THE 
 
 SAN ROSARIO RANCH 
 
 BY 
 
 MAUD HOWE 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS 
 1884 
 
Copyright, 
 BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 SEmdemtg $88: 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
TO 
 
 j&teter, 
 LAURA E. RICHARDS. 
 
 M105426 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 w Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet, 
 Scatter the blossoms under her feet ! " 
 
 THE house was a large square building, simple 
 and hospitable in appearance. A wide ve 
 randa ran about the four sides, heavily draped 
 by climbing roses and clematis. There were in 
 disputable evidences that visitors were expected. 
 Old Tip, the dog, knew it as well as everybody 
 else about the house. He had been routed out 
 from his favorite spot on the sunny side of the 
 piazza by Ah Lam, who had given him a shower- 
 bath of water and soap- suds, because he did not 
 move away to make room for the scrubbing- 
 brush which the white-clad Celestial plied vigor 
 ously. From earliest morning the inhabitants 
 of the simple house had been busied in making 
 it ready. The very kittens which played about 
 the steps of the piazza had licked an extra gloss 
 upon their shining coats in honor of the expected 
 guest. Only Tip, the old hunting-dog, the spoiled 
 
6;l SAN-ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 child of the household, showed no interest in what 
 was going on, and with a cynical growl trotted 
 off to the woods behind the house, where he 
 might sleep safe from all fear of interruption. 
 
 From the wide doorway, which stood hospi 
 tably open, stepped a lady. At the first sight of 
 Barbara Deering, strangers were always strongly 
 impressed with the indisputable fact that she 
 was above and before all else a lady. A second 
 look, and people were sure to take one, and 
 it appeared that she was a young lady and a 
 beautiful one. She was tall, above the height 
 of ordinary women, and her carriage was re 
 markably erect and commanding. She walked 
 with a quick, light step to the edge of the piazza, 
 and raising one hand to shade her eyes from 
 the rays of the setting sun, stood looking out 
 across the wide garden. Her figure was like 
 that of a Greek Diana, muscular and graceful, 
 indicating great strength and endurance. The 
 limbs were rounded but not languidly, as one 
 saw by the arm, from which the sleeve had 
 slipped back : it was white, firm, and hard. Her 
 hands were large and shapely, the tips of the 
 fingers red, and the texture of the skin showed 
 that they were used to other work than that of 
 the broidery-frame. Her head, with its crown 
 of pretty, curling flaxen hair, was habitually held 
 rather high, and her face wore an expression in 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 7 
 
 which a certain natural hauteur and imperious- 
 ness seemed at war with a gentleness which was 
 more the result of education than a natural 
 trait. The forehead was wide and unlined, the- 
 eyes brown and clear, the nose straight, and the 
 mouth small and rosy. The soft, white woollen 
 gown, with its breast-knot of red roses, suited the 
 young woman perfectly; and as she stood in the 
 sunset light, a spray of climbing rose hanging 
 overhead from the roof of the piazza., she made 
 an unconscious picture of grace and loveliness. 
 
 At the sound of a wagon on the driveway a 
 warm flush mantled her cheek and throat, and 
 stepping to the door of the house she called out 
 in a sweet, high voice, " Mamma, mamma ! they 
 are coming ! " 
 
 A moment later and a large open vehicle came 
 into sight, drawn by two swift mules, which 
 were urged forward by the driver, a young man 
 in whose face the traits of the girl on the piazza. 
 were reproduced, but somewhat roughly. On 
 the seat behind the driver was seen a female 
 figure closely enveloped in heavy travelling 
 wraps, her features concealed by a thick veil. 
 As the mules stopped before the entrance, the 
 young woman on the piazza came forward with 
 both hands outstretched, saying cordially but 
 half shyly, 
 
 " Dear Millicent, welcome to San Rosario ! 
 
8 SAN BOSARIO RANCH. 
 
 Are you very, very tired ? Let me help you 
 out." 
 
 So saying, Barbara Deering almost lifted the 
 new arrival from the wagon, and with her strong 
 arm supported her to a chair. 
 
 " Thank you so much ! " said the new-comer, 
 speaking with a slightly foreign accent, and lift 
 ing her veil ; " and you are Barbara ? I know you 
 from your picture, only you are much prettier." 
 
 " Poor child, you must be terribly tired ; you 
 shall come and speak to mamma, and then you 
 must go directly to your room and lie down. 
 Hal, you will go down for Millicent s luggage ? " 
 
 The young man nodded an assent, touched up 
 his steeds, and the wagon disappeared down the 
 red dusty road. The two young girls entered 
 the house, Barbara leading the stranger to a 
 large room on the upper story. In a low chair 
 sat a small woman, with a face which must have 
 once been beautiful, and which now shone with 
 an expression of simple sincerity and kindliness. 
 She held out her hand to Millicent, kissed her 
 on both cheeks, and warmly bade her welcome 
 to San Rosario. Millicent Almsford acknowl 
 edged the greeting with a courteous grace, and 
 immediately after accepted Barbara s offer to 
 show her to her room. 
 
 When the door was shut upon her, and she 
 was for the first time in many days alone, she 
 
SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 9 
 
 seated herself at the window, and leaning her 
 head upon her hand, remained wrapped in 
 thought. She had travelled from the coast of 
 the Adriatic Sea to the shores of the Pacific 
 Ocean, with no companion save her maid and 
 her own painful thoughts. And now the long 
 journeying was at an end, and she found herself 
 in the far West, in California, amidst her kin 
 dred, all strangers to her save by tradition and 
 some slight correspondence. She looked about 
 the strange room. It was exquisitely neat and 
 fresh, with its clean whitewashed walls and new 
 blue Kidderminster carpet, its black-walnut 
 "bedroom set," and comfortable lounge, which 
 had been newly covered in her honor. On the 
 bureau were blue and white mats and cushions, 
 a toilet-set which Barbara s busy fingers had 
 stolen time to make. 
 
 She marked all these little details, not one of 
 which escaped her eyes, even to the embroidered 
 towel-rack with her initials, and the worked 
 motto, " Welcome home." Again she looked out 
 from the window over a wide pleasant orchard, 
 filled with heavily fruited peach and plum trees ; 
 over a garden gay with bright-hued flowers, and 
 beyond to the everlasting hills which close 
 about the happy valley wherein stands the house 
 of the San Rosario Ranch. Numbers of oxen 
 and cows were straying over the hills, with here 
 
10 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 and there groups of sheep cropping the sun- 
 dried grass of the hills. 
 
 The landscape was a perfect symphony in 
 brown. The round shiny hills were golden in 
 color; the warm-hued earth in the ploughed fields 
 and the meadows, whose crop of grass had long 
 since been mowed, was of a deeper tint. The 
 house stood in an oasis of green. A great hedge 
 of rose-trees blushing with red blossoms marked 
 the boundary of the flower-garden, irrigated with 
 great care through the long summer months. 
 The sun, low-hanging over the hilltops, sud 
 denly dropped from sight; and as the room grew 
 dim, Millicent shivered slightly, and turning 
 from the window threw herself on the couch 
 and lay there quite still, too tired even to weep 
 out the pain and homesickness in her heart. 
 A tap on the door was followed by the entrance 
 of one of her trunks, brought in by two strong 
 Chinamen, at whose coppery faces Millicent 
 stared curiously. Six large boxes were placed 
 in a row and unstrapped by the younger China 
 man, who, when he had completed his task, 
 approached the stranger land said in a sympa 
 thetic voice, " Me solly you sick ; Ah Lam bring 
 tea-cup ? " The white Celestial smiled benig- 
 nantly and vanished, quickly reappearing with 
 the promised cup of tea, which proved most 
 grateful to the girl s tired nerves. The crea- 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. II 
 
 ture s sympathy and attention brought tears to 
 her eyes ; and when Barbara came in a few 
 minutes later, to help her in unpacking, she 
 found the traces of these tears on Millicent s 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Do not try to dress for tea, dear ; you are too 
 tired. Where shall I find your dressing-case ? 
 You must let me take the place of your maid, 
 now that she has left you so cruelly." 
 
 So talking pleasantly, Barbara unpacked the 
 guest s dressing-bag, looked admiringly at the 
 silver-topped bottles with "M. A." engraven upon 
 them, the ivory brushes, and all the dainty et cet- 
 eras which were necessities to the foreign girl, 
 with the long white hands and finger-nails which 
 shone like pale pink conch-pearls. 
 
 " Thank you, if you would help me a little to 
 night, I shall quickly learn to do for myself. If 
 you will look in that largest trunk, you may give 
 me whatever gown lies at the top." 
 
 Barbara unfolded as she was bid a sea-green 
 cashmere dress, in which the stranger quickly 
 clad her slender figure. Manifold strings of tiny 
 seed-pearls she wound about her white throat 
 and wrists, performing all the details of her dress 
 ing with a careful precision which seemed part 
 of her nature. The pink nails received an extra 
 polish, though the tea-bell had twice summoned 
 the inmates of the house to the evening repast. 
 
12 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 With a peculiarly graceful motion, like the un 
 dulation of a swift but quiet stream, she moved 
 about the room and finally down the stairway to 
 the dining-room below. 
 
 " Millicent, will you sit here, on my right? Hal 
 shall have the pleasure of occupying the place 
 beside you." 
 
 The speaker was the lady whose gentle, firm 
 hand swayed the small realm of the San Rosario 
 Ranch during the long absence of its master, 
 Mr. Ralph Almsford. 
 
 Mr. Almsford had been a widower for the past 
 ten years. On the death of his beloved wife, 
 her mother Mrs. Deering had continued at his 
 earnest request to make his house her home. 
 Her two younger children, Barbara and Henry 
 Deering, remembered no other home, and it 
 seemed but natural to them that they should 
 continue to live with their brother-in-law. The 
 family life was a particularly happy one, and the 
 tie between Ralph Almsford and the Deerings 
 was closer than that which exists between many 
 blood relations. 
 
 The advent of the young heiress Millicent 
 Almsford, the half-lister of Ralph, was an event 
 of great importance in the household, and had 
 been eagerly anticipated by Mrs. Deering and 
 her daughter for several weeks. Henry Deering 
 or as he was always called Hal displayed an 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 13 
 
 absolute indifference concerning the " strange 
 girl who was coming to make her home among 
 them for a year. What Ralph Almsford felt 
 about his guest no one of the household could 
 divine. He was a quiet, reticent man, entirely 
 absorbed in his business, which of late had often 
 taken him from home for months at a time. He 
 had written to his half-sister, urging her to visit 
 the ranch ; and his letter, the first one of the kind 
 she had ever received, had so moved the girl that 
 she had telegraphed her departure, and forthwith 
 started on her long journey. 
 
 Her brother met her in San Francisco, where 
 they passed one day together, a business en 
 gagement calling him away on the morrow, as he 
 hoped for a few days only. 
 
 Millicent took the place assigned her by Mrs. 
 Deering, and supper was enlivened by conversa 
 tion about the journey she had just achieved, 
 which she described as the most terrible ordeal 
 that it was possible for a human being to un 
 dergo. The guest was entirely at her ease, 
 though her position might have been to many 
 people an embarrassing one. Arriving alone in 
 a household of near connections, who were as yet 
 absolute strangers to her, and with whom it had 
 been decided that the next year of her life should 
 be passed, most girls in her place would have 
 experienced some sensation of awkwardness ; 
 
14 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 but Millicent was entirely mistress of the situa 
 tion. She spoke principally to Hal Deering, a 
 jolly-looking fellow of twenty-five, who puzzled her 
 with the bits of dialect, perfectly unintelligible to 
 her, which he introduced into his conversation. 
 
 After supper Mrs. Deering led the way into 
 the drawing-room, saying to her guest, 
 
 "Will you join us at prayers in the library, 
 Millicent ? Or would you prefer waiting here 
 for us ? " 
 
 " I see that you already know that I am an un 
 orthodox person, Mrs. Deering. Frankly, I would 
 prefer not coming, if you will allow me. Being 
 an agnostic, I should hardly be in sympathy 
 with your service. If you will kindly excuse me, 
 I will await you here." 
 
 Millicent s refusal to join the family at their 
 devotions was accompanied with a smile so 
 exquisite and winning that the offence was for 
 given, although forgiveness had not been asked. 
 Hal, the great six-foot giant, more than forgave 
 the graceful girl her ungraciousness, and would 
 have a thousand times preferred remaining with 
 her to joining his mother and sister. 
 
 On being left to herself, Millicent moved to the 
 piano which stood open near the window, and 
 seating herself let her white fingers stray gently 
 over the keys. Strange hands were Millicent s, 
 of a whiteness that made her pale cheek look 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 1 5 
 
 brown by comparison. The ringers were long 
 and taper, at the tip of each a drop as of water 
 ready to fall from the pink digits. The wrists 
 were round and very slender. On the fifth fin 
 ger of the left hand she wore a strange, small 
 old ring of an Etruscan pattern, which had been 
 stripped from the fleshless hand of a princess, 
 whose sanctuary had been rifled by some nine 
 teenth-century robber of graves. The setting en 
 closed a small green intaglio exquisitely carved, 
 representing a Psyche with new-found wings. 
 
