not let me read it at the ranch. They would take it from me. Andnow YOU!"

"You may read it when and where you like, except when you should bestudying your lessons, " returned the master quietly. "You may keep ithere in your desk and peruse it at recess. Come to me for it then. Youare not fit to read it now. "

The girl looked up with astounded eyes, which in the capriciousness ofher passionate nature the next moment filled with tears. Then droppingon her knees she caught the master's bitten hand and covered it withtears and kisses. But he quietly disengaged it and lifted her to herseat. There was a sniffling sound among the benches, which, however, quickly subsided as he glanced around the room, and the incident ended. 

Regularly thereafter she took her prayer book back at recess anddisappeared with the children, finding, as he afterwards learned, a seatunder a secluded buckeye tree, where she was not disturbed by them untilher orisons were concluded. The children must have remained loyal tosome command of hers, for the incident and this custom were never toldout of school, and the master did not consider it his duty to inform Mr. Or Mrs. Hoover. If the child could recognize some check--even if it weredeemed by some a superstitious one--over her capricious and precociousnature, why should he interfere?

One day at recess he presently became conscious of the ceasing of thosesmall voices in the woods around the schoolhouse, which were alwaysas familiar and pleasant to him in his seclusion as the song of theirplayfellows--the birds themselves. The continued silence at lastawakened his concern and curiosity. He had seldom intruded upon orparticipated in their games or amusements, remembering when a boyhimself the heavy incompatibility of the best intentioned adult intruderto even the most hypocritically polite child at such a moment. A senseof duty, however, impelled him to step beyond the schoolhouse, where tohis astonishment he found the adjacent woods empty and soundless. He wasrelieved, however, after penetrating its recesses, to hear the distantsound of small applause and the unmistakable choking gasps of JohnnyStidger's pocket accordion. Following the sound he came at last upon alittle hollow among the sycamores, where the children were disposed ina ring, in the centre of which, with a handkerchief in each hand, Conchathe melancholy!--Concha the devout!--was dancing that most extravagantfeat of the fandango--the audacious sembicuaca!

Yet, in spite of her rude and uncertain accompaniment, she was dancingit with a grace, precision, and lightness that was wonderful; in spiteof its doubtful poses and seductive languors she was dancing it with theartless gayety and innocence--perhaps from the suggestion of her tinyfigure--of a mere child among an audience of children. Dancing it aloneshe assumed the parts of the man and woman; advancing, retreating, coquetting, rejecting, coyly bewitching, and at last yielding as lightlyand as immaterially as the flickering shadows that fell upon them fromthe waving trees overhead. The master was fascinated yet troubled. What if there had been older spectators? Would the parents take theperformance as innocently as the performer and her little audience? Hethought it necessary later to suggest this delicately to the child. Hertemper rose, her eyes flashed. 

"Ah, the slipper, she is forbidden. The prayer book--she must not. Thedance, it is not good. Truly, there is nothing. "

For several days she sulked. One morning she did not come to school, nor the next. At the close of the third day the master called at theHoovers' ranch. 

Mrs. Hoover met him embarrassedly in the hall. "I was sayin' to Hiramhe ought to tell ye, but he didn't like to till it was certain. Concha'sgone. "

"Gone?" echoed the master. 

"Yes. Run off with Pedro. Married to him yesterday by the Popish priestat the mission. "

"Married! That child?"

"She wasn't no child, Mr. Brooks. We were deceived. My brother wasa fool, and men don't understand these things. She was a grownwoman--accordin' to these folks' ways and ages--when she kem here. Andthat's what bothered me. "

There was a week's excitement at Chestnut Ridge, but it pleased themaster to know that while the children grieved for the loss of Conchathey never seemed to understand why she had gone. 

DICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD

The Sage Wood and Dead Flat stage coach was waiting before the station. The Pine Barrens mail wagon that connected with it was long overdue, with its transfer passengers, and the station had relapsed into listlessexpectation. Even the humors of Dick Boyle, the Chicago "drummer, "--and, so far, the solitary passenger--which had diverted the waiting loungers, began to fail in effect, though the cheerfulness of the humorist wasunabated. The ostlers had slunk back into the stables, the stationkeeper and stage driver had reduced their conversation to impatientmonosyllables, as if each thought the other responsible for the delay. A solitary Indian, wrapped in a commissary blanket and covered by acast-off tall hat, crouched against the wall of the station lookingstolidly at nothing. The station itself, a long, rambling buildingcontaining its entire accommodation for man and beast under onemonotonous, shed-like roof, offered nothing to attract the eye. Stillless the prospect, on the one side two miles of arid waste to thestunted, far-spaced pines in the distance, known as the "Barrens;" onthe other an apparently limitless level with darker patches of sagebrush, like the scars of burnt-out fires. 

Dick Boyle approached the motionless Indian as a possible relief. "YOUdon't seem to care much if school keeps or not, do you, Lo?"

The Indian, who had been half crouching on his upturned soles, herestraightened himself with a lithe, animal-like movement, and stood up. Boyle took hold of a corner of his blanket and examined it critically. 

"Gov'ment ain't pampering you with A1 goods, Lo! I reckon the agentcharged 'em four dollars for that. Our firm could have delivered them toyou for 2 dols. 37 cents, and thrown in a box of beads in the bargain. Suthin like this!" He took from his pocket a small box containing agaudy bead necklace and held it up before the Indian. 

The savage, who had regarded him--or rather looked beyond him--withthe tolerating indifference of one interrupted by a frisking inferioranimal, here suddenly changed his expression. A look of childisheagerness came into his gloomy face; he reached out his hand for thetrinket. 

"Hol' on!" said Boyle, hesitating for a moment; then he suddenlyejaculated, "Well! take it, and one o' these, " and drew a business cardfrom his pocket, which he stuck in the band of the battered tall hatof the aborigine. "There! show that to your friends, and when you'rewantin' anything in our line"--

The interrupting roar of laughter, coming from the box seat of thecoach, was probably what Boyle was expecting, for he turned awaydemurely and walked towards the coach. "All right, boys! I've squaredthe noble red man, and the star of empire is taking its westward way. And I reckon our firm will do the 'Great Father' business for him atabout half the price that it is done in Washington. "

But at this point the ostlers came hurrying out of the stables. "She'scomin', " said one. "That's her dust just behind the Lone Pine--and bythe way she's racin' I reckon she's comin' in mighty light. "

"That's so, " said the mail agent, standing up on the box seat for abetter view, "but darned ef I kin see any outside passengers. I reckonwe haven't waited for much. "

Indeed, as the galloping horses of the incoming vehicle pulled out ofthe hanging dust in the distance, the solitary driver could be seenurging on his team. In a few moments more they had halted at the lowerend of the station. 

"Wonder what's up!" said the mail agent. 

"Nothin'! Only a big Injin scare at Pine Barrens, " said one of theostlers. "Injins doin' ghost dancin'--or suthin like that--and thepassengers just skunked out and went on by the other line. Thar's onlyone ez dar come--and she's a lady. "

"A lady?" echoed Boyle. 

"Yes, " answered the driver, taking a deliberate survey of a tall, graceful girl who, waiving the gallant assistance of the station keeper, had leaped unaided from the vehicle. "A lady--and the fort commandant'sdarter at that! She's clar grit, you bet--a chip o' the old block. Andall this means, sonny, that you're to give up that box seat to HER. MissJulia Cantire don't take anythin' less when I'm around. "

The young lady was already walking, directly and composedly, towardsthe waiting coach--erect, self-contained, well gloved and booted, andclothed, even in her dust cloak and cape of plain ashen merino, withthe unmistakable panoply of taste and superiority. A good-sized aquilinenose, which made her handsome mouth look smaller; gray eyes, withan occasional humid yellow sparkle in their depths; brown penciledeyebrows, and brown tendrils of hair, all seemed to Boyle to becharmingly framed in by the silver gray veil twisted around her neckand under her oval chin. In her sober tints she appeared to him to haveevoked a harmony even out of the dreadful dust around them. What HEappeared to her was not so plain; she looked him over--he was rathershort; through him--he was easily penetrable; and then her eyes restedwith a frank recognition on the driver. 

"Good-morning, Mr. Foster, " she said, with a smile. 

"Mornin', miss. I hear they're havin' an Injin scare over at theBarrens. I reckon them men must feel mighty mean at bein' stumped by alady!"

"I don't think they believed I would go, and some of them had theirwives with them, " returned the young lady indifferently; "besides, they are Eastern people, who don't know Indians as well as WE do, Mr. Foster. "

The driver blushed with pleasure at the association. "Yes, ma'am, " helaughed, "I reckon the sight of even old 'Fleas in the Blanket' overthere, " pointing to the Indian, who was walking stolidly away from thestation, "would frighten 'em out o' their boots. And yet he's got insidehis hat the business card o' this gentleman--Mr. Dick Boyle, travelingfor the big firm o' Fletcher & Co. Of Chicago"--he interpolated, risingsuddenly to the formal heights of polite introduction; "so it sorterlooks ez ef any SKELPIN' was to be done it might be the other way round, ha! ha!"

Miss Cantire accepted the introduction and the joke with polite but coolabstraction, and climbed lightly into the box seat as the mail bagsand a quantity of luggage--evidently belonging to the evadingpassengers--were quickly transferred to the coach. But for his faircompanion, the driver would probably have given profane voice to hisconviction that his vehicle was used as a "d----d baggage truck, " buthe only smiled grimly, gathered up his reins, and flicked his whip. Thecoach plunged forward into the dust, which instantly rose around it, andmade it thereafter a mere cloud in the distance. Some of that dust fora moment overtook and hid the Indian, walking stolidly in its track, but he emerged from it at an angle, with a quickened pace and a peculiarhalting trot. Yet that trot was so well sustained that in an hour he hadreached a fringe of rocks and low bushes hitherto invisible through theirregularities of the apparently level plain, into which he plunged anddisappeared. The dust cloud which indicated the coach--probably owingto these same irregularities--had long since been lost on the visiblehorizon. 

The fringe which received him was really the rim of a depression quiteconcealed from the surface of the plain, --which it followed forsome miles through a tangled trough-like bottom of low trees andunderbrush, --and was a natural cover for wolves, coyotes, andoccasionally bears, whose half-human footprint might have deceived astranger. This did not, however, divert the Indian, who, trottingstill doggedly on, paused only to examine another footprint--much morefrequent--the smooth, inward-toed track of moccasins. The thicket grewmore dense and difficult as he went on, yet he seemed to glide throughits density and darkness--an obscurity that now seemed to be stirredby other moving objects, dimly seen, and as uncertain and intangible assunlit leaves thrilled by the wind, yet bearing a strange resemblance tohuman figures! Pressing a few yards further, he himself presently becamea part of this shadowy procession, which on closer scrutiny revealeditself as a single file of Indians, following each other in the sametireless trot. The woods and underbrush were full of them; all movingon, as he had moved, in a line parallel with the vanishing coach. Sometimes through the openings a bared painted limb, a crest offeathers, or a strip of gaudy blanket was visible, but nothing more. And yet only a few hundred yards away stretched the dusky, silentplain--vacant of sound or motion!

Meanwhile the Sage Wood and Pine Barren stage coach, profoundlyoblivious--after the manner of all human invention--of everything butits regular function, toiled dustily out of the higher plain andbegan the grateful descent of a wooded canyon, which was, in fact, theculminating point of the depression, just described, along which theshadowy procession was slowly advancing, hardly a mile in the rear andflank of the vehicle. Miss Julia Cantire, who had faced the dust volleysof the plain unflinchingly, as became a soldier's daughter, here stoodupright and shook herself--her pretty head and figure emerging like agoddess from the enveloping silver cloud. At least Mr. Boyle, relegatedto the back seat, thought so--although her conversation and attentionshad been chiefly directed to the driver and mail agent. Once, when hehad light-heartedly addressed a remark to her, it had been receivedwith a distinct but unpromising politeness that had made him desistfrom further attempts, yet without abatement of his cheerfulness, orresentment of the evident amusement his two male companions got outof his "snub. " Indeed, it is to be feared that Miss Julia had certainprejudices of position, and may have thought that a "drummer"--orcommercial traveler--was no more fitting company for the daughter ofa major than an ordinary peddler. But it was more probable that Mr. Boyle's reputation as a humorist--a teller of funny stories and a booncompanion of men--was inconsistent with the feminine ideal of high andexalted manhood. The man who "sets the table in a roar" is apt tobe secretly detested by the sex, to say nothing of the other obviousreasons why Juliets do not like Mercutios!