 She had a strange, white luminous face whose 
 beauty shone from within and lit the dark gray 
 eyes with a rare and tender loveliness. The 
 large mouth was more exquisitely refined than 
 the mere rosebud tininess of Barbara Deering s. 
 The teeth were very white and perfect, and the 
 veil of soft, golden bronze hair, in which she 
 could have clothed herself like Mary in the 
 desert, was deftly massed into a great dusky knot 
 at the nape of her white neck. Her arms and 
 bosom, veiled by half transparent draperies, were 
 white as marble from Carrara, and as finely yet 
 generously chiselled as those of a goddess of 
 Phidias. She was very tall, though her grace 
 of movement concealed her height; her small 
 feet in their velvet sandals were not dispropor 
 tionate to her size. Her features were beautiful, 
 and her hair and eyes the delight of every artist 
 
I 6 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 who looked upon her. And yet that which made 
 her so remarkable among women had nothing to 
 do with delicate contours or harmonious tints. 
 Her body seemed like a screen through which 
 shone a flame, at times white and gentle, again 
 rosy and passionate. She was like the twin opals 
 which clasped her girdle, and was as sensitive 
 as they to every passing influence. 
 
 As the words of the ritual, grown to be mean 
 ingless to him by their frequent repetition, fell 
 upon the ears of Henry Deering he heeded them 
 not, and failed to make the proper responses : 
 other sounds had struck his ear, and soft, solemn 
 strains of music made an under prayer to the 
 evening service. To these strange chords his 
 heart made answer, and his thoughts were raised 
 by them far higher than was usual at that hour, 
 when it was their wont to run riot over the busi 
 ness in hand for the next day. 
 
 As the family re-entered the drawing-room, 
 Millicent remained seated at the piano, now strik 
 ing louder chords, and finally ending the long 
 rhapsody with a brilliant waltz of Chopin. 
 
 "Thank you, dear," said Barbara, as Millicent 
 left the piano ; " I am so glad that you are musi 
 cal. I find very little sympathy for my music in 
 the family ; we will have great pleasure in prac 
 tising together. I have some very good four-hand 
 music." 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. I/ 
 
 Soon after, the newly arrived guest bade good 
 night to the family, and went to her room accom 
 panied by Barbara. 
 
 " She is a little like Ralph," said Mrs. Deering, 
 "only infinitely handsomer. How did she please 
 you, my son ? " 
 
 " Is she handsome ? I hardly noticed. It was 
 her voice that struck me ; it has the sound of 
 laughing waters. And can t she play, though ! I 
 uever heard such music in my life." 
 
 " I am very glad for Barbara s sake that she is 
 musical," answered his mother. 
 
 "Yes ; I hope that Barbara and Miss Almsford 
 will get on together. But I have my doubts," 
 said Hal, dubiously pulling his straw-colored 
 mustache. 
 
 This is San Rosario to-day. Shall we go back 
 a hundred years ? It has a history worth a word 
 or two. To one who is familiar with the beauti 
 ful country which lies about the old Mission of 
 San Rosario, it is not a little strange that the 
 place has as yet no prominence either in history 
 or literature. Santa Barbara and the Mission 
 Dolores have been celebrated in prose and verse. 
 San Miguel and San Fernando Rey are not for 
 gotten ; while San Rafael and San Francisco, 
 now grown to be important cities, will be re 
 membered as long as Plymouth or Manhattan. 
 
18 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 The venerable President of the missions of Up 
 per California, Father Junipero Serra, founded 
 the San Rosario Mission in 1784, the last year 
 of his life. It is possible that the judgment of 
 the enthusiastic priest was already failing when 
 he chose this site, for the Mission was never 
 prosperous, and was abandoned early in the 
 present century. While standing among the 
 ruins of the old church, it is not difficult to see 
 in fancy a picturesque scene enacted on the 
 spot a century ago, on the morning of the con 
 secration of the Mission. 
 
 The little band of priests and soldiers have 
 come to the end of their journey ; the pleasant 
 valley set in sheltering green hills has been 
 chosen for the site of the new Mission. The 
 tall thin figure of Father Junipero first strikes 
 the eye. In spite of his great age, and the 
 mortal disease with which he is afflicted, it is his 
 hand that tugs lustily at the rope which swings 
 the great bronze bell, hung in the arms of a 
 gigantic redwood. It is he who shouts aloud 
 the summons, " Hear, hear ! all ye Gentiles ! 
 come to the holy Church ! " Close to the Presi 
 dent stand two priests, one, a middle-aged man 
 with a head which indicates great power and a 
 dogged persistence ; the other, a delicate looking 
 youth with the face of an enthusiast, beautiful 
 and dreamy. The handful of soldiers who serve 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 19 
 
 the Fathers as an escort are making fast the 
 slight church tent which they have just set 
 up. From the neighboring thicket the cries of 
 the startled birds mingle with the earnest tones 
 of Father Junipero and the deep notes of the 
 bronze bell. Hardly less timorous than the 
 wood creatures are the Indians, who peer cau 
 tiously from behind the great trees at the strange 
 spectacle before them. They are invited to 
 draw near, and the bolder ones come close to 
 the black-robed figures, and stare curiously at 
 the simple ceremonials with which the ground 
 is consecrated to the service of the heavenly 
 kingdom. 
 
 Through the indefatigable energy of the Presi 
 dent and the two priests, the few buildings of 
 the Mission were completed within a year. The 
 adobe church was unusually large and well built, 
 as one can see to-day. The tower, the base of 
 which is strongly fortified, is still standing, 
 though the roof of the church has long since 
 fallen to the earthen floor. Little trace now 
 remains ^of the less important buildings, for the 
 Mission was abandoned thirty years after its 
 establishment, and the property passed into the 
 hands of its present owner, Mr. Ralph Alms- 
 ford, some fifteen years before the opening of our 
 story. 
 
 A century has elapsed since that day when 
 
20 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 the Fathers planted the cross amidst the stately 
 aisles of madrone trees ; the Mission is now 
 almost forgotten, but the San Rosario Ranch is 
 well known for its famous breed of cattle, and 
 for its fine dairy, which supplies the San Fran 
 cisco market with choice butter and cream. 
 
 The two priests he of the hard-favored coun 
 tenance, and he of the gentle eyes lie side by 
 side at the foot of the crumbling altar. The 
 Indians who were reclaimed by them from bar 
 barism have gone to their happy hunting-grounds, 
 and the brilliant future prophesied by Father 
 Junipero is proven to be a dream and nothing 
 more. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Look to yourselves, ye polished gentlemen ! 
 No city airs or arts pass current here. 
 Your rank is all reversed : let men of cloth 
 Bow to the stalwart churls in overalls." 
 
 MILLICENT ALMSFORD awoke early on the 
 morning after her arrival. " What is the mat 
 ter ? " she asked. 
 
 No one answering her question, she put 
 another. 
 
 " Why do we not go on, what are we stopping 
 for ? " this still in a semi-somnolent voice. On 
 opening her eyes and finding that she was not in 
 the berth of the palace car, where she had for a 
 week past always found herself, she laughed 
 outright and then gave a deep sigh. 
 
 Her long journey, from the Palazzo Fortunio 
 in Venice to the San Rosario Ranch in Califor 
 nia, was at an end ; and here she was, to use her 
 own phrase, " planted in the wilderness for a year 
 to come." 
 
 " Heavens ! how can I bear it ?" she cried, toss 
 ing restlessly to the other side of her wide bed ; 
 " it is all so new, so raw, so crude, so terrible, 
 just like this cotton sheet, which has chafed my 
 chin so badly that I would rather have slept with- 
 
22 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 Soon a loud bell broke the silence of the morn 
 ing. Millicent did not heed it, but looked about 
 the room to find a means of summoning assist 
 ance. Happily she found the bell quite near her, 
 and, after twice ringing, a tap at her door was 
 heard. In answer to her " Come in," Ah Lam 
 opened the door cautiously. 
 
 " Missie call Ah Lam ? " 
 
 " I want my breakfast now," said Millicent, 
 somewhat dismayed at the attendant she had 
 summoned. 
 
 Soon Barbara came, carrying the breakfast tray 
 in her strong arms. 
 
 " I am so sorry you don t feel well this morn 
 ing, Millicent. What can I do for you ? " 
 
 " But I feel perfectly well. Do I look so badly ? " 
 
 " No, dear ; but we were afraid, not seeing 
 you 
 
 " Dear Barbara, you must excuse my strange 
 foreign habits. You know I have been only a 
 week in your country. I did not realize that you 
 all came downstairs to breakfast. What time 
 is it?" 
 
 u After seven." 
 
 " And you have been up since ? " 
 
 " Since six o clock only. Hal is the early riser. 
 Half-past four sees him overlooking the milking." 
 
 Millicent shuddered ; she had indeed come to a 
 strange land. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 23 
 
 " I will try to learn the customs of your coun 
 try," she said rather piteously, taking up her cup 
 of coffee. 
 
 " Only learn those that please you, dear. As 
 for our early breakfast, which I see shocks you, 
 think no more about it. I will gladly bring it 
 up to you every day." 
 
 " I shall unpack some of my boxes this morn 
 ing, Barbara ; and later we will try some of your 
 duets, if you like." 
 
 The unpacking of her Penates gave Millicent 
 a certain satisfaction, which was, however, tem 
 pered by the sad recollections they brought to 
 her mind, of her own apartment with its three 
 pretty rooms in the corner of the great Palazzo 
 Fortunio. 
 
 Millicent Almsford was the daughter of an 
 American gentleman who had lived in Venice 
 since before the birth of his daughter. Here the 
 greater portion of her life had been spent, with 
 the interruption only of one long visit made to a 
 relative in England. 
 
 A month previous to the opening of our story 
 her father, widowed at her birth, had married for 
 the third time, his wife being a young and un 
 interesting Italian woman of the middle class. 
 The marriage, to which Millicent was strongly 
 opposed, had led her to accept the invitation of 
 her half-brother to make him an extended visit 
 in his California home. 
 
24 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 From the great cases she lifted, with the help 
 of Ah Lam, the household treasures which she 
 had been unwilling to leave behind, in the home 
 which knew her as its mistress no longer. A 
 motley collection of articles had the great trunks 
 enclosed : pictures, books, a large Eastern carpet, 
 a parchment missal of the fifteenth century with 
 beautiful illuminations, a guitar, a little majolica 
 shrine with a figure of San Antonio very much 
 the worse for the journey, a set of delicately 
 wrought silken window and bed hangings of pale 
 sea color, a pair of heavy silver candelabra, with 
 a ponderous packet of wax tapers, and innumer 
 able other knick-knacks. 
 
 With the willing and ingenious assistance of 
 Ah Lam, this roba y to borrow the untranslatable 
 Italian phrase, was disposed about the large room. 
 The neat Nottingham lace curtains, at which 
 Millicent had looked askance, were now hidden 
 beneath the blue-green draperies, embroidered 
 by the hands of the mother whose face she had 
 never seen. The pictures were hung upon the 
 walls, and a deep-hued Egyptian scarf disguised 
 the pasteboard motto, with its friendly welcome. 
 A book-case was improvised by the Chinaman 
 from some old boxes, and covered by Millicent, 
 who unhesitatingly cut to pieces a heavy woollen 
 gown whose color struck her as appropriate to 
 that end. Beside the bed she hung the little 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 2$ 
 
 shrine of San Antonio, with much grief that the 
 long journey had damaged his saintly toes and 
 fingers. On a table were ranged the candle 
 sticks and the missal, and an old copy of Dante 
 with a mouse-gnawed cover, and Lear s " Non 
 sense Book," this last because it was an old 
 friend from childhood, which she, being a crea 
 ture of habit, had forgotten to discard. 
 
 The complete metamorphosis of the apartment 
 was a work of several days ; and only when it 
 was entirely accomplished were Mrs. Deering 
 and her daughter admitted to see the change. 
 Poor Barbara ! All the pains and trouble she 
 had taken, all the careful stitches she had set, 
 were unavailing. The new carpet she had bought 
 with her own pocket money was entirely covered 
 by old rugs, some of which were very faded and 
 worn ; none of them were as bright and clean as 
 the Kidderminster. 
 
 The warm knitted afghan had disappeared from 
 the bed, which was covered by a white quilt em 
 broidered* in strange floral designs. The very 
 toilet set had been replaced, and the pretty 
 painted candles had been banished. 
 
 " I have made it a little like Venice," cried 
 Millicent excitedly, " only the walls in my bed 
 room there are hung in silk and all painted in 
 water-color, and the rooms are so high, you 
 remember the green room in the Palazzo Fortu- 
 
26 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 nio, Mrs. Deering, with the nymphs, the sea gods, 
 and the green hobgoblins painted all over it ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Millicent. What a change you 
 have wrought in the spare bedroom. Ralph 
 would hardly recognize it. I see now what was 
 contained in the boxes which so aroused Hal s 
 curiosity. I am afraid you have made your room 
 too attractive, dear, and that we shall find dif 
 ficulty in coaxing you out of it into our more 
 prosaic apartments." 
 
 "Oh, I always live the greater part of my 
 life between my own four walls : I am not a so 
 ciable person, I am afraid. At least so Barbara 
 thinks." 
 
 Barbara said nothing ; she was hurt and dis 
 appointed. The room, with its strange furnish 
 ing, was unnatural to her. She felt, as she looked 
 at Millicent with this new setting which suited 
 her so perfectly, that neither in the room nor in 
 the life of Millicent Almsford was there a place 
 for her. She had eagerly anticipated the advent 
 of this unknown girl, sisterless like herself, who 
 should grow to be so much to her, and in whom 
 she should find the sympathetic friend of whom 
 she had greatly felt the need ; and now that she 
 had come, Barbara was bitterly disappointed. 
 Millicent was gracious, winning, full of attractive 
 qualities, intellectually sympathetic to a degree 
 which she had never before known. And yet 
 
SAN EOS A RIO RANCH. 2/ 
 
 the tall daughter of the Ranch was cruelly dis 
 turbed. 
 