For some such cause as this Dick Boyle was obliged to amuse himselfsilently, alone on the back seat, with those liberal powers ofobservation which nature had given him. On entering the canyon he hadnoticed the devious route the coach had taken to reach it, and hadalready invented an improved route which should enter the depression atthe point where the Indians had already (unknown to him) plunged intoit, and had conceived a road through the tangled brush that wouldshorten the distance by some miles. He had figured it out, and believedthat it "would pay. " But by this time they were beginning the somewhatsteep and difficult ascent of the canyon on the other side. The vehiclehad not crawled many yards before it stopped. Dick Boyle glanced around. Miss Cantire was getting down. She had expressed a wish to walk the restof the ascent, and the coach was to wait for her at the top. Foster hadeffusively begged her to take her own time--"there was no hurry!" Boyleglanced a little longingly after her graceful figure, released from hercramped position on the box, as it flitted youthfully in and out of thewayside trees; he would like to have joined her in the woodland ramble, but even his good nature was not proof against her indifference. At aturn in the road they lost sight of her, and, as the driver and mailagent were deep in a discussion about the indistinct track, Boyle lapsedinto his silent study of the country. Suddenly he uttered a slightexclamation, and quietly slipped from the back of the toiling coach tothe ground. The action was, however, quickly noted by the driver, whopromptly put his foot on the brake and pulled up. "Wot's up now?" hegrowled. 

Boyle did not reply, but ran back a few steps and began searchingeagerly on the ground. 

"Lost suthin?" asked Foster. 

"Found something, " said Boyle, picking up a small object. "Look at that!D----d if it isn't the card I gave that Indian four hours ago at thestation!" He held up the card. 

"Look yer, sonny, " retorted Foster gravely, "ef yer wantin' to get outand hang round Miss Cantire, why don't yer say so at oncet? That storywon't wash!"

"Fact!" continued Boyle eagerly. "It's the same card I stuck in hishat--there's the greasy mark in the corner. How the devil did it--howdid HE get here?"

"Better ax him, " said Foster grimly, "ef he's anywhere round. "

"But I say, Foster, I don't like the look of this at all! Miss Cantireis alone, and"--

But a burst of laughter from Foster and the mail agent interrupted him. "That's so, " said Foster. "That's your best holt! Keep it up! Youjest tell her that! Say thar's another Injin skeer on; that that tharbloodthirsty ole 'Fleas in His Blanket' is on the warpath, and you'regoin' to shed the last drop o' your blood defendin' her! That'll fetchher, and she ain't bin treatin' you well! G'lang!"

The horses started forward under Foster's whip, leaving Boyle standingthere, half inclined to join in the laugh against himself, and yetimpelled by some strange instinct to take a more serious view of hisdiscovery. There was no doubt it was the same card he had given to theIndian. True, that Indian might have given it to another--yet by whatagency had it been brought there faster than the coach traveled on thesame road, and yet invisibly to them? For an instant the humorousidea of literally accepting Foster's challenge, and communicating hisdiscovery to Miss Cantire, occurred to him; he could have made a funnystory out of it, and could have amused any other girl with it, but hewould not force himself upon her, and again doubted if the discoverywere a matter of amusement. If it were really serious, why should healarm her? He resolved, however, to remain on the road, and withinconvenient distance of her, until she returned to the coach; shecould not be far away. With this purpose he walked slowly on, haltingoccasionally to look behind. 

Meantime the coach continued its difficult ascent, a difficulty madegreater by the singular nervousness of the horses, that only with greattrouble and some objurgation from the driver could be prevented fromshying from the regular track. 

"Now, wot's gone o' them critters?" said the irate Foster, straining atthe reins until he seemed to lift the leader back into the track again. 

"Looks as ef they smelt suthin--b'ar or Injin ponies, " suggested themail agent. 

"Injin ponies?" repeated Foster scornfully. 

"Fac'! Injin ponies set a hoss crazy--jest as wild hosses would!"

"Whar's yer Injin ponies?" demanded Foster incredulously. 

"Dunno, " said the mail agent simply. 

But here the horses again swerved so madly from some point of thethicket beside them that the coach completely left the track on theright. Luckily it was a disused trail and the ground fairly good, andFoster gave them their heads, satisfied of his ability to regain theregular road when necessary. It took some moments for him to recovercomplete control of the frightened animals, and then their nervousnesshaving abated with their distance from the thicket, and the trail beingless steep though more winding than the regular road, he concluded tokeep it until he got to the summit, when he would regain the highwayonce more and await his passengers. Having done this, the two men stoodup on the box, and with an anxiety they tried to conceal from each otherlooked down the canyon for the lagging pedestrians. 

"I hope Miss Cantire hasn't been stampeded from the track by any skeerlike that, " said the mail agent dubiously. 

"Not she! She's got too much grit and sabe for that, unless that drummerhez caught up with her and unloaded his yarn about that kyard. "

They were the last words the men spoke. For two rifle shots cracked fromthe thicket beside the road; two shots aimed with such deliberatenessand precision that the two men, mortally stricken, collapsed where theystood, hanging for a brief moment over the dashboard before they rolledover on the horses' backs. Nor did they remain there long, for the nextmoment they were seized by half a dozen shadowy figures and with thehorses and their cut traces dragged into the thicket. A half dozen andthen a dozen other shadows flitted and swarmed over, in, and through thecoach, reinforced by still more, until the whole vehicle seemed to bepossessed, covered, and hidden by them, swaying and moving with theirweight, like helpless carrion beneath a pack of ravenous wolves. Yeteven while this seething congregation was at its greatest, at someunknown signal it as suddenly dispersed, vanished, and disappeared, leaving the coach empty--vacant and void of all that had given it life, weight, animation, and purpose--a mere skeleton on the roadside. Theafternoon wind blew through its open doors and ravaged rack and box asif it had been the wreck of weeks instead of minutes, and the level raysof the setting sun flashed and blazed into its windows as though firehad been added to the ruin. But even this presently faded, leaving theabandoned coach a rigid, lifeless spectre on the twilight plain. 

An hour later there was the sound of hurrying hoofs and jinglingaccoutrements, and out of the plain swept a squad of cavalrymen bearingdown upon the deserted vehicle. For a few moments they, too, seemed tosurround and possess it, even as the other shadows had done, penetratingthe woods and thicket beside it. And then as suddenly at some signalthey swept forward furiously in the track of the destroying shadows. 

Miss Cantire took full advantage of the suggestion "not to hurry" in herwalk, with certain feminine ideas of its latitude. She gathered a fewwild flowers and some berries in the underwood, inspected some birds'nests with a healthy youthful curiosity, and even took the opportunityof arranging some moist tendrils of her silky hair with something shetook from the small reticule that hung coquettishly from her girdle. Itwas, indeed, some twenty minutes before she emerged into the road again;the vehicle had evidently disappeared in a turn of the long, windingascent, but just ahead of her was that dreadful man, the "Chicagodrummer. " She was not vain, but she made no doubt that he was waitingthere for her. There was no avoiding him, but his companionship could bemade a brief one. She began to walk with ostentatious swiftness. 

Boyle, whose concern for her safety was secretly relieved at this, beganto walk forward briskly too without looking around. Miss Cantire was notprepared for this; it looked so ridiculously as if she were chasing him!She hesitated slightly, but now as she was nearly abreast of him she wasobliged to keep on. 