 " I can be nothing to her ; she is complete with 
 out me," she had said to her mother ; and herein 
 lay the reason for all her disappointment. Liv 
 ing among people to whom her beauty, her talent, 
 and her warmth of heart had been the most po 
 etic features of their lives, Barbara Deering had 
 grown to value men and women according to the 
 amount of good or pleasure she could impart to 
 them. Her life had been one wherein the tears 
 and sighs had been stifled, or hidden in the dark 
 ness of her chamber ; the laughter and smiles, 
 the bright cheery face, the helping hand always 
 meeting those about her. Children loved her, and 
 old people blessed her for her sympathy and 
 kindness. To her mother and brother she was 
 sun, moon, and stars ; and to them every hour of 
 her life was consecrated. Naturally endowed 
 with certain tastes which would have somewhat 
 interfered with the quiet plan of life laid out for 
 her, she had systematically neglected these gifts, 
 sacrificing herself to an imaginary duty which 
 was always before her eyes. She had avoided 
 such pursuits as might have led her aside from 
 the common life of the family ; and happiness for 
 her was found in the happiness she could afford 
 to others. Enjoyment to her, unless her dear 
 ones were included in it, was something like a 
 
28 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 sin ; and the pleasure she took in her music gave 
 her pangs of conscience. 
 
 One morning, about a week after her arrival, 
 Millicent was awakened by the sharp sound of a 
 horse s hoofs clattering down the stony road 
 which led to the orchard from the hill behind the 
 house. She sprang up, and throwing wide the 
 shutters, looked out to see whence the sound 
 came. It was still very early. The sun had not 
 yet clambered over the tops of the high hills ; but 
 the sky was bright, and the shadows lay like a 
 misty garment over the happy valley, locked in 
 its circle of hills. The great bull Jupiter, the 
 terror of the Ranch, stood near the house, sniff 
 ing the cool morning air, and giving thunderous 
 snorts of pleasure. The bars had been left down, 
 and he had gained access to the green orchard, 
 forbidden ground to him. The hedge of roses 
 was hung with a wondrous garlanding of dew- 
 drops, and the dark-red lilies were just awaken 
 ing to the draught which the night winds had 
 distilled in their chalices. From every blade 
 of grass and leaf of clover sparkled a diamond. 
 The fair valley had arrayed itself in jewels and 
 fragance for another day of light and love. 
 
 The sound of the horse s hoofs grew nearer ; 
 and as Millicent looked expectantly along the 
 bridle-path that descends from the mountain, 
 there came into sight, parting the wet boughs of 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 29 
 
 the fruit trees, a horseman mounted on a gray 
 mustang. The rider was a strong man, who sat 
 his steed with the air of one to the manner born. 
 He was dressed in corduroy breeches, high top- 
 boots, and flannel shirt. He had no hat. In his 
 belt shone a long hunting knife, and over his 
 shoulder was slung a rifle. Before him on the 
 saddle lay a stag whose heavy antlers hardly 
 cleared the ground. 
 
 The first rays of the sun, just peeping over 
 the hill-tops, touched his thick brown hair, giving 
 it a glint of bronze, shone on the wide white fore 
 head, flashed into the eyes, and showed her for 
 an instant a stern profile, exceedingly beautiful. 
 Then she lost his face as he turned the corner 
 of the piazza. Here he dismounted, and lifting 
 the deer from the horse laid it on the grass. 
 Perhaps the beauty of the dead creature struck 
 a chord of remorse in the breast of the hunter, 
 for he gave a sigh and turned it so that a gaping 
 wound in the neck was not visible. Then draw 
 ing a pencil and a bit of paper from his pocket, 
 he wrote something, and fastening the billet to 
 the horns of the deer, he mounted his horse, and 
 giving him the rein returned slowly by the same 
 road. As he drew near again Millicent saw that 
 the mustache which hid the upper lip was golden- 
 brown, that the throat was white and shapely, 
 that the mouth smiled not untenderly, while the 
 
30 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 eyes smiled not at all. These details were noted 
 with an artist s love of beauty : and as she 
 watched him out of sight, she wondered with all 
 a woman s curiosity who he might be. 
 
 Since Millicent s arrival there had been many 
 visitors at the Ranch. All the friends of the 
 Deering family who were within calling distance 
 had either come to make the acquaintance of 
 Miss Almsford, or had signified their intention 
 of shortly doing so. 
 
 Calling distance in California may be said to 
 extend not over fifty miles. The neighbor who 
 lives half a hundred miles from you will make 
 a call, or in other words will come to pass the day. 
 Calling terms cease beyond these limits, and visits 
 of not less than twenty-four hours are exchanged. 
 
 In none of the people whom she had met had 
 Millicent felt or manifested the least interest. 
 She had received them graciously, but with a 
 cordiality of manner only. Not one man or wo 
 man among the circle of friends who were on 
 familiar terms at the Ranch awoke in her a de 
 sire for further acquaintance. But this one who 
 had called at six o clock in the morning, and had 
 left his visiting card pinned to the antlers of a 
 stag, piqued the curiosity of the indifferent young 
 lady. Wrapping herself in a soft gray woollen 
 dressing-gown, she ran downstairs in the liveliest 
 manner. 
 
SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 31 
 
 It was a splendid animal, fine as the buck 
 described by Browning in " Donald." Alas, the 
 slender legs would carry his noble body and 
 stately head no further ; the branching horns 
 would never again clash against the antlers of a 
 rival. Millicent touched the beautiful dead 
 creature tenderly between the horns, and tried 
 to close the dim eyes. At that moment she 
 heard a step upon the piazza, and Hal Deering 
 joined her. 
 
 " Why, Miss Almsford, what does this mean ? 
 You to be up and dressed " he hesitated, 
 "well, yes, you are dressed, and very becomingly 
 too ; I like that loose gown at six in the 
 morning ! sighing over the fine piece of venison, 
 and performing the last kind offices of friendship 
 too. Don t believe you would do as much for 
 me." 
 
 The young man looked at the deer approv 
 ingly, and perceiving the note, took it from the 
 antler and deliberately read it aloud : 
 
 HONORED MISTRESS DEERING, I lay myself 
 at your feet, and with myself a pretty bit of game 
 I have just killed, thinking that the fair Venetian 
 might fancy a venison steak for her breakfast. 
 I kiss your hand, dear my lady, and am your 
 most unworthy but loyal servitor, 
 
 JOHN GRAHAM. 
 
32 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 " Of course, knew it was Graham, queer crea 
 ture. Wonder why he did not stop and take 
 breakfast with us. He is an unaccountable 
 fellow." 
 
 " What did you call him ? " 
 
 " Graham ; his full name is John Douglass 
 Graham. Just like a hero s in a novel. But 
 Graham never does anything very heroic, I 
 fancy." 
 
 " Shall you cut off his skin ?" 
 
 " Whose ? Graham s ? " 
 
 " How foolish, Mr. Deering. I mean the 
 deer s fur." 
 
 " Oh no, certainly not ; in America we always 
 serve game with the hide or feathers. In fact, 
 we usually do not remove the wool from our 
 mutton ; but knowing that you were accustomed 
 to seeing it dressed after the super-civilized 
 fashion of the Venetians, I have 
 
 " Mr. Deering, that is stupid. I want his skin 
 and horns ; please arrange them for me." 
 
 " Yes, Princess ; your most humble servant 
 will obey your mandate." 
 
 He seized the creature by its slender legs, 
 hoisted it deftly to his shoulders, and disap 
 peared through the side door. Millicent picked 
 up the bit of a note, smoothed it, and laid it 
 at Mrs. Deering s plate on the breakfast table. 
 
 Millicent asked Barbara later on in the day 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 33 
 
 who and what John Graham might be. She was 
 told that the man with the bronze hair and 
 strange eyes was a near neighbor, and that she 
 would without doubt soon make his acquaintance. 
 
 With this answer Millicent was fain to be con 
 tent. She thought about him all that day and 
 dreamed of him that night ; the next morning 
 his face was not so distinctly in her mind, but 
 her thoughts were constantly busy with weaving 
 romances in which John Graham played a con 
 spicuous part. The girl was indeed a creature 
 " of the stuff which dreams are made of ; " the 
 web of her daily life, no matter how common 
 place its actual experience might be, was rich 
 with her own vivid imaginings, like the gold 
 thread that a weaver twists through a sad-colored 
 fabric. 
 
 " Mr. Deering, take me to the dairy. I have 
 not yet seen it," said Millicent one afternoon, as 
 they all sat together on the wide piazza after 
 the early dinner. The young man rose slowly, 
 his great length unfolding itself as he left his 
 chair ; and for answer put down his pipe and 
 reached up for Millicent s hat, which he had 
 hung on a peg high above her reach. The two 
 young people passed down the gravel walk be 
 tween the broad flower beds fragrant with the 
 wonderful roses which grow only upon the shores 
 of the Pacific. A geranium tree twelve feet 
 
 3 
 
34 SAN ROSAPJO RANCH. 
 
 high, with its great scarlet bunches, and the vine 
 of Marechal roses which climbed up the piazza 
 and tapped with its heavy blossoms at her case 
 ment, aroused Millicent s enthusiasm. 
 
 The dairy, Hal told her, was fully thirty years 
 old. But her own palace had frowned grim and 
 black upon the Grand Canal before the passen 
 gers on the good ship "Mayflower" had landed in 
 Plymouth. The dairy was a plain, neat frame- 
 building painted white, looking out upon a great 
 farm-yard. Here the pretty cows all stood 
 crowded together, waiting their turn to offer up 
 their evening tribute. Two black-browed Mexi 
 cans were milking, and a tall Yankee was over 
 seeing the straining of the milk. He stood by 
 a large trough and received the brimming buck 
 ets from the milkers, pouring their contents 
 through a strainer into the great receptacle. In 
 the midst of the herd lay Jupiter, the splendid 
 bull, lazily chewing his cud and switching away 
 the sand flies with his thick black tail. 
 
 In a cool inner room were long shelves ranged 
 about the brick walls, whereon stood a shining 
 array of pans filled with milk in different stages. 
 Millicent was one of those people who are always 
 stimulated with a desire to accomplish whatever 
 other people are engaged in doing. She now 
 announced her intention of learning to milk. 
 This suggestion was promptly vetoed by Hal, 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 35 
 
 who, to divert her attention, called to one of the 
 men to bring him the skimming utensils. He 
 placed a large stone jar beneath the shelf, and 
 taking one of the milk pans which was covered 
 with a rich coating of yellow cream, proceeded 
 to skim it. His only tool was a little wooden 
 wand, resembling a sculptor s modelling stick. 
 With this he separated the yellow disk of cream 
 from the sides of the pan, tipping it slightly so 
 that the whole mass of cream slipped off un 
 broken, leaving the pale-blue skimmed milk in 
 the vessel. Millicent was delighted with the 
 operation which Hal accomplished with such 
 skill, and after many unsuccessful attempts 
 finally performed the feat in a manner very 
 creditable to a beginner. 
 
 " If you will find your way back to the house, 
 Princess, I will help the men to finish the milk 
 ing," said young Deering, when Millicent had 
 announced her intention of returning. 
 
 She nodded her assent, and walking a few 
 steps stopped and leaned over the gate of the 
 farm-yard. Presently Deering came out from 
 the dairy, having donned his rough overalls and 
 jersey, and, placing himself on a three-legged 
 stool, proceeded to milk a tall white cow. Milli 
 cent looked at him musingly for a few minutes, 
 and then took her way down the path which led 
 to the house. It was but a short distance, and 
 
36 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 lay within sight of both farm and dwelling-house, 
 and yet she was somewhat astonished at the 
 young man s allowing her to return alone. To 
 see him milking, too, at work with the common 
 laborers, had greatly perplexed her. She cast 
 a glance over her shoulder to reassure herself 
 that it was really Hal s hatless head which was 
 bending forward, almost touching the side of the 
 white cow. " And yet he is a gentleman," she 
 said aloud ; and, remembering the white hands 
 of her papa and the gentlemen whom she had 
 known in the Old World, was reminded of the 
 truth, which when it is spoken seems a truism, 
 and yet which is often lost sight of, that the 
 proof of gentlehood lies neither in the skin of 
 the body, nor its raiment. 
 
 Neither goodly clothes nor skin 
 Show the gentleman within. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 " And to watch you sink by the fireside now 
 Back again, as you mutely sit 
 Musing by fire-light, that great brow 
 And the spirit-small hand propping it." 
 
 JOHN DOUGLASS GRAHAM, by birth American, 
 by descent Scottish, by profession painter, sat 
 looking out from his tower window. It was too 
 dark to paint, and not yet late enough for him to 
 light his study lamp and begin his evening work ; 
 so he sat idle, a rare thing for him. Before his 
 window there stretched a fair landscape ; and a 
 man, a painter above other men, might well be 
 forgiven an hour s idleness in such a place. 
 The sun s last rays made the little copse look 
 more golden and dreamy than did the stronger 
 morning light. The still pool with its warm 
 reflection of sky and trees, the mysterious dark 
 wood beyond, all shadowy and full of dreams, 
 made a picture which his hand never wearied of 
 reproducing. On his easel stood a canvas which 
 bore a reflection of the scene on which he was 
 looking, painted in a strong, masterly manner, 
 but not yet completed. " Ah, Heavens ! no won 
 der that men love to paint in cities, with nothing 
 of nature s beauty before them to shame their 
 
38 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 work. If I dwelt face to face with a brick wall 
 and saw no motion save that of horse-cars and 
 over-laden dray horses I might be more satisfied 
 with what I accomplish. This picture might 
 then seem beautiful to me. It is a different 
 thing to look into the face of the great model 
 and then at one s work. Only the strongest of 
 us can do that, only our Dupres and Rousseaus. 
 Shall I ever feel that I can even dimly picture 
 this one view ? Can I ever send my testimony 
 of beauty to the world ? Can I say the one word 
 of truth which was given me to speak ? " 
 
 Graham spoke to the four walls to which most 
 of his conversation was addressed. The only 
 sympathy he ever received in his bursts of en 
 thusiasm or despair was from a portrait which 
 hung where the first rays of light fell upon it in 
 the morning. It was the portrait of a woman 
 neither young nor beautiful with the beauty of 
 youth. A tender, sad face, with those heavy 
 lines at the mouth and nose which tell of grief 
 and long weeping. The gray hair was smoothly 
 brushed from the forehead, and the whole mien 
 and costume showed that dignity of age so 
 rarely seen in these days when grandmothers 
 dress in rainbow-hued garments fit for their 
 grandchildren, curl and frizzle their locks after 
 the mode worn by the reigning beauty of the 
 time, and in every possible way simulate a youth 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 39 
 
 whose charm they have not, thus losing the real 
 grace which belongs to their age. Before his 
 mother s portrait the artist always kept fresh 
 flowers, and to that dear and noble face his eyes 
 were turned in a mute appeal for sympathy 
 many times during the long solitary day. 
 
 The fires in the western sky burned low and 
 finally faded out before Graham rose from his seat 
 near the window and touched his lamp into flame. 
 The searching light of the large astral revealed 
 clearly the interior of the apartment in which 
 the artist lived and worked. It was a square, 
 high room, not very large, with a miscellaneous 
 furnishing. One corner, half hidden by a large 
 canvas, was devoted to his narrow wooden bed 
 and dressing-table. Near a large casement stood 
 his easel with palette and brushes. On the walls 
 hung a pair of foils and masks and some boxing 
 gloves. These, and a pair of Indian clubs in the 
 corner, proved that the occupant of the tower 
 was not careless of developing the splendid 
 muscles with which he was endowed. Near the 
 doorway hung a string of curious Japanese net- 
 shukes, masks, monkeys, bears, men, women, 
 and fruit, carefully carved in wood or ivory by the 
 greatest artificers the world knows to-day. The 
 walls were covered with pictures and sketches ; 
 the large table littered with books and tubes of 
 paint. A group of deer antlers served as clothes- 
 
40 SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 pegs, and the floor was strewn with the skins of 
 these and many other animals. A quaint apart 
 ment, in which no attempts at the picturesque 
 had been made, which the careless grouping 
 together of many objects had nevertheless at 
 tained. 
 
 John Graham had reclaimed the old tower 
 from utter desolation two years before, when he 
 took up his residence in the ruins of the Span 
 ish Mission. The adobe building had fallen to 
 decay, a thick cloak of ivy and flowering vines 
 mercifully hiding from the light of day the deso 
 late ruin of what had been the religious centre 
 of the country of San Rosario. The church 
 walls had fallen to the ground ; but the reredos 
 and deserted altar stood swept by the winds of 
 heaven, and decked with climbing roses and 
 clinging ferns. The tower, which had been built 
 very substantially, and with a view to defence in 
 case of danger, still stood stanch, gray and 
 weather-beaten. A flight of steep wooden stairs 
 leading from what had been the vestibule of the 
 church gave access to the room. 
 
 The tower stood within the limits of the San 
 Rosario Ranch, the property of Mr. Ralph Alms- 
 ford, which included twenty square miles of 
 wooded country and arable land. 
 
 When Graham had asked permission to estab 
 lish himself in the old tower, Mr. Almsford had 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 41 
 
 readily granted the request, thinking, however, 
 that he would weary of the solitary life in a few 
 weeks. Two years had now passed, and the 
 artist still inhabited his little eyrie, whose pos 
 session he disputed with the night owls which 
 had been wont to sit blinking in the tower 
 through the long hours of daylight. The place 
 was five miles distant from the Deering house, 
 and Graham s only neighbor was an old wood 
 cutter who lived in a cabin hard by, and who went 
 by the name of French John. He prepared the 
 artist s meals and took charge of his room. 
 French John was a strange, silent old creature, 
 whose life had been a varied one. He had 
 served in the French army first as a soldier, 
 then as an officer s servant. His reminiscences, 
 when he could be induced to tell them, were full 
 of interest. He had been in Paris in 48 ; his 
 hands had helped to tear up the pavement to 
 make the blockades and barriers. He had served 
 in Algiers, whence he had come to America, 
 and gone as a private to the war of the Southern 
 Rebellion. He had finally drifted out to the 
 San Rosario Ranch, where he would in all prob 
 ability pass the remainder of his days. For 
 some reason he had received no pension from 
 either of the governments for the support of 
 which he had shed his blood. In his old age 
 this stranded bit of humanity was forced to sup- 
 
42 SAN EOSAE10 EANCH. 
 
 port himself by the hard labor of a wood-cutter. 
 His little cabin was built behind the altar, where 
 the Lady Chapel had once stood, sheltered from 
 the winds by the high screen of the reredos. 
 
 It was to the humble dwelling of French 
 John that Graham proceeded after having made 
 a toilet with unusual care. The door of the 
 little log hut was ajar ; and as he approached, the 
 interior was entirely visible, revealed by the un 
 certain light of the wood-fire. The old man 
 was stooping over the blaze with a saucepan in 
 his hand, the contents of which he was vigor 
 ously stirring. Three cats of preternaturally grave 
 aspect sat nearby, intently watching the culinary 
 preparations. A mangy old hunting dog lay 
 snoring in the corner, gray and scarred as his 
 master. A battered fowling-piece and a greasy 
 game-bag were flung on the wooden bench which 
 served as table and chair to the occupant of the 
 humble dwelling. The young man paused a 
 moment on the threshold and sighed. The un 
 kempt little cot with its lonely owner only dif 
 fered in degree from his own tower, from himself. 
 He had not even the companionship of the 
 dumb beasts. When he should grow as old and 
 battered as the wrinkled wood-cutter, would he 
 be dependent for sympathy on a purring cat, or 
 an old dog ? Presently he spoke, but it was in 
 a loud, cheery voice which in nowise indicated 
 
SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 
 
 43 
 
 the sombre thought which had just suggested 
 itself to his mind. 
 
 "Good-evening, John. What luck did you 
 have to-day ? " 
 
 " Four quail and two rabbits," replied the old 
 man laconically, without returning the greeting 
 of his visitor. 
 
 " And what have you in that old iron pot 
 of yours ? Something very good, I warrant." 
 
 " Stewed quail with bacon." 
 
 " Well, you must eat it yourself, for I do not 
 want any supper to-night ; I am going up to 
 the house to pass the evening. Here is a pack 
 age of tobacco for you. I shall be ready at the 
 usual time for my breakfast." 
 
 The old man nodded his thanks for the pres 
 ent ; and Graham left the hut, and proceeded to 
 the spot where his horse was tethered. He 
 saddled and mounted the mustang, and rode 
 swiftly down the narrow path. Old John 
 watched from his doorway the movements of 
 the young man, and when he had disappeared, 
 sat down to his solitary meal. The brief 
 glimpses of Graham and his many kindly acts 
 were the only human influences which touched 
 the life of poor old French John. His dealings 
 with Hal Deering were rare ; once in a month 
 the young man visited his cot, overlooked the 
 work he had been engaged upon, and paid him 
 
44 
 
 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 his wages. For the occasional gifts of tobacco 
 and wine, the chance newspaper from Paris, 
 which were the only events of importance in the 
 dull routine of his life, he was indebted to Gra 
 ham. He gave no expression to his gratitude, 
 and would have been sorely puzzled to do so. 
 But the artist was none the less aware of it ; and 
 some portion of the packages which occasionally 
 came to the tower from San Francisco never 
 failed to find their way to the hut of the 
 wood-cutter. 
 
 As Graham rode up the gravel path which 
 led to the house, he caught a glimpse of a tall, 
 slender figure swaying out from the gloom of 
 the piazza. A white, bare arm was stretched 
 upward to pluck a bunch of roses from a vine 
 twisted about the porch. Thus much he saw and 
 nothing more, as he fastened his horse and 
 mounted to the piazza, which had suddenly 
 become tenantless. The house door stood hos 
 pitably open, and the young man entered the 
 hall and passed into the library. The soft can 
 dle-light showed him the room and its one occu 
 pant, the woman whom he had seen dimly amid 
 the climbing roses an instant before. Evidently 
 she had not known that the hoof-beats on the 
 road were bringing a guest ; for she was kneel 
 ing upon the hearth, her graceful shoulders bent, 
 her strong white arms steadily working a pair of 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 45 
 
 bellows. The total depravity of inanimate things 
 is never more clearly seen than in the case of a 
 wood-fire that refuses to burn. The girl, after 
 several unavailing efforts to rouse a flame from 
 the smouldering mass of embers, deliberately 
 took the fire to pieces and rebuilt it after 
 another fashion, putting a handful of pine cones 
 atop of the logs, and setting them alight with a 
 roll of paper. At last she succeeded in starting 
 the blaze, and, stretching her graceful length 
 upon the deerskin rug, she rested her elbows on 
 the low bench before the fender, and lay quite 
 silent, her face supported by her hands, her dark 
 eyes looking into the fire. 
 
 John Graham, who had watched from the 
 doorway every movement of the unconscious 
 young woman with the pleasure of an artist in 
 all things which are graceful and beautiful, still 
 stood silent, giving no sign of his presence. 
 The warm, pleasant interior, with its comfortable 
 easy chairs and sofas, its open piano, near which 
 stood a work-basket, its shelves of books and 
 vases of flowers, bore all the infallible indications 
 which mark the inmost shrine of domestic life. 
 This was a room where the members of the 
 household lived. Here was a home, the centre 
 of affection and hospitality. The shadow of the 
 lonely old man and his desolate dwelling rose 
 for a moment before his eyes, and at that 
 
46 SAN EOSAEIO RANCH. 
 
 thought he stepped forward as if irresistibly 
 drawn toward the cheerful hearth and the grace 
 ful woman whose eyes were lighted by the dan 
 cing flames. There was a tender look about his 
 mouth, usually so stern in expression, as he 
 came forward into the firelight with an expectant 
 countenance, as if he were about to meet an old 
 friend. Hearing the footsteps, the girl without 
 turning her head said, 
 
 "Well, Barbara, here you see me, making my 
 self comfortable on Graham s deerskin. It has 
 just come home ; is it not a beauty ? " 
 
 Receiving no answer, Miss Millicent Almsford 
 turned her face so that her eyes fell upon John 
 Graham standing near her, with a smile on his 
 lips, a flush on his cheek. Was it the sudden 
 leaping of the fire from the heart of the great 
 apple log, John Graham asked himself, or was 
 it the shining of a flame from within that lighted 
 Millicent s face with a strange radiance at the 
 instant when her eyes met his own ? For an 
 instant, a space of time too short to be counted 
 by seconds, for something less than one quick 
 ened heartbeat, they looked at each other, these 
 two, the woman with his name still on her lips, 
 the man drawn toward the warm fireside by an 
 uncontrollable desire to take his place in the 
 picture, to remain no longer an outsider, a 
 looker-on. One instant, and then habit, cere- 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 
 
 47 
 
 mony, the second nature of both, asserted itself, 
 and each shrank back from that too intimate 
 glance; the girl rising slowly to her feet, the 
 man making a ceremonious bow. 
 
 " I beg your pardon for disturbing you, Miss 
 Almsford ; but I found the door open, and I am 
 allowed the privilege of making myself at home 
 at San Rosario. As there is no one here to in 
 troduce me, will you allow me to name myself as 
 your most humble servitor, John Graham ? I am 
 vain enough to hope that my name is not quite un 
 known to you. Hal has perhaps spoken of me." 
 
 " Indeed, yes, they have all mentioned you 
 frequently. Mrs. Deering and Barbara have not 
 yet returned from the station. When you came 
 in I thought they had returned. I think the train 
 must be late ; they drove down to meet a friend. 
 Will you not be seated, Mr. Graham ? " 
 
 Millicent had by this time quite recovered her 
 equanimity, somewhat shaken by the sudden 
 appearance of the man who had lived so per 
 sistently in her thoughts for the past fortnight. 
 She seated herself near the fire, motioning Gra 
 ham to a chair on the other side. 
 
 " I suppose that this fire quite shocks you ? 
 Mr. Deering cannot bear to sit in the same room 
 with it ; but I have suffered so much from the 
 change of climate that I am allowed to have this 
 little blaze every evening. Do you see this pretty 
 
48 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 rug ? It only came home to-day. Mr. Deering 
 had it dressed for me. It is from the deer which 
 you brought here one morning, a beautiful, soft 
 piece of fur." 
 
 " Yes, it is well arranged too. Did I under 
 stand you, Miss Almsford, to say that Miss 
 Deering had gone to meet some visitors ? " 
 
 " Yes, but you need not mind," her quick ear 
 had caught the shade of annoyance in his voice, 
 " it is only poor Ferrara." 
 
 " Poor Ferrara ? Ah, I see you have already 
 guessed his secret." 
 
 " Who could help it when it was so very evi 
 dent? Do you think Barbara will ever say yes?" 
 
 "I cannot tell. I sometimes hope so, but she 
 is over-fastidious." 
 
 " Fastidious ? Is that the term to use ? Surely 
 you would not have her marry him unless she 
 loved him ? To a woman like Barbara such a 
 fate would be intolerable." 
 
 " I do not quite agree with you. You know 
 that self-sacrifice is Miss Deering s greatest idea 
 of happiness." 
 