"I think you do well to hurry, Miss Cantire, " he said as she passed. "I've lost sight of the coach for some time, and I dare say they'realready waiting for us at the summit. "

Miss Cantire did not like this any better. To go on beside this dreadfulman, scrambling breathlessly after the stage--for all the world like anabsorbed and sentimentally belated pair of picnickers--was really TOOmuch. "Perhaps if YOU ran on and told them I was coming as fast as Icould, " she suggested tentatively. 

"It would be as much as my life is worth to appear before Foster withoutyou, " he said laughingly. "You've only got to hurry on a little faster. "

But the young lady resented this being driven by a "drummer. " She beganto lag, depressing her pretty brows ominously. 

"Let me carry your flowers, " said Boyle. He had noticed that she wasfinding some difficulty in holding up her skirt and the nosegay at thesame time. 

"No! No!" she said in hurried horror at this new suggestion of theircompanionship. "Thank you very much--but they're really not worthkeeping--I am going to throw them away. There!" she added, tossing themimpatiently in the dust. 

But she had not reckoned on Boyle's perfect good-humor. That gentleidiot stooped down, actually gathered them up again, and was following!She hurried on; if she could only get to the coach first, ignoring him!But a vulgar man like that would be sure to hand them to her with somejoke! Then she lagged again--she was getting tired, and she could seeno sign of the coach. The drummer, too, was also lagging behind--ata respectful distance, like a groom or one of her father's troopers. Nevertheless this did not put her in a much better humor, and haltinguntil he came abreast of her, she said impatiently: "I don't see why Mr. Foster should think it necessary to send any one to look after me. "

"He didn't, " returned Boyle simply. "I got down to pick up something. "

"To pick up something?" she returned incredulously. 

"Yes. THAT. " He held out the card. "It's the card of our firm. "

Miss Cantire smiled ironically. "You are certainly devoted to yourbusiness. "

"Well, yes, " returned Boyle good-humoredly. "You see I reckon it don'tpay to do anything halfway. And whatever I do, I mean to keep my eyesabout me. " In spite of her prejudice, Miss Cantire could see that thesenecessary organs, if rather flippant, were honest. "Yes, I suppose thereisn't much on that I don't take in. Why now, Miss Cantire, there's thatfancy dust cloak you're wearing--it isn't in our line of goods--nor inanybody's line west of Chicago; it came from Boston or New York, and wasmade for home consumption! But your hat--and mighty pretty it is too, asYOU'VE fixed it up--is only regular Dunstable stock, which we couldput down at Pine Barrens for four and a half cents a piece, net. Yet Isuppose you paid nearly twenty-five cents for it at the Agency!"

Oddly enough this cool appraisement of her costume did not incense theyoung lady as it ought to have done. On the contrary, for some occultfeminine reason, it amused and interested her. It would be such a goodstory to tell her friends of a "drummer's" idea of gallantry; and totease the flirtatious young West Pointer who had just joined. And theappraisement was truthful--Major Cantire had only his pay--and MissCantire had been obliged to select that hat from the government stores. 

"Are you in the habit of giving this information to ladies you meet intraveling?" she asked. 

"Well, no!" answered Boyle--"for that's just where you have to keep youreyes open. Most of 'em wouldn't like it, and it's no use aggravating apossible customer. But you are not that kind. "

Miss Cantire was silent. She knew she was not of that kind, but shedid not require his vulgar indorsement. She pushed on for some momentsalone, when suddenly he hailed her. She turned impatiently. He wascarefully examining the road on both sides. 

"We have either lost our way, " he said, rejoining her, "or the coach hasturned off somewhere. These tracks are not fresh, and as they are allgoing the same way, they were made by the up coach last night. They'renot OUR tracks; I thought it strange we hadn't sighted the coach by thistime. "

"And then"--said Miss Cantire impatiently. 

"We must turn back until we find them again. "

The young lady frowned. "Why not keep on until we get to the top?" shesaid pettishly. "I'm sure I shall. " She stopped suddenly as she caughtsight of his grave face and keen, observant eyes. "Why can't we go on aswe are?"

"Because we are expected to come back to the COACH--and not to thesummit merely. These are the 'orders, ' and you know you are a soldier'sdaughter!" He laughed as he spoke, but there was a certain quietdeliberation in his manner that impressed her. When he added, aftera pause, "We must go back and find where the tracks turned off, " sheobeyed without a word. 

They walked for some time, eagerly searching for signs of the missingvehicle. A curious interest and a new reliance in Boyle's judgmentobliterated her previous annoyance, and made her more natural. She ranahead of him with youthful eagerness, examining the ground, followinga false clue with great animation, and confessing her defeat with acharming laugh. And it was she who, after retracing their steps for tenminutes, found the diverging track with a girlish cry of triumph. Boyle, who had followed her movements quite as interestedly as her discovery, looked a little grave as he noticed the deep indentations made by thestruggling horses. Miss Cantire detected the change in his face; tenminutes before she would never have observed it. "I suppose we hadbetter follow the new track, " she said inquiringly, as he seemed tohesitate. 

"Certainly, " he said quickly, as if coming to a prompt decision. "Thatis safest. "

"What do you think has happened? The ground looks very much cut up, " shesaid in a confidential tone, as new to her as her previous observationof him. 

"A horse has probably stumbled and they've taken the old trail as lessdifficult, " said Boyle promptly. In his heart he did not believe it, yet he knew that if anything serious had threatened them the coach wouldhave waited in the road. "It's an easier trail for us, though I supposeit's a little longer, " he added presently. 

"You take everything so good-humoredly, Mr. Boyle, " she said after apause. 

"It's the way to do business, Miss Cantire, " he said. "A man in my linehas to cultivate it. "

She wished he hadn't said that, but, nevertheless, she returned a littlearchly: "But you haven't any business with the stage company nor withME, although I admit I intend to get my Dunstable hereafter from yourfirm at the wholesale prices. "

Before he could reply, the detonation of two gunshots, softened bydistance, floated down from the ridge above them. "There!" said MissCantire eagerly. "Do you hear that?"

His face was turned towards the distant ridge, but really that she mightnot question his eyes. She continued with animation: "That's from thecoach--to guide us--don't you see?"

"Yes, " he returned, with a quick laugh, "and it says hurry up--mightyquick--we're tired waiting--so we'd better push on. "

"Why don't you answer back with your revolver?" she asked. 

"Haven't got one, " he said. 