 " I cannot comprehend it ; truly I think I do 
 not understand Barbara, though I do appre 
 ciate her and admire her. They have been ex 
 pecting a visit from you for some time. Mr. 
 Deering said he should ride over to your tower 
 and look you up to-morrow." 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 49 
 
 " I have been very much occupied of late, or 
 I should have paid my respects to you before 
 this time. If you have heard anything about 
 me, you must have heard that I am an undepend- 
 able person, and never do the things which people 
 expect of me. Besides, I am a hard-working crea 
 ture, and not of the butterfly genus of man like 
 our good Ferrara. Tell me a little how this new 
 country strikes you. What a change it must 
 be, this sudden transplantation from Venice to 
 California ! " 
 
 " I have suffered terribly. Ah ! Mr. Graham, 
 you who have known my Venice can feel for me. 
 None of them here can understand it. I feel 
 like a plant which has been torn suddenly from 
 a garden beautiful with flowers and sunshine, 
 gentle showers and happy birds, and placed with 
 its roots all torn and bleeding on a barren moun 
 tain-side, with no flowers near it, only sturdy, use 
 ful herbs, which neither shrivel in the terrible 
 sun, nor wither in the keen mountain winds. But 
 / fade and die. There is no room for me in this 
 great New World, where all are so busy and have 
 so much work to do. The few beauties which 
 they have, their blue skies and grand hills, they 
 neither understand nor love. They have no time 
 to look back into the glorious past with its mem 
 ories ; they know not how to seize the present 
 with its actualities ; they live and toil ever for the 
 
 4 
 
50 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 future, which they will not live to see. I have 
 nought in common with them. I belong to the 
 land of my birth, where the present is beautiful 
 . with the splendors of the past. What are my 
 books, my studies, to these people ? Nothing. 
 They tolerate my eccentricity ; they listen pat 
 ronizingly to the tales of what has been ; but 
 they bemoan my wasted time, and would fain teach 
 me to throw away my embroidery needle and 
 learn to use their horrible sewing-machines. 
 My music is my saving grace, but they approve 
 of it more than they en joy it" 
 
 Millicent spoke rapidly and with shining eyes. 
 She had at last found a soul which, if not kindred 
 to her own, was at least capable of an intelligent 
 sympathy. 
 
 " It is not strange that you should feel as you 
 do ; and, believe me, I can sympathize with you ; 
 and yet, do not be hurt if I tell you that this very 
 transplanting is the thing which you needed. Do 
 you know how the finest peaches are produced ? 
 To borrow another simile from nature, it is by 
 taking a slip from an old tree and grafting it to 
 the sturdy trunk of a young fruit tree, that the 
 most perfect fruit is obtained. Be not afraid; 
 the wound will heal ; and the strong, vigorous 
 sap of the young tree will make the blossom, 
 which now droops, bloom as a rare fruit." 
 
 " I do not want it. I do not belong here. I 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 51 
 
 have no part, no sympathy with it," she said re- 
 belliously. " I hate it, this land, where you all 
 strive for money, not for art, and where fame is 
 measured out with ingots for weights." 
 
 "When I was in Venice," said Graham, " there 
 was with me a fellow artist, a student like my 
 self. We took our first trip through the Grand 
 Canal together. I remember his first criticism. 
 Shall I tell it to you ? It was this : How terrible 
 to see cabbage leaves floating on the Grand 
 Canal ! It was the feature which first struck him. 
 For years after he lived in the wonderful city, 
 loving it better, painting it more truly, day by day. 
 He has long since forgotten the cabbage leaves 
 which at first annoyed his nice English taste. 
 Believe me, you will find, above and beneath 
 the things which now jar and shock your nerves, 
 much that is grand in this country which you 
 will one day be proud to call your own." 
 
 " Never, never ! " she cried impetuously. 
 
 At this moment voices sounded in the hall, 
 and several persons entered the library. These 
 were Barbara and her mother, Hal Deering, and 
 a short gentleman with a very large round head, 
 on which the coarse black hair, closely cropped, 
 stood straight in air, like the hobbed mane of a 
 Mexican pony. His piercing black eyes were 
 set too close to the well-shaped aquiline nose; 
 and the black mustache curled fiercely from 
 
52 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 the upper lip, revealing a good mouth set with 
 strong white teeth. His forehead was deeply 
 seared with lines which betokened frequent 
 frowns, but the wrinkles about the mouth looked 
 as if it might be in the habit of laughing con 
 stantly. A good olive complexion made the face 
 not ill-looking, while the small, well-modelled 
 hands and feet redeemed the rather unwieldy 
 little body from absolute ugliness. On seeing 
 Graham, the new-comer frowned fiercely and 
 twisted his mustache upward in an irritated man 
 ner. When the artist stepped forward so that 
 the light from the lamp fell on his face, the irate 
 expression died from the countenance of the 
 little gentleman ; and, with a fat, good-natured 
 laugh, he shook him warmly by the hand, turn 
 ing his mustachios downward so that they re 
 sembled drooping commas. This act altered the 
 expression of his countenance to an extraordinary 
 degree, half its ferocity having disappeared with 
 the tight upward twist of the mustache. 
 
 By some coincidence or providence this had 
 been a red-letter day in the lives of several in 
 the party. The morning mail had brought 
 young Deering the welcome news that his favor 
 ite pair of oxen had taken a prize at a cattle- 
 show the day before. The gentle mother had 
 received a letter by the same mail from her 
 wandering son-in-law, Ralph Almsford, full of 
 
SAN BOSARIO RANCH. 53 
 
 affection and promising a speedy return to the 
 Ranch. Ferrara was greatly elated by Barbara s 
 having driven down to the station to meet him ; 
 
 O * 
 
 and Millicent seemed, for the first time since her 
 arrival at the Ranch, to be thoroughly alive and 
 awake. Her pale cheek was softly flushed, the 
 color shining through the luminous skin like the 
 fire of an opal seen beneath its milky veil. Her 
 eyes, usually deep and earnest, but without great 
 animation, were lit by a flame which was not re 
 flected from the firelight. Barbara was happy 
 because those about her were so. Her musical 
 little laugh was not mechanical to-night ; she 
 was really in good spirits and in no need of 
 feigning them. Graham s rather frozen exist 
 ence seemed to be melted by the genial com 
 pany ; and the evening passed by with that 
 lightning rapidity unknown in social gatherings, 
 no matter how magnificently they be appointed, 
 where the spirit of cordiality and good-fellowship 
 is lacking. Music was not wanting to complete 
 the jollity. Ferrara sang some delightful Span 
 ish songs with more animation than voice ; and, 
 to the astonishment of the company, Millicent, 
 who until that moment had not sung a note, at 
 Graham s request seated herself at the piano, 
 and sang, with a voice of rare beauty and power, 
 ballads tender and war-songs gay, old Italian 
 music of masters long forgotten. 
 
54 
 
 SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 
 
 " Sweet Mistress Deering, will you not give 
 us some music ? " asked Graham, as Millicent 
 left the piano. 
 
 " After such singing as Millicent s and Mr. 
 Ferrara s, my little thread of a voice could hardly 
 be heard, Graham." 
 
 " Play for us then, my lady. Miss Barbara, 
 are you not in the mood for a dance ? " 
 
 " Of course she is," said Hal, " and so is 
 Ferrara. Come, Princess, I will give you your 
 first lesson in the American waltz." 
 
 The young men rolled back the huge rugs, 
 leaving the hard-wood floor exposed. Mrs. Deer- 
 ing- placed herself at the piano and struck up a 
 little old-fashioned waltz which she had learned 
 in her youth, and Millicent was whirled off her 
 feet by her energetic partner. Not till she had 
 danced twice with Deering and Ferrara, did 
 Graham claim her hand for a waltz ; and not till 
 Mrs. Deering struck the last chords of the music 
 did he loose her waist from his circling arm. 
 Then a stroll on the piazza, was proposed, and it 
 was not till the last stroke of twelve warned 
 them that the new day had begun that the party 
 broke up. Barbara and Millicent stood together 
 watching for Hal, who had gone to fetch Gra 
 ham s horse, when the artist joined them on the 
 piazza and bade them good-night. Millicent, 
 with her foreign breeding, never had conformed 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 55 
 
 to the American habit of hand-shaking, but 
 when Graham wished her good-night she in 
 stinctively and unconsciously gave him her 
 hand. He held it possibly a half second longer 
 than was necessary, and then sprang on his 
 horse. As he rode down the dark path, he 
 turned in his saddle and took a last look at the 
 house. Barbara had gone indoors ; one figure 
 alone stood beneath the rose-vine with bare white 
 arms, the figure he had seen on his arrival ear 
 lier in the evening. 
 
 " Good-night to you," he cried. The deep, 
 musical tones were answered by a farewell 
 greeting from the girl who stood there alone 
 in the night watching his retreating form. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Then, in the boyhood of the year, 
 Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere 
 Rode through the coverts of the deer 
 With blissful treble ringing clear ; 
 She seemed a part of joyous Spring." 
 
 THOUGH the greater part of his time was spent 
 in the old tower, John Graham was well known 
 in San Francisco. His studio, at the top of a 
 tall apartment-house in one of the unfrequented 
 thoroughfares of the city, was familiar to most 
 of its aspirants to artistic fame. In this large 
 bare room, with its strong north light, there as 
 sembled every morning a dozen young men 
 who were busily engaged in cast drawing and 
 model painting. To the instruction of these 
 youths two days of the week were devoted by 
 the artist, whose only recompense was in the 
 gratitude of his scholars. One morning not 
 long after his meeting with Miss Almsford, 
 John Graham might have been seen carefully 
 examining his pupils work, giving a word of 
 advice here, a criticism there, and a hearty 
 encouragement to all. On his return from 
 Paris he had opened his studio to all those who 
 were desirous of studying art. The first year 
 he had had but three students ; at the end of the 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 57 
 
 second year the number had quadrupled. On 
 the morning in question Graham had arrived 
 with a new model, a rough-looking fellow whom 
 he had met in the street, and induced to ac 
 company him to the studio. On a platform at 
 the end of the room stood the stalwart model ; 
 while the artist, standing beside him, gave an off 
 hand lecture on anatomy, the students sketched 
 the man or took notes of what their master was 
 saying. It was not Graham s habit to do any 
 work at the studio ; but this morning, after he 
 had finished his discourse, he placed himself at 
 a vacant easel, and with a strong, bold hand made 
 a free drawing of the superbly modelled figure. 
 As he worked he forgot his class, his lecture, 
 everything but the canvas before him and the 
 subject he was studying. As the sketch grew 
 beneath his hand the scholars one by one for 
 sook their work, and stood watching him silently. 
 The perfect confidence with which he worked 
 never hesitating, never altering what was already 
 done was fascinating to the younger men; 
 and even the sculptor, Arthur Northcote, who 
 inhabited the adjoining studio, stopped on his 
 way upstairs and joined the group behind his 
 chair. When the model declared himself unable 
 longer to maintain the pose in which he had 
 been placed, Graham threw down his brush with 
 a sigh, saying, 
 
58 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 "Well, Horton, you may go now if you must, 
 but do not fail to come to-morrow. I have your 
 name correctly, Daniel Horton ? Where do 
 you live ? " 
 
 The stranger declined to give his address, and 
 promised to come the next day at the appointed 
 hour. After he had left the room the artist had 
 something to say about expression, characteriz 
 ing the face of the model as one indicative of 
 brutal cunning and impudent daring. 
 
 As Graham quitted the studio the young sculp 
 tor joined him, and they walked together toward 
 the station. Northcote was a slender, delicately 
 built man some years Graham s junior. His 
 face was instinct with the poetry of art, but was 
 lacking in force. By the side of Graham s strong, 
 resolute countenance his delicate features ap 
 peared weak and effeminate. The younger man 
 took his friend s arm, as if relying on him for 
 physical as well as moral support, and said as 
 they walked along, 
 
 " Graham, where did you pick up that model 
 this morning ? " 
 
 " I found him lounging about the station. 
 Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " He has such a bad face. You should be 
 more careful about the men you engage to pose 
 for you." 
 
 " And why, Arthur ? " 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 59 
 
 " Because you lead such an unprotected life 
 in that terrible old ruin." 
 
 " What a fanciful creature you are, Northcote. 
 As if there was anything to be gained in mo 
 lesting a beggarly artist in an inaccessible for 
 tress. You have never seen my tower, or you 
 would not think that it would be an attractive 
 spot to thieves." 
 
 " Did you not hear," continued Northcote, " of 
 that case of abduction in Cathgate County last 
 week ? A man was carried off by a pair of brig 
 ands, and kept for a week until a large sum of 
 money was paid for his ransom." 
 
 " What manner of man was he ? " 
 
 " The president of the county bank." 
 
 "Well, my dear Arthur, when I become a bank 
 president, or even a railroad treasurer, I will take 
 better care of my worthless self. At present I 
 am not a promising prize to the most sanguine 
 kidnapper. I can fancy your feelings on receiving 
 a notice that, unless five thousand dollars be left 
 in the hollow of a blasted pine-tree on the high 
 road at San Rosario, a slice of my right ear 
 would be forwarded by way of a reminder ! 
 When are you coming out to pass the night 
 with me ? " 
 
 "When I have sold my Diana, or when Patrick 
 Shallop gives me an order for a life-size statue 
 of himself." 
 
60 SAN EOSAE10 RANCH. 
 
 " Come with me to-day. It will do you good 
 to pass an afternoon in the woods." 
 
 "Do not ask me. I will take nothing more 
 from you, Graham, I cannot, not even a piece 
 of bread, until 
 
 " Well, if you are so obstinate, farewell to you. 
 I must hurry or I shall miss my train." 
 