"Haven't got one?" she repeated in genuine surprise. "I thoughtyou gentlemen who are traveling always carried one. Perhaps it'sinconsistent with your gospel of good-humor. "

"That's just it, Miss Cantire, " he said with a laugh. "You've hit it. "

"Why, " she said hesitatingly, "even I have a derringer--a very littleone, you know, which I carry in my reticule. Captain Richards gave it tome. " She opened her reticule and showed a pretty ivory-handled pistol. The look of joyful surprise which came into his face changed quickly asshe cocked it and lifted it into the air. He seized her arm quickly. 

"No, please don't, you might want it--I mean the report won't carry farenough. It's a very useful little thing, for all that, but it's onlyeffective at close quarters. " He kept the pistol in his hand as theywalked on. But Miss Cantire noticed this, also his evident satisfactionwhen she had at first produced it, and his concern when she was about todischarge it uselessly. She was a clever girl, and a frank one to thoseshe was inclined to trust. And she began to trust this stranger. A smilestole along her oval cheek. 

"I really believe you're afraid of something, Mr. Boyle, " she said, without looking up. "What is it? You haven't got that Indian scare too?"

Boyle had no false shame. "I think I have, " he returned, with equalfrankness. "You see, I don't understand Indians as well as you--andFoster. "

"Well, you take my word and Foster's that there is not the least dangerfrom them. About here they are merely grown-up children, cruel anddestructive as most children are; but they know their masters by thistime, and the old days of promiscuous scalping are over. The only otherchildish propensity they keep is thieving. Even then they only stealwhat they actually want, --horses, guns, and powder. A coach can go wherean ammunition or an emigrant wagon can't. So your trunk of samples isquite safe with Foster. "

Boyle did not think it necessary to protest. Perhaps he was thinking ofsomething else. 

"I've a mind, " she went on slyly, "to tell you something more. Confidence for confidence: as you've told me YOUR trade secrets, I'lltell you one of OURS. Before we left Pine Barrens, my father ordered asmall escort of cavalrymen to be in readiness to join that coach ifthe scouts, who were watching, thought it necessary. So, you see, I'msomething of a fraud as regards my reputation for courage. "

"That doesn't follow, " said Boyle admiringly, "for your father musthave thought there was some danger, or he wouldn't have taken thatprecaution. "

"Oh, it wasn't for me, " said the young girl quickly. 

"Not for you?" repeated Boyle. 

Miss Cantire stopped short, with a pretty flush of color and an adorablelaugh. "There! I've done it, so I might as well tell the whole story. But I can trust you, Mr. Boyle. " (She faced him with clear, penetratingeyes. ) "Well, " she laughed again, "you might have noticed that we had aquantity of baggage of passengers who didn't go? Well, those passengersnever intended to go, and hadn't any baggage! Do you understand? Thoseinnocent-looking heavy trunks contained carbines and cartridges fromour post for Fort Taylor"--she made him a mischievous curtsy--"underMY charge! And, " she added, enjoying his astonishment, "as you saw, Ibrought them through safe to the station, and had them transferred tothis coach with less fuss and trouble than a commissary transport andescort would have made. "

"And they were in THIS coach?" repeated Boyle abstractedly. 

"Were? They ARE!" said Miss Cantire. 

"Then the sooner I get you back to your treasure again the better, " saidBoyle with a laugh. "Does Foster know it?"

"Of course not! Do you suppose I'd tell it to anybody but a strangerto the place? Perhaps, like you, I know when and to whom to impartinformation, " she said mischievously. 

Whatever was in Boyle's mind he had space for profound and admiringastonishment of the young lady before him. The girlish simplicity andtrustfulness of her revelation seemed as inconsistent with his previousimpression of her reserve and independence as her girlish reasoning andmanner was now delightfully at variance with her tallness, her aquilinenose, and her erect figure. Mr. Boyle, like most short men, was apt tooverestimate the qualities of size. 

They walked on for some moments in silence. The ascent was comparativelyeasy but devious, and Boyle could see that this new detour would takethem still some time to reach the summit. Miss Cantire at last voicedthe thought in his own mind. "I wonder what induced them to turn offhere? and if you hadn't been so clever as to discover their tracks, howcould we have found them? But, " she added, with feminine logic, "that, of course, is why they fired those shots. "

Boyle remembered, however, that the shots came from another direction, but did not correct her conclusion. Nevertheless he said lightly:"Perhaps even Foster might have had an Indian scare. "

"He ought to know 'friendlies' or 'government reservation men' better bythis time, " said Miss Cantire; "however, there is something in that. Doyou know, " she added with a laugh, "though I haven't your keen eyesI'm gifted with a keen scent, and once or twice I've thought I SMELTIndians--that peculiar odor of their camps, which is unlike anythingelse, and which one detects even in their ponies. I used to notice itwhen I rode one; no amount of grooming could take it away. "

"I don't suppose that the intensity or degree of this odor would giveyou any idea of the hostile or friendly feelings of the Indians towardsyou?" asked Boyle grimly. 

Although the remark was consistent with Boyle's objectionable reputationas a humorist, Miss Cantire deigned to receive it with a smile, at whichBoyle, who was a little relieved by their security so far, and theirnearness to their journey's end, developed further ingenious triflinguntil, at the end of an hour, they stood upon the plain again. 

There was no sign of the coach, but its fresh track was visible leadingalong the bank of the ravine towards the intersection of the road theyshould have come by, and to which the coach had indubitably returned. Mr. Boyle drew a long breath. They were comparatively safe from anyinvisible attack now. At the end of ten minutes Miss Cantire, from hersuperior height, detected the top of the missing vehicle appearing abovethe stunted bushes at the junction of the highway. 

"Would you mind throwing those old flowers away now?" she said, glancingat the spoils which Boyle still carried. 

"Why?" he asked. 

"Oh, they're too ridiculous. Please do. "

"May I keep one?" he asked, with the first intonation of masculineweakness in his voice. 

"If you like, " she said, a little coldly. 

Boyle selected a small spray of myrtle and cast the other flowersobediently aside. 

"Dear me, how ridiculous!" she said. 

"What is ridiculous?" he asked, lifting his eyes to hers with a slightcolor. But he saw that she was straining her eyes in the distance. 

"Why, there don't seem to be any horses to the coach!"

He looked. Through a gap in the furze he could see the vehicle now quitedistinctly, standing empty, horseless and alone. He glanced hurriedlyaround them; on the one side a few rocks protected them from the tangledrim of the ridge; on the other stretched the plain. "Sit down, don'tmove until I return, " he said quickly. "Take that. " He handed back herpistol, and ran quickly to the coach. It was no illusion; there it stoodvacant, abandoned, its dropped pole and cut traces showing too plainlythe fearful haste of its desertion! A light step behind him made himturn. It was Miss Cantire, pink and breathless, carrying the cockedderringer in her hand. "How foolish of you--without a weapon, " shegasped in explanation. 

Then they both stared at the coach, the empty plain, and at eachother! After their tedious ascent, their long detour, their protractedexpectancy and their eager curiosity, there was such a suggestion ofhideous mockery in this vacant, useless vehicle--apparently left to themin what seemed their utter abandonment--that it instinctively affectedthem alike. And as I am writing of human nature I am compelled to saythat they both burst into a fit of laughter that for the moment stoppedall other expression!

"It was so kind of them to leave the coach, " said Miss Cantire faintly, as she took her handkerchief from her wet and mirthful eyes. "But whatmade them run away?"

Boyle did not reply; he was eagerly examining the coach. In that briefhour and a half the dust of the plain had blown thick upon it, andcovered any foul stain or blot that might have suggested the awfultruth. Even the soft imprint of the Indians' moccasined feet had beentrampled out by the later horse hoofs of the cavalrymen. It was thesethat first attracted Boyle's attention, but he thought them the marksmade by the plunging of the released coach horses. 

Not so his companion! She was examining them more closely, and suddenlylifted her bright, animated face. "Look!" she said; "our men have beenhere, and have had a hand in this--whatever it is. "

"Our men?" repeated Boyle blankly. 

"Yes!--troopers from the post--the escort I told you of. These are theprints of the regulation cavalry horseshoe--not of Foster's team, nor ofIndian ponies, who never have any! Don't you see?" she went on eagerly;"our men have got wind of something and have galloped down here--alongthe ridge--see!" she went on, pointing to the hoof prints comingfrom the plain. "They've anticipated some Indian attack and securedeverything. "

"But if they were the same escort you spoke of, they must have known youwere here, and have"--he was about to say "abandoned you, " but checkedhimself, remembering they were her father's soldiers. 

"They knew I could take care of myself, and wouldn't stand in the wayof their duty, " said the young girl, anticipating him with quickprofessional pride that seemed to fit her aquiline nose and tall figure. "And if they knew that, " she added, softening with a mischievous smile, "they also knew, of course, that I was protected by a gallant strangervouched for by Mr. Foster! No!" she added, with a certain blind, devotedconfidence, which Boyle noticed with a slight wince that she had nevershown before, "it's all right! and 'by orders, ' Mr. Boyle, and whenthey've done their work they'll be back. "

But Boyle's masculine common sense was, perhaps, safer than MissCantire's feminine faith and inherited discipline, for in an instanthe suddenly comprehended the actual truth! The Indians had been thereFIRST; THEY had despoiled the coach and got off safely with their bootyand prisoners on the approach of the escort, who were now naturallypursuing them with a fury aroused by the belief that their commander'sdaughter was one of their prisoners. This conviction was a dreadful one, yet a relief as far as the young girl was concerned. But should he tellher? No! Better that she should keep her calm faith in the triumphantpromptness of the soldiers--and their speedy return. 

"I dare say you are right, " he said cheerfully, "and let us be thankfulthat in the empty coach you'll have at least a half-civilized shelteruntil they return. Meantime I'll go and reconnoitre a little. "

"I will go with you, " she said. 

But Boyle pointed out to her so strongly the necessity of her remainingto wait for the return of the soldiers that, being also fagged outby her long climb, she obediently consented, while he, even withhis inspiration of the truth, did not believe in the return of thedespoilers, and knew she would be safe. 

He made his way to the nearest thicket, where he rightly believed theambush had been prepared, and to which undoubtedly they first retreatedwith their booty. He expected to find some signs or traces of theirspoil which in their haste they had to abandon. He was more successfulthan he anticipated. A few steps into the thicket brought him fullupon a realization of more than his worst convictions--the dead body ofFoster! Near it lay the body of the mail agent. Both had been evidentlydragged into the thicket from where they fell, scalped and halfstripped. There was no evidence of any later struggle; they must havebeen dead when they were brought there. 

Boyle was neither a hard-hearted nor an unduly sensitive man. Hisvocation had brought him peril enough by land and water; he had oftenrendered valuable assistance to others, his sympathy never confusing hisdirectness and common sense. He was sorry for these two men, and wouldhave fought to save them. But he had no imaginative ideas of death. Andhis keen perception of the truth was consequently sensitively alive onlyto that grotesqueness of aspect which too often the hapless victims ofviolence are apt to assume. He saw no agony in the vacant eyes of thetwo men lying on their backs in apparently the complacent abandonment ofdrunkenness, which was further simulated by their tumbled and disorderedhair matted by coagulated blood, which, however, had lost its sanguinecolor. He thought only of the unsuspecting girl sitting in the lonelycoach, and hurriedly dragged them further into the bushes. In doing thishe discovered a loaded revolver and a flask of spirits which had beenlying under them, and promptly secured them. A few paces away lay thecoveted trunks of arms and ammunition, their lids wrenched off andtheir contents gone. He noticed with a grim smile that his own trunks ofsamples had shared a like fate, but was delighted to find that while thebrighter trifles had attracted the Indians' childish cupidity theyhad overlooked a heavy black merino shawl of a cheap but serviceablequality. It would help to protect Miss Cantire from the evening wind, which was already rising over the chill and stark plain. It alsooccurred to him that she would need water after her parched journey, andhe resolved to look for a spring, being rewarded at last by a tricklingrill near the ambush camp. But he had no utensil except the spiritflask, which he finally emptied of its contents and replaced with thepure water--a heroic sacrifice to a traveler who knew the comfort of astimulant. He retraced his steps, and was just emerging from the thicketwhen his quick eye caught sight of a moving shadow before him close tothe ground, which set the hot blood coursing through his veins. 

It was the figure of an Indian crawling on his hands and knees towardsthe coach, scarcely forty yards away. For the first time that afternoonBoyle's calm good-humor was overswept by a blind and furious rage. Yeteven then he was sane enough to remember that a pistol shot would alarmthe girl, and to keep that weapon as a last resource. For an instant hecrept forward as silently and stealthily as the savage, and then, witha sudden bound, leaped upon him, driving his head and shoulders downagainst the rocks before he could utter a cry, and sending the scalpingknife he was carrying between his teeth flying with the shock from hisbattered jaw. Boyle seized it--his knee still in the man's back--butthe prostrate body never moved beyond a slight contraction of the lowerlimbs. The shock had broken the Indian's neck. He turned the inertman on his back--the head hung loosely on the side. But in that briefinstant Boyle had recognized the "friendly" Indian of the station towhom he had given the card. 