 The two men shook hands the sculptor turn 
 ing into a dingy restaurant, the artist walking 
 rapidly in the direction of the railroad station. 
 Arthur Northcote made a light repast, for he 
 was poorer than usual that day, and soon re 
 turned to his studio, whose rental was defrayed 
 by his friend s slender purse. 
 
 Graham caught his train, and reached San Ro- 
 sario at about three o clock. He found his horse 
 at the station, and rode toward the house. At a 
 distant point he caught a glimpse of two figures 
 on the piazza, which he recognized as those of 
 Miss Almsford and Hal Deering, who were talking 
 together, quite unconscious of his approach. 
 
 "So you like Graham?" Henry Deering was 
 the speaker. 
 
 " Of course I like him. I told you I should, 
 from the moment you described his queer tower 
 and his solitary life to me. I always like people 
 who have something to characterize them and 
 set them apart from the mere dead-level rank 
 and file of mediocrity," answered Millicent. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 6l 
 
 " But may not a hermit like Graham be medi 
 ocre like everybody else ? " 
 
 " No, the fact of his living alone does not 
 make him interesting ; but he would not live 
 alone if he were like everybody else. Ordinary 
 people all herd together." 
 
 " You must find all of us very ordinary people, 
 I should think, after the people you have lived 
 among, romantic Italians and that sort?" 
 
 " But Italians are by no means all interesting. 
 The great charm about them is that they are usu 
 ally a happy people, and that it does not take so 
 much to make them contented as it does you 
 more complex Americans." 
 
 " You Americans ? How soon are you going to 
 call yourself an American ? But you do not an 
 swer my question. How can you manage to get 
 on as well as you do with commonplace people 
 like ourselves ? " 
 
 " You are not commonplace. A man who 
 knows how to milk cows and digs potatoes, who 
 rubs down his own horse and feeds his stock, 
 and can withal dance like a city beau, and keep 
 a table full of people laughing from the soup to 
 the coffee, cannot be called commonplace." 
 
 "Thank you, Princess, most heartily for the 
 compliment. I see you will not be pinned down 
 by my rather personal question. Let me pay 
 you with some of your own coin. I think it 
 
62 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 quite remarkable that you have so quickly fitted 
 into the life here, and have accepted so quietly 
 things which must be very strange to you. The 
 difference of the way of living, the surroundings, 
 the very strangeness of being waited on by these 
 Chinamen, must be very uncomfortable, I fear?" 
 
 " Do noj suggest a W9rd against Ah Lam ; he 
 is the most delightful servant I have ever seen. 
 Our Italian domestics are like great children, 
 who have to be humored and managed with the 
 extreme of tact and care. Ah Lam is like noth 
 ing but one of the automata described by Bulwer 
 in * The Coming Race/ which stand motionless 
 against the wall until roused to action by the 
 vrill wand, when they promptly perform the duty 
 in hand. Ah Lam is only mechanical as far as 
 regularity goes, for he has feelings and deep 
 sentiments beneath his calm exterior. Do you 
 know that he brings me fresh roses every morn 
 ing, and that when he returned from San Fran 
 cisco yesterday he brought me a present ? " 
 
 " They all do that ; they are the most generous 
 creatures in the world. What did Lam bring 
 you ? " 
 
 " The prettiest little China silk handkerchief, 
 which he presented with these words : I solly 
 got no more, I so poor. Was it not touching ? " 
 
 " How do your lessons get on ? " 
 
 "Very well. Lam learns ten or twelve new 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 63 
 
 words every day. I give him the English word 
 for an article, and he gives me the Chinese ; and 
 the following day we catechise each other ; but 
 I have never remembered a Chinese name, and 
 Lam has never forgotten an English one. Then 
 I set him copies, which he writes out beautifully 
 with his queer little camel s-hair brush dipped 
 in India-ink. I fear the sentiments will not 
 greatly benefit him, but I try to explain them 
 to him." 
 
 " Give me an example of your copy-book max 
 ims ; I am sure they are something new, quite 
 unlike those I was brought up on." 
 
 " I take my verses all from Mr. Lear s Non 
 sense Book ; they will help him geographically, 
 if not otherwise." , 
 
 " You have given him the Old Man of 
 Moldavia ? " 
 
 "Assuredly." 
 
 " Truly, Princess, you are the most inexplica 
 ble person I have ever seen. I find you in the 
 morning with a volume of Spinoza in your hand, 
 trying to explain his particular dogma of philoso 
 phy to poor Barbara ; and in the afternoon you 
 are talking about this absurd child s book as if 
 it were something serious. You snubbed that 
 poor professor last night, because he presumed 
 to give an opinion concerning Dante, never 
 having read him in the original ; and to-day I 
 
64 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 heard you ask my mother if Washington was in 
 the State of New York. You are remarkably 
 erudite and positively ignorant at the same 
 time." 
 
 " Eh bene, cosa volet e ? I " 
 
 "Now what is the use of talking Italian to 
 me ? You know I can t understand a word of 
 it, and " 
 
 A third voice interrupted Deering. It was 
 that of a man who had joined the pair unnoticed 
 by either of them, the sound of his footsteps 
 being muffled by the deep grass. 
 
 " If Miss Almsford knew how pretty her man 
 ner of speaking English was, she would never 
 have resort to the weaker language of her birth 
 place to express her thoughts." 
 
 "What, Graham, with a gallant speech upon 
 his lips ! Wonder of wonders ! Princess, he 
 has the sharpest tongue and the keenest wit I 
 have ever known. Beware of him ! When did 
 you come ? " 
 
 " Just now ; I rode over to see if Miss Alms- 
 ford was in the mood for a ride, and to offer my 
 services as cavalier, knowing that your after 
 noons, my dear Deering, are too much occupied 
 for you to play esquire to this fair dame." 
 
 " It is the thing of all others I should enjoy," 
 said Millicent ; " I will be ready in ten minutes." 
 
 Deering strolled off, rather disconsolately, in 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 65 
 
 the direction of the dairy, Graham accompanying 
 him as far as the stable, where he proceeded to 
 put Barbara s saddle on the back of a sturdy 
 cob, which from his immovable character had 
 been named Sphinx. 
 
 The artist had visited the house several times 
 since his first meeting with Millicent, and had 
 promised to be her guide to the high hill-top, 
 whence a view of the Sierra Nevadas was to be 
 obtained. Up the narrow bridle path toiled the 
 two horses, Graham s leading the way. The 
 road was a difficult one, underbrush and rolling 
 stones making it dangerous for any horse which 
 was not sure-footed. Old Sphinx set his feet 
 firmly on the solid ground, avoiding all pit-falls 
 in a wary fashion. The air was sweet with the 
 spicy breath of the madrone tree, whose dark 
 red bark and brilliant glossy leaves gleamed out 
 here and there through the darker foliage of the 
 great redwoods. The young man turned his 
 head over his shoulder, letting his mustang find 
 out the path, and talked to his companion, who 
 was not yet at home in the saddle. One of the 
 new delights which the western country held for 
 Millicent was that of riding. Most of her life 
 had been spent in Venice ; and she had had little 
 opportunity for indulging in that most exhilar 
 ating exercise. Graham assured her that she 
 would soon make a good rider, as she quickly 
 
 5 
 
66 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 learned to assume the graceful but uncomfort 
 able position compelled by the side-saddle. She 
 was without fear, having that sort of bravery 
 which is found in some children, and which 
 comes from an ignorance of danger. 
 
 From a point in the road whence a view of 
 the happy valley was to be obtained, Graham 
 reined in his horse. The wide, pleasant valley 
 lay below them, the house, its central point of 
 interest, standing surrounded by the orchard 
 and garden. A brook wound like a silver ribbon 
 through the wide fields and wooded groves, 
 under rustic bridges, here and there breaking 
 into foam over a mass of stone, or a sudden 
 shelving of the land. 
 
 When they again started Graham dismounted, 
 and, passing his arm through the bridle of his 
 horse, took Sphinx by the rein and led him over 
 the rough bit of country. Whether from . an 
 exaggerated idea of courtesy, or because the 
 head covering was irksome, Graham doffed his 
 hat and walked bareheaded, the little shafts of 
 sunshine touching his dark hair with points of 
 light. The tall girl noted the sun and shadow 
 which made this and all else lovely on this fair 
 afternoon. As the ascent became steeper, the 
 trees were less dense and the path grew wider. 
 Graham still walked beside her horse, though 
 there was no longer need for him to do so. As 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 67 
 
 they emerged upon a broad plateau Millicent 
 drew her breath and touched Graham lightly 
 with her whip, laying her finger on her lip and 
 pointing to a little hillside spring, which ran 
 dancing from the rich dark earth. Close to the 
 spring stood a magnificent buck and a graceful 
 doe. The stag had bent his head and was drink 
 ing from the basin which the water had worn 
 for itself, and which was surrounded by a ring of 
 green turf, jewelled with star blue and pale rose 
 blossoms. Of this tender herbage, so different 
 from the dried grass of the hillside and meadow, 
 the dainty doe was nibbling little morsels. For 
 a moment neither of the animals perceived the 
 approach of the riders, and stood quite still in 
 their unconscious beauty. Graham s hand in 
 stinctively sought the revolver in his pocket. 
 As he was taking aim Millicent s velvet fingers 
 closed about the steel barrel, and she cried aloud, 
 " You could not be so cruel ! " 
 
 At the sound of her voice the stag threw up 
 his great head with a mighty shiver, tossing the 
 crystal water drops from his nose. Before the 
 last word was spoken the slender, dappled doe 
 had flashed across the path and was out of sight, 
 her mate with outstretched head following close 
 upon her track. For an instant the flowing lines 
 of the swift motion were seen on the sky back 
 ground, and then the trembling leaves of the 
 
68 SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 thicket into which they had penetrated were all 
 that told of their flight. 
 
 " You are more tender-hearted than Miss Bar 
 bara." 
 
 "No, but I could not bear that those two 
 glorious creatures should be put out of the warm 
 sunlight which they love so well." 
 
 " Miss Barbara is an excellent shot ; she could 
 have killed the stag from this point." 
 
 "And yet Barbara is really much better- 
 hearted than I, and feels other people s troubles 
 as if they were her own. Everything is in habit 
 and education ; she has looked upon deer in the 
 light of venison, as I have always considered 
 oxen in the light of future beef. And yet, though 
 Barbara is so kind and good, I do not find her 
 sitnpatica how shall I say ? " 
 
 "You might say sympathetic or congenial, 
 Miss Almsford, if you could content yourself 
 with the English language." 
 
 " But it is not the same thing, sympathetic 
 and simpatica ; indeed it is an untranslatable 
 word. I cannot always express my thoughts in 
 English." 
 
 " Would you allow me to suggest that it may 
 not be entirely the fault of the language, which 
 did not fail to express the thoughts of Chaucer 
 and Shakspeare, that you find it difficult to 
 make yourself understood ? " 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 69 
 
 " Do I speak it so badly then ? You are not 
 complimentary." 
 
 " It is not that you speak it badly, but that 
 your vocabulary is limited, and that your mind 
 far outruns its limits. I fancy you have never 
 read or thought much in a serious vein in the 
 simplest and the strongest of tongues." 
 
 " No, I have read very little English, but I 
 challenge your last statement. I do not find 
 English the greatest language. It is coarse by 
 the side of French ; it is prosaic compared to 
 Italian. Think of the fine distinctions, the deli 
 cate shades of meaning, of the Gallic tongue. 
 Your English can only express the extremes." 
 
 "And yet to-day it is more a lender than a 
 borrower of words. You cannot take up a Ger 
 man or a French newspaper without finding an 
 Anglicism in every column." 
 
 "What does that prove? Merely that the 
 Anglo-Saxon race is more restless than all 
 others. They are, the Goths of the nineteenth 
 century, and invade every corner of Europe, 
 Asia, and Africa, carrying with them their bar 
 barous language. I have heard it intermingled 
 with Arabic in the Syrian desert. It is small 
 wonder they feel the need of travel ; there is 
 little enough to interest them at home." 
 
 "And yet I, who have lived half my life in 
 Europe, elect to pass the remainder of it in this 
 
70 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 country of my own free choice. How do you 
 account for that ? " 
 
 " I cannot account for it save as an aberration 
 of the brain. It is strange, too, for you Ameri 
 cans are not a patriotic people." 
 
 " You think not ? " 
 
 " It does not strike me so." 
 
 " You are mistaken, Miss Almsford ; but your 
 mistake is a natural one. These ideas, believe 
 me, are not worthy of you, and have been derived 
 by you from some perverted mind. Your own 
 is too clear to have formed such opinions. They 
 have been engrafted or inherited. How should 
 you really have any idea but the most chimerical 
 one, of America or Americans ? You have passed 
 your life among a race of people most unlike them, 
 and you have been taught to ignore the country 
 and the race to which you belong. You consider 
 the matter of your birth as a misfortune, and you 
 have learned to look down on your country, from 
 below. I have had some experience of life in 
 the various American colonies in Europe, and I 
 think it a great misfortune to be one of those 
 expatriated Americans. They are people with 
 out a country. They feel no responsibility to 
 ward any larger society than their own small 
 household circle. Unless he is called by the 
 exigencies of his profession to Europe, the 
 American European is very apt to deteriorate 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 7 1 
 
 greatly. He is in antagonism with the country 
 which he has abandoned, and his foothold in 
 foreign society is too much on tolerance to be 
 fortunate in its effects on his character." 
 
 By this time the strong horses had reached 
 the summit of the foot-hill, and stood breathing 
 heavily. The riders dropped their conversa 
 tion, which was drawing near to a discussion, 
 and Millicent looked with wide eyes out over 
 the grand scene. Far off stretched the line of 
 the Sierras, the mountain barrier which severs 
 the land of gold from the surrounding country. 
 The sky was faintly flushed with a forewarning 
 of the sunset, and a soft breeze rustled the tree 
 tops, and blew into their faces. 
 
 " Are you rewarded for the long ascent, maid 
 en from afar ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Millicent softly. 
 
 As they made the steep descent together 
 Graham talked, in his strong, sweet voice, of his 
 life in the old tower, of his work, of the pictures 
 he had painted, and those which he dreamed of 
 making some day. The self-dependent and con 
 tained young man was much attracted by the 
 girl with the strange ideas and exquisite man 
 ners. On the night when they had first met, he 
 had been drawn towards her by an attraction 
 which seemed irresistible. It was not her beauty 
 nor her intelligence which so much affected him, 
 
72 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 as a nameless charm like the warmth of a bright 
 fire on a cool day, which seemed to wrap him 
 about with a sense of comfort. When he left 
 her this glow was still about him, but as hours 
 passed it seemed to fade away and leave him 
 strangely cold. He felt for the first time how 
 desolate was his life ; and he remembered her in 
 his lonely tower as a traveller in the African 
 desert recalls the green oasis where his last 
 draught of water has been drained. Yet some 
 times, when they talked together, came a strange 
 antagonism between them like an impalpable 
 mist, chilling the warmth which at meeting al 
 ways kindled in her eyes and in his own bosom. 
 That the discordance came from himself he 
 often felt, and yet he was helpless in the face of 
 it. The conversation of that afternoon was a 
 type of their interviews, which were often marred 
 by discussions not far removed from disputes. 
 Whose fault was it ? Wherein lay the incompati 
 bility ? Did it arise from either of their charac 
 ters, or from the circumstances and surroundings 
 in which they met ? He asked himself the 
 question a score of times and left it always 
 unanswered. Graham had not been without ex 
 perience of women. In his early youth he had 
 had the misfortune to fall deeply in love with a 
 frivolous and heartless girl. His nature was of 
 a complex character, passionate to an unusual 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 73 
 
 degree, yet guided by an intelligence stronger 
 than passion. He had been deceived and out 
 raged in every feeling by the heartless coquette, 
 whose worst characteristic was her entire inca 
 pacity for affection. After breaking her faith 
 with him, she had tried to win him back again, 
 and had sued for the love which she had so 
 lightly won and refused. But though he still 
 loved her with the full force of his being, he had 
 repulsed the woman whom he could no longer 
 respect. Then came the long death-agony of 
 deceived love, leaving its unmistakable traces on 
 heart and brain and body. It was graven on 
 the white brow; it was painted in the deep eyes, 
 with their unfathomable look of doubt ; it 
 strengthened the fibres of the strong brain with 
 the greater power which great suffering brings 
 to intelligence of a high order ; and alas ! saddest 
 of all, it chilled the hot heart-blood and left it 
 cooler and more sluggish in its flow. Sorrowful 
 was the man for the sorrow in the world, but 
 pity for the grief of those about him was not so 
 strong in him as it had been before. The bitter 
 ness which follows the spoiling of the rose- 
 sweetness of love was happily modified by the 
 broad humanitarian character of the man. It 
 failed to make him bitter towards the world for 
 its treatment of himself. He accepted manfully 
 the knockdown blow which fate had dealt him ; 
 
74 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 and if he mourned it was in secret, he burdened 
 no other soul with his misery. But as it was a 
 woman who had darkened his life and drawn the 
 veil of grief about his young soul, the whole rage 
 of grief and bitterness which wore his heart went 
 out toward her sex. As he had loved all women 
 for her sweet sake, so now did he distrust them 
 all because she had proved false. Evil to him 
 appeared abstractly as a feminine element in the 
 world ; and the great qualities of nobility, abne 
 gation, and heroism in his eyes were masculine 
 attributes only. Too chivalrous by nature to 
 think of himself as in opposition to the gentler 
 sex, his position was in point of fact antagonistic 
 to them. He was courteous in their company, 
 but he always avoided it. In deed, as in word, 
 he treated them with reverence, speaking no 
 lightlier of them behind their backs than to 
 their faces. The bitterness never broke the bar 
 riers of his vexed heart in noxious word or jest, 
 but it lay there always embittering his life. He 
 had finally ceased to remember his crushed 
 hopes and spoiled youth ; and then had succeeded 
 a long time wherein he seemed to feel not at all. 
 There was left him always his pious devotion to 
 his mother, touching in its pathetic constancy, 
 as to the one creature given him to love. For 
 the gentle Mrs. Deering, whose face recalled that 
 of his only living parent, he felt a real sentiment 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. ?$ 
 
 of friendship. Barbara, with her sweet, whole 
 some nature, he esteemed more highly than 
 other young women ; but since his intimacy with 
 the family he had always emphasized his regard 
 for the son and mother of the house ; and Bar 
 bara had felt the difference in his voice when he 
 addressed her. It grew colder, and his manner 
 became formal, if by chance they were thrown 
 together alone. 
 
 The charm by which Millicent swayed him, 
 he said to himself, was not love. He looked 
 back into the black and stormy past, and com 
 pared his feelings for this girl with those which 
 had once torn his breast. She charmed him, 
 but he surely did not love her. He felt a sense 
 of cold discomfort on leaving her, but it was 
 very different from the passionate grief which 
 he once had suffered. This was what he 
 thought when he contemplated the subject at 
 all, which was not very often. For the most 
 part he let himself drift down the pleasant sum 
 mer tide. Skies were blue and roses sweet. If 
 Millicent made the sky seem bluer, if the roses 
 took on a more perfect hue when she wore them 
 in her bosom, it was because she was like the 
 skies and roses, tender and full of warmth and 
 color. Did not the buds blush into flowers for 
 all the world as well as for him ? Did not the 
 white clouds dip and dance across the sky for 
 
76 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 other men s pleasure as well as his own ? Was 
 not the whole small world of the San Rosario 
 Ranch made more blithe and happily alive by 
 the advent of Millicent Almsford, the maiden 
 from afar ? Barbara had been stimulated by 
 the new atmosphere to do more thinking, and 
 had found less time for fancy-work and more 
 leisure for reading. Mrs. Deering, gentlest of 
 women, found a companionship in the stranger 
 which she had at first thought impossible ; and 
 Hal, poor Hal, was vainly fighting against the 
 witching spell which was fast making him the 
 slave of the girl, who he had prophesied was 
 too cold to interest him. 
 
 Had Graham known the change which his 
 companionship had wrought upon Millicent, he 
 would have felt that if there was no danger for 
 him in those swift fleeting hours passed to 
 gether, there might be for her. The boredom 
 which she had experienced at first was now 
 dissipated, and every phase of the novel life at 
 the Ranch had a charm for her. 
 
 The loud summons of the supper-bell struck 
 the ears of the young people as they drew near 
 the house ; and the family stood waiting on the 
 piazza, as they reined in their horses before the 
 door. 
 
 " Are you tired, Millicent ? " was the anxious 
 question of Mrs. Deering. 
 
SAN EOSAEIO RANCH. 77 
 
 " Did you get a clear view of the mountains ? " 
 asked Barbara. 
 
 " How did Sphinx go ? " said Hal. 
 
 " I cannot answer you all at once," cried Milli- 
 cent, breathless from the rapid gallop which had 
 brought them to the house ; " but it was perfectly 
 delightful. Sphinx behaved ^beautifully, and Mr. 
 Graham almost as well. The view is wonderful, 
 and I think the country of California very fine. 
 There is a compliment for you all ; do not pre 
 tend I never say anything nice about it." 
 
 " My dear, we have an invitation to go down 
 to San Real to visit the Shallops. Mamma 
 thinks we had better start to-morrow. Mr. 
 Graham, here is a note for you which came en 
 closed in my letter. I fancy it carries the same 
 invitation to you. It will be so nice at the sea 
 shore. You will like it, Millicent, won t you ? " 
 
 " I like it here," Millicent answered, as she 
 walked slowly up the steps ; " but if you all want 
 to go, I am willing. Who are the Shallops ? 
 Where is San Real ? " 
 
 Graham had torn open his letter, which he 
 quickly perused. Millicent looked inquiringly 
 at him, and he answered her unspoken query : 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Shallop asks me to join your 
 party for a week at her pleasant house. Very 
 kind of her, I am sure but I never do that sort 
 of thing. I " 
 
78 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 " Now, Graham," interrupted Mrs. Deering, 
 " say nothing about it till I have talked it over 
 with you. I have a particular reason for advis 
 ing you to go. We will telegraph the answer 
 in the morning, and can make up our minds in 
 the course of the evening." 
 
 " I am yours to command in this and all 
 things, Madame," said Graham, offering his arm 
 to his hostess ; " and there stands Ah Lam ready 
 to weep because the muffins are growing cold ; 
 and I am famously hungry after our ride." 
 
 Tea being ended, Mrs. Deering and Graham 
 paced the gravel path around the house for half 
 an hour. It was evident to the group on the 
 piazza that a discussion was going on between 
 them. They spoke in low, earnest voices, whose 
 tones did not escape Millicent s sensitive hear 
 ing, though she failed to catch the import of 
 the words. 
 
 ) " For my sake," she finally heard Mrs. Deer 
 ing say in a pleading voice. 
 
 " Dear my lady, is it just to put it on that 
 ground ? " 
 
 " But if you will hear to it on no other," 
 she argued. 
 
 " Think what it is you ask of me. To leave 
 my tower and my man Friday for a luxurious 
 household with plethoric master and servants ; 
 to stagnate for a week among those ridiculous 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 79 
 
 people who fill San Real in the summer ; and 
 all this not because it will do me or any one else 
 any good, but to the end that I may begin the 
 portraits I have already refused to paint. You 
 know that I am not suited to that sort of hack 
 work. How can I make a picture of that over 
 fed Shallop or his pinched, good little wife ? " 
 
 " But our work cannot all be that which is 
 best suited to us " 
 
 " It should be " 
 
 " Remember, Graham, that in three weeks the 
 payment for the studio is due " 
 
 " Ah, kindest one ! you never forget me ; bless 
 you for your sweetness and thoughtfulness. 
 Yes, I will go and do my best to make Shallop 
 look like something other than an ex-blacksmith, 
 but it is indeed bitter." 
 
 " You will find that there will be compensa 
 tions," said Mrs. Deering, her eyes resting on 
 the pretty group on the piazza : Barbara sitting 
 at Millicent s feet, and Hal reaching up to pluck 
 a spray of honeysuckles for her hair. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Where have we lived and loved before this, sweet ? 
 My will ere now hath led thy wayward feet ; 
 I knew thy beauties limbs, lips, brows, and hair 
 Before these eyes beheld and found thee fair. 
 
 MRS. DEERING S arguments carried the day, 
 and Graham decided to accompany the young 
 ladies to San Real. Ferrara was to be of the 
 party. It was a bright morning which saw 
 the departure of the three travellers from the 
 Ranch. Hal drove them to the station in a very 
 disconsolate frame of mind. During Ralph Alms- 
 ford s long absences, it was impossible for him to 
 leave the Ranch, in which his interests were all 
 vested ; and it seemed rather hard that Graham 
 should enjoy the pleasure which he had been 
 obliged to decline. Henry Deering was a suscep 
 tible young man, and he was already enthralled 
 by the soft voice and deep eyes of the girl on 
 whom he had bestowed the title of Princess. 
 His friendship for John Graham was one of the 
 strongest feelings he had ever known. He admired 
 him more than any person he knew. He re 
 spected the sterling character of the man, on 
 whose honor he would have staked his life ; and 
 yet it was hard that Graham should devote him- 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 8 1 
 
 self to the Princess, for he said to himself there 
 could be no chance for him against such a rival. 
 
 The country through which the railroad from 
 San Rosario to San Real passes is most pictur 
 esque. Round the high hills winds the yellow 
 line of the track, making horseshoe loops, so 
 that the engine, Millicent said, sometimes turned 
 round and looked the passengers in the face. 
 Long, high bridges carry the shining steel 
 threads of travel over deep canyons, with fierce 
 rocky sides and stony bottoms. The scenery is 
 very wild and beautiful, and the moderate pace 
 afc which the shaky little engine tugged along 
 the rickety cars gave the travellers every oppor 
 tunity for seeing and admiring the view. 
 
 A great mountain, lying among the low foot 
 hills, remained in view through the greater part 
 of the route ; it was conical and sharp-pointed, 
 like the typical mountain of the atlas. A great 
 fire had lately raged for days among the spread 
 ing trees and thick undergrowth ; and now that 
 the smoke had cleared away, the path which 
 the flame had taken was distinctly visible from 
 certain points. A great cross lay stamped on the 
 mountain-side, for all men to see. The baptism 
 of fire had left the symbol which was sanctified 
 eighteen hundred years ago. Graham attracted 
 Millicent s attention to this, which, she said, 
 would have been considered a miracle in Italy. 
 6 
 
82 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 "Are they not happy, those dear simple- 
 minded Italians ? A large portion of them do 
 really believe in miracles to this day." Milli- 
 cent was the speaker. 
 
 " Yes, far happier than those of us who have 
 lost all belief in anything beyond our own bodies, 
 and the facts which that body s senses reveal to 
 us." 
 