He rose dizzily to his feet. The whole action had passed in a fewseconds of time, and had not even been noticed by the sole occupant ofthe coach. He mechanically cocked his revolver, but the man beneath himnever moved again. Neither was there any sign of flight or reinforcementfrom the thicket around him. Again the whole truth flashed upon him. This spy and traitor had been left behind by the marauders to return tothe station and avert suspicion; he had been lurking around, but beingwithout firearms, had not dared to attack the pair together. 

It was a moment or two before Boyle regained his usual elasticgood-humor. Then he coolly returned to the spring, "washed himself ofthe Indian, " as he grimly expressed it to himself, brushed his clothes, picked up the shawl and flask, and returned to the coach. It was gettingdark now, but the glow of the western sky shone unimpeded throughthe windows, and the silence gave him a great fear. He was relieved, however, on opening the door, to find Miss Cantire sitting stiffly ina corner. "I am sorry I was so long, " he said, apologetically to herattitude, "but"--

"I suppose you took your own time, " she interrupted in a voice ofinjured tolerance. "I don't blame you; anything's better than beingcooped up in this tiresome stage for goodness knows how long!"

"I was hunting for water, " he said humbly, "and have brought you some. "He handed her the flask. 

"And I see you have had a wash, " she said a little enviously. "How spickand span you look! But what's the matter with your necktie?"

He put his hand to his neck hurriedly. His necktie was loose, and hadtwisted to one side in the struggle. He colored quite as much from thesensitiveness of a studiously neat man as from the fear of discovery. "And what's that?" she added, pointing to the shawl. 

"One of my samples that I suppose was turned out of the coach andforgotten in the transfer, " he said glibly. "I thought it might keep youwarm. "

She looked at it dubiously and laid it gingerly aside. "You don't meanto say you go about with such things OPENLY?" she said querulously. 

"Yes; one mustn't lose a chance of trade, you know, " he resumed with asmile. 

"And you haven't found this journey very profitable, " she saiddryly. "You certainly are devoted to your business!" After a pause, discontentedly: "It's quite night already--we can't sit here in thedark. "

"We can take one of the coach lamps inside; they're still there. I'vebeen thinking the matter over, and I reckon if we leave one lightedoutside the coach it may guide your friends back. " He HAD considered it, and believed that the audacity of the act, coupled with the knowledgethe Indians must have of the presence of the soldiers in the vicinity, would deter rather than invite their approach. 

She brightened considerably with the coach lamp which he lit and broughtinside. By its light she watched him curiously. His face was slightlyflushed and his eyes very bright and keen looking. Man killing, exceptwith old professional hands, has the disadvantage of affecting thecirculation. 

But Miss Cantire had noticed that the flask smelt of whiskey. The poorman had probably fortified himself from the fatigues of the day. 

"I suppose you are getting bored by this delay, " she said tentatively. 

"Not at all, " he replied. "Would you like to play cards? I've got apack in my pocket. We can use the middle seat as a table, and hang thelantern by the window strap. "

She assented languidly from the back seat; he was on the front seat, with the middle seat for a table between them. First Mr. Boyle showedher some tricks with the cards and kindled her momentary and flashinginterest in a mysteriously evoked but evanescent knave. Then they playedeuchre, at which Miss Cantire cheated adorably, and Mr. Boyle lost gameafter game shamelessly. Then once or twice Miss Cantire was fain toput her cards to her mouth to conceal an apologetic yawn, and herblue-veined eyelids grew heavy. Whereupon Mr. Boyle suggested that sheshould make herself comfortable in the corner of the coach with as manycushions as she liked and the despised shawl, while he took the nightair in a prowl around the coach and a lookout for the returning party. Doing so, he was delighted, after a turn or two, to find her asleep, andso returned contentedly to his sentry round. 

He was some distance from the coach when a low moaning sound in thethicket presently increased until it rose and fell in a prolonged howlthat was repeated from the darkened plains beyond. He recognized thevoice of wolves; he instinctively felt the sickening cause of it. Theyhad scented the dead bodies, and he now regretted that he had left hisown victim so near the coach. He was hastening thither when a cry, thistime human and more terrifying, came from the coach. He turned towardsit as its door flew open and Miss Cantire came rushing toward him. Herface was colorless, her eyes wild with fear, and her tall, slim figuretrembled convulsively as she frantically caught at the lapels of hiscoat, as if to hide herself within its folds, and gasped breathlessly, --

"What is it? Oh! Mr. Boyle, save me!"

"They are wolves, " he said hurriedly. "But there is no danger; theywould never attack you; you were safe where you were; let me lead youback. "

But she remained rooted to the spot, still clinging desperately to hiscoat. "No, no!" she said, "I dare not! I heard that awful cry in mysleep. I looked out and saw it--a dreadful creature with yellow eyesand tongue, and a sickening breath as it passed between the wheelsjust below me. Ah! What's that?" and she again lapsed in nervous terroragainst him. 

Boyle passed his arm around her promptly, firmly, masterfully. Sheseemed to feel the implied protection, and yielded to it gratefully, with the further breakdown of a sob. "There is no danger, " he repeatedcheerfully. "Wolves are not good to look at, I know, but they wouldn'thave attacked you. The beast only scents some carrion on the plain, and you probably frightened him more than he did you. Lean on me, " hecontinued as her step tottered; "you will be better in the coach. "

"And you won't leave me alone again?" she said in hesitating terror. 

"No!"

He supported her to the coach gravely, gently--her master and still morehis own for all that her beautiful loosened hair was against his cheekand shoulder, its perfume in his nostrils, and the contour of her litheand perfect figure against his own. He helped her back into the coach, with the aid of the cushions and shawl arranged a reclining couch forher on the back seat, and then resumed his old place patiently. Bydegrees the color came back to her face--as much of it as was not hiddenby her handkerchief. 

Then a tremulous voice behind it began a half-smothered apology. "Iam SO ashamed, Mr. Boyle--I really could not help it! But it was sosudden--and so horrible--I shouldn't have been afraid of it had it beenreally an Indian with a scalping knife--instead of that beast! I don'tknow why I did it--but I was alone--and seemed to be dead--and you weredead too and they were coming to eat me! They do, you know--you said sojust now! Perhaps I was dreaming. I don't know what you must think ofme--I had no idea I was such a coward!"

But Boyle protested indignantly. He was sure if HE had been asleepand had not known what wolves were before, he would have been equallyfrightened. She must try to go to sleep again--he was sure shecould--and he would not stir from the coach until she waked, or herfriends came. 

She grew quieter presently, and took away the handkerchief from a mouththat smiled though it still quivered; then reaction began, and her tirednerves brought her languor and finally repose. Boyle watched the shadowsthicken around her long lashes until they lay softly on the faint flushthat sleep was bringing to her cheek; her delicate lips parted, and herquick breath at last came with the regularity of slumber. 

So she slept, and he, sitting silently opposite her, dreamed--the olddream that comes to most good men and true once in their lives. Hescarcely moved until the dawn lightened with opal the dreary plain, bringing back the horizon and day, when he woke from his dream with asigh, and then a laugh. Then he listened for the sound of distant hoofs, and hearing them, crept noiselessly from the coach. A compact body ofhorsemen were bearing down upon it. He rose quickly to meet them, andthrowing up his hand, brought them to a halt at some distance from thecoach. They spread out, resolving themselves into a dozen troopers and asmart young cadet-like officer. 

"If you are seeking Miss Cantire, " he said in a quiet, businessliketone, "she is quite safe in the coach and asleep. She knows nothing yetof what has happened, and believes it is you who have taken everythingaway for security against an Indian attack. She has had a pretty roughnight--what with her fatigue and her alarm at the wolves--and I thoughtit best to keep the truth from her as long as possible, and I wouldadvise you to break it to her gently. " He then briefly told the storyof their experiences, omitting only his own personal encounter withthe Indian. A new pride, which was perhaps the result of his vigil, prevented him. 

The young officer glanced at him with as much courtesy as might beafforded to a civilian intruding upon active military operations. "I amsure Major Cantire will be greatly obliged to you when he knows it, " hesaid politely, "and as we intend to harness up and take the coachback to Sage Wood Station immediately, you will have an opportunity oftelling him. "

"I am not going back by the coach to Sage Wood, " said Boyle quietly. "Ihave already lost twelve hours of my time--as well as my trunk--on thispicnic, and I reckon the least Major Cantire can do is to let me takeone of your horses to the next station in time to catch the down coach. I can do it, if I set out at once. "

Boyle heard his name, with the familiar prefix of "Dicky, " given to theofficer by a commissary sergeant, whom he recognized as having met atthe Agency, and the words "Chicago drummer" added, while a perceptiblesmile went throughout the group. "Very well, sir, " said the officer, with a familiarity a shade less respectful than his previous formalmanner. "You can take the horse, as I believe the Indians have alreadymade free with your samples. Give him a mount, sergeant. "

The two men walked towards the coach. Boyle lingered a moment atthe window to show him the figure of Miss Cantire still peacefullyslumbering among her pile of cushions, and then turned quietly away. Amoment later he was galloping on one of the troopers' horses across theempty plain. 

Miss Cantire awoke presently to the sound of a familiar voice and thesight of figures that she knew. But the young officer's first words ofexplanation--a guarded account of the pursuit of the Indians and therecapture of the arms, suppressing the killing of Foster and the mailagent--brought a change to her brightened face and a wrinkle to herpretty brow. 

"But Mr. Boyle said nothing of this to me, " she said, sitting up. "Whereis he?"

"Already on his way to the next station on one of our horses! Wantedto catch the down stage and get a new box of samples, I fancy, as thebraves had rigged themselves out with his laces and ribbons. Said he'dlost time enough on this picnic, " returned the young officer, with alaugh. "Smart business chap; but I hope he didn't bore you?"

Miss Cantire felt her cheek flush, and bit her lip. "I found him mostkind and considerate, Mr. Ashford, " she said coldly. "He may havethought the escort could have joined the coach a little earlier, andsaved all this; but he was too much of a gentleman to say anything aboutit to ME, " she added dryly, with a slight elevation of her aquilinenose. 

Nevertheless Boyle's last words stung her deeply. To hurry off, too, without saying "good-by, " or even asking how she slept! No doubt heHAD lost time, and was tired of her company, and thought more of hisprecious samples than of her! After all, it was like him to rush off foran order!

She was half inclined to call the young officer back and tell him howBoyle had criticised her costume on the road. But Mr. Ashford was atthat time entirely preoccupied with his men around a ledge of rock andbushes some yards from the coach, yet not so far away but that she couldhear what they said. "I'll swear there was no dead Injin here when wecame yesterday! We searched the whole place--by daylight, too--for anysign. The Injin was killed in his tracks by some one last night. It'slike Dick Boyle, lieutenant, to have done it, and like him to have saidnothin' to frighten the young lady. He knows when to keep his mouthshut--and when to open it. "

Miss Cantire sank back in her corner as the officer turned andapproached the coach. The incident of the past night flashed back uponher--Mr. Boyle's long absence, his flushed face, twisted necktie, and enforced cheerfulness. She was shocked, amazed, discomfited--andadmiring! And this hero had been sitting opposite to her, silent all therest of the night!

"Did Mr. Boyle say anything of an Indian attack last night?" askedAshford. "Did you hear anything?"

"Only the wolves howling, " said Miss Cantire. "Mr. Boyle was awaytwice. " She was strangely reticent--in complimentary imitation of hermissing hero. 

"There's a dead Indian here who has been killed, " began Ashford. 

"Oh, please don't say anything more, Mr. Ashford, " interrupted the younglady, "but let us get away from this horrid place at once. Do get thehorses in. I can't stand it. "

But the horses were already harnessed and mounted, postilion-wise, bythe troopers. The vehicle was ready to start when Miss Cantire called"Stop!"

When Ashford presented himself at the door, the young lady was upon herhands and knees, searching the bottom of the coach. "Oh, dear! I've lostsomething. I must have dropped it on the road, " she said breathlessly, with pink cheeks. "You must positively wait and let me go back and findit. I won't be long. You know there's 'no hurry. '"

Mr. Ashford stared as Miss Cantire skipped like a schoolgirl from thecoach and ran down the trail by which she and Boyle had approached thecoach the night before. She had not gone far before she came upon thewithered flowers he had thrown away at her command. "It must be abouthere, " she murmured. Suddenly she uttered a cry of delight, and pickedup the business card that Boyle had shown her. Then she looked furtivelyaround her, and, selecting a sprig of myrtle among the cast-off flowers, concealed it in her mantle and ran back, glowing, to the coach. "Thankyou! All right, I've found it, " she called to Ashford, with a dazzlingsmile, and leaped inside. 

The coach drove on, and Miss Cantire, alone in its recesses, drew themyrtle from her mantle and folding it carefully in her handkerchief, placed it in her reticule. Then she drew out the card, read its drylypractical information over and over again, examined the soiled edges, brushed them daintily, and held it for a moment, with eyes that saw not, motionless in her hand. Then she raised it slowly to her lips, rolled itinto a spiral, and, loosening a hook and eye, thrust it gently into herbosom. 

And Dick Boyle, galloping away to the distant station, did not knowthat the first step towards a realization of his foolish dream had beentaken!