 "And you believe " 
 
 " Ask me not, maiden, what I believe. I 
 can only hope. But this I know, that there is 
 need to you and to me, to all of us of this 
 generation, to whom the old fallacious dogmas 
 of dead creeds are meaningless, of faith. This 
 is not the age of belief. The things which have 
 been considered necessary draperies to religion 
 are stripped off; but because truth is naked, it 
 is none the less truth. Faith in that part of 
 ourselves which is not of earth, we must hold 
 fast to, when all else is rent from our feeble 
 natures." 
 
 " You should be a preacher. I think that 
 you have got the right end of the truth, per 
 haps" 
 
 Barbara, who had sat a silent listener to this 
 conversation between the two young people, 
 now spoke for the first time. 
 
 " I know little of the modern scientific theo 
 ries, which Mr. Graham thinks have stripped re- 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 83 
 
 ligion of much that used to belong to it ; but to 
 me the denial of a Creator is the most illogical 
 and ignorant act of which the human mind is 
 capable. Look at that house we are just pass 
 ing. If I should tell you that it never was built, 
 that no architect or workman ever planned and 
 executed its design, you would say that my talk 
 was too idle to require contradiction. And yet 
 you will tell me that the pleasant earth on 
 which the house stands, the very trees which fur 
 nished its wood, the metals and stone which are 
 wrought into it, exist, and yet knew no Maker." 
 
 " Barbara, do not let us talk any more about it ; 
 it is impossible for you and me to speak under- 
 standingly to each other on these subjects. Mr. 
 Graham stands midway between your conven 
 tional faith and my unbelief; he can understand 
 us both. Now let us talk about love and roses." 
 
 " Apropos of love and roses, here comes Fer- 
 rara, laden with both of those fragile commodities, 
 which he will straightway lay at Miss Barbara s 
 feet. If you like, Miss Almsford, we will make 
 the next stage of our journey on the engine. I 
 spoke to the engineer, at the last station, of your 
 desire to see the mechanism of his locomo 
 tive. You will find the man quite clean and 
 intelligent." 
 
 Ferrara joined the party at this moment, hav 
 ing come up to meet the train at this station. 
 
84 SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 
 
 He carried a handful of great yellow roses, 
 which he presented to Barbara with a low bow. 
 The girl looked beseechingly at Millicent, who 
 laughed rather heartlessly, and, escorted by 
 Graham, proceeded to the engine. She was 
 pleasantly received by its presiding genius, a 
 hatchet-faced, sharp-voiced Yankee, who made 
 a place for her on his little cushioned seat at 
 one side of the locomotive. As soon as she 
 was comfortably ensconced here, Graham sitting 
 at her feet, the engineer rang the bell and al 
 lowed Millicent to pull the lever, which set the 
 panting creature of iron and wood a-screaming. 
 With a guttural shriek the engine pulled itself 
 together and started off down the track at a 
 good speed. Once in motion, the breeze, blow 
 ing through the windows, cooled the intense 
 heat. Millicent looked straight down the nar 
 rowing steel rails with that keen sense of pleasure 
 which every novel experience gave her. Pres 
 ently she asked the small Yankee to explain 
 the use of the steam gauge and of the various 
 appliances crowded into the small space where 
 she sat. The fireman, a hideous giant, black 
 and grimy, occasionally opened a door and fed 
 the furious fire with great lumps of coal. When 
 it was well filled he varied his occupation by 
 watering the wooden parts of the engine with a 
 long rubber hose, lest they should ignite from 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 85 
 
 the great heat. On a little shelf above her seat 
 Millicent espied a book, toward which she in 
 stinctively stretched her hand. Books always 
 acted on Millicent like magnets. The volume 
 proved to be a Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, lately 
 published in a cheap edition. She asked the 
 sharp-faced engineer if he found the matter 
 interesting, and was somewhat astonished by his 
 astute remarks on the work and the personage 
 of whom it treated. She looked at Graham in 
 some astonishment, but he seemed in no-wise 
 surprised at the phenomenon of a working-man 
 in a blue blouse who could intelligently read 
 and understand the seriously written biography 
 of the great conqueror. The steam gauge rose 
 higher and higher, while the engine tore along 
 at a quicker speed in order to please the 
 delicate visitor, who was now allowed to move 
 the lever, and to pull the bell when they passed 
 the signals requiring them to do so. The 
 engineer was an interesting person, Millicent 
 thought ; he told her many humorous stories of 
 his experiences, and some tragical ones. His 
 wife had on one occasion accompanied him on 
 a trip, sitting on the very place where Millicent 
 now reposed. An accident had occurred, a 
 broken rail throwing the cars down a high em 
 bankment, while the weight of the engine had 
 saved them both from the terrible fate of many 
 
86 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 of the passengers. From that day his wife had 
 refused ever to travel in any part of the train 
 save in the small cabin where her husband sat. 
 In a collision, Millicent learned, the dread fate 
 of the engineer could only be avoided by deser 
 tion of his post ; and the speaker bore witness to 
 the steadfast bravery of more than one of his 
 mates who had preferred death to such an act. 
 As he talked he kept his eyes fixed on the two 
 shining rails stretching before them. Some 
 times, when interested in his own story, or their 
 remarks, the engineer would look for a moment 
 into Millicent s face; and she, with a terrified 
 consciousness that her eyes were the only ones 
 which could see any obstruction before the train 
 thundering along at a great speed, would strain 
 her vision to the utmost down the narrowing 
 line of track. What an awful responsibility lay 
 upon the shoulders of this cheerful little man, 
 with his twinkling gimlet blue eyes, and how 
 lightly he seemed to carry his burden. She 
 grew quite white and silent at the thought ; and 
 when her hand, guided by the engineer, brought 
 the panting locomotive to a standstill at the 
 next station, she gladly stepped down upon the 
 narrow platform, steadied by Graham s arm. 
 They parted from the engineer with many ex 
 pressions of pleasure for the ride they had en 
 joyed, and joined Barbara and Ferrara in the car. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 87 
 
 San Real is one of the pleasantest sea-side 
 towns to be found on the coast of California. 
 It has become quite lately a fashionable summer 
 resort, and boasts two large hotels, a colony of 
 boarding-houses, and half a dozen private resi 
 dences. All of these are of modest dimensions, 
 with the single exception of the pretentious man 
 sion of Mr. Patrick Shallop, which stands at the 
 distance of a mile from the little village com 
 posed of one long street of shops and saloons. 
 
 At the station the party found a handsome 
 carriage awaiting them, drawn by two prancing 
 gray horses and decorated with sprawling coats- 
 of-arms. The groom and driver were dressed 
 according to the latest English fashion, and the 
 tidy cart for the luggage was driven by a liveried 
 menial. Millicent noted these details with sur 
 prise as she sank back on the satin cushions of 
 the landau, and Graham laughingly commented 
 upon her evident astonishment at the smart 
 equipage. 
 
 " It appears, O fair Venetian, that you are 
 surprised at this grandeur. Did not Miss Bar 
 bara prepare you for it? " 
 
 "No," answered the young woman quietly; 
 she did not like to be laughed at. As the car 
 riage rolled along the village street, Millicent 
 gave a little cry of joy : " I smell the sea ! " 
 she cried. 
 
88 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 Soon after they emerged from the shadow of 
 the houses and struck the road which led to the 
 brow of the cliffs. There, for the first time since 
 she had left New York, Millicent looked out 
 over the salt waves. The cool sea breeze twisted 
 the curls which clustered about her forehead 
 into tighter rings, and fanned a color into her 
 marble cheek. She kissed her hand toward the 
 great gray ocean as if gladly greeting the Pacific. 
 Below the cliffs stretched the white beach, with 
 its rows of bathing-houses, and booths hung 
 with gay-colored wares. They had but time to 
 glance at the view when the carriage turned 
 from the road and entered a long avenue bor 
 dered with good-sized trees. Marble statues 
 gleamed through the dark green of the luxu 
 riant gardens, and odorous flowers made the air 
 heavy with sweetness. Before the door of an 
 enormous house the horses were drawn up, and 
 Barbara and Millicent, followed by Graham and 
 Ferrara, entered the wide hall. The exterior of 
 the house was far from attractive. The material 
 used was exclusively wood, which in California 
 is almost universally employed in private dwell 
 ings. The fear of earthquakes always lurks in 
 the mind of the Californian, and houses of brick 
 or stone are very rare. The model adopted by 
 the architect was a novel one, and seemed a 
 combination of the Ionic, Corinthian, and Queen 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 89 
 
 Anne styles. Stucco and lath represented deco 
 rations and columns which would have been 
 appropriate in marble or granite. The massive 
 style and the flimsy material gave an incon 
 gruous appearance to the great building. The 
 wide terrace which surrounded the house, with 
 its bright parterres of flowers, and the pleasant 
 piazza, with roof and pillars like a Norman clois 
 ter, were, however, wonderfully attractive. Be 
 yond the close-clipped emerald lawn was seen 
 the ocean, whose white curling waves danced 
 merrily in the unbroken sunshine. 
 
 The guests found Mrs. Shallop awaiting them 
 in a long dim drawing-room. She was a skimpy 
 pattern of feminality, with a pitiful, pinched face, 
 great sad-looking eyes, colorless, sandy hair, and 
 a thin, angular body. Though it was early in 
 the afternoon, the elegance of her dress would 
 have been suitable to a ball room. The heavy 
 folds of rich blue brocade stood out from the 
 poor little figure whose emaciated lines its rich 
 fabric refused to indicate. She advanced 
 toward her guests with something of an effort, 
 as if the burden of dress which was laid upon 
 her were greater than she could bear. Her 
 welcome was, however, very cordial; and her 
 bony little hands, with their weight of jewels, 
 clasped Barbara s strong fingers affectionately. 
 
 " I am real glad you have all come, Miss 
 
go SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 Deering. I was awful fidgety about the train s 
 being late. Miss Almsford, I am real pleased 
 to see you. Mister Graham, happy to see 
 you, sir. I hope your health is better, Mistre 
 Ferrara?" 
 
 Each of the guests acknowledged the kindly 
 greeting, and some general conversation ensued. 
 Millicent looked about the great drawing-room, 
 noting the various beautiful articles of furniture, 
 the Venetian glasses, the pictures and rich em 
 broideries, the thousand-and-one bits of bric-h- 
 brac which decorated the walls and cabinets of 
 the lofty apartment. It was in truth a rarely 
 beautiful room, the prevailing color a deep, soft 
 crimson, the wood-work all painted white and 
 delicately carved. Below the ceiling ran a frieze, 
 the work of John Graham. The subject treated 
 was the history of Cupid and Psyche. The 
 scenes were divided into panels by twining 
 sprays of rose-vines charmingly treated. The 
 first represented the meeting of the two lovers, 
 their marriage being the next in order. In the 
 third compartment the doubting Psyche looks 
 for the first time on the radiant beauty of the 
 sleeping God. Next the artist had portrayed the 
 forsaken, love-lorn bride sitting alone, crushed 
 with grief, repenting the fatal curiosity which 
 prompted her to peer too closely into the na 
 ture of love, that greatest of boons, which 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. gi 
 
 should be accepted joyously and with thanks 
 giving, and to which doubt means death. The 
 hard services required by Cytherea from the 
 desolate Psyche were exquisitely rendered ; and 
 the final scene of the reunion of the two lovers 
 was the masterpiece of the whole work. Psyche, 
 radiant with new-found love and joy, her face 
 touched with a more than mortal beauty by the 
 grief she has endured, stands looking reverently 
 into the face of the strongest of gods. Her 
 rainbow wings can lift her now, to soar beside 
 her lover, even to Olympus. 
 
 Millicent admired the beautiful frieze, which 
 the hostess confessed troubled her sorely be 
 cause of the scanty raiment which she said 
 seemed to have been the fashion of the time it 
 represented. 
 
 " Mister Graham," she explained, had induced 
 her to keep it in the place for which it had been 
 designed. Mrs. Shallop added that the artist 
 had refused to follow her suggestion of adding 
 clothing to the half nude bodies; and had, 
 moreover, extracted a promise from her hus 
 band that he would never allow any other 
 painter to be intrusted with thus supplementing 
 the airy rainbow draperies of the figures. 
 
 Miss Almsford was much astonished at the 
 very beautiful interior of the great Shallop 
 house, and soon learned that its furnishing and 
 
Q2 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 decoration had been intrusted to Graham, who 
 was gifted with that rarest and most valuable of 
 aesthetic qualities, a perfect and original taste. 
 
 " It is the only house Mr. Graham has ever 
 arranged, and he says he will never do another. 
 He was in Europe while it was being built, and 
 mamma persuaded the Shallops to give him 
 carte blanche to buy all the beautiful things he 
 could lay hands upon," Barbara explained. 
 
 The guests were shown to their rooms by the 
 hostess, and Millicent gave an exclamation of 
 delight on entering the apartment allotted to 
 her. It was indeed a unique room. The walls 
 were panelled in ebony to a third of their height, 
 a bright light pattern in flowers running to 
 the ceiling, and relieving what might other 
 wise have been sombre. The glossy black wood 
 was carved into a wide, high fireplace, where two 
 brass andirons, curiously wrought with twisted 
 dragons, supported a fire whose bright blaze 
 was most welcome to Millicent. She found the 
 season very cold compared to the still, hot Italian 
 summers. Below the mantel the fire shone out 
 in welcome, but above the ebony shelf, set in 
 the wall, was a picture which seemed fuller of 
 light and color than the leaping flames. A Ve 
 netian scene with a terrace whereon sat men 
 and maidens in the warm glow of the sunset, 
 looking out over a stretch of many-toned water, 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 93 
 
 in which were mirrored sky and clouds, trees, 
 draperies, and graceful human figures. A black 
 gondola, partly shown in the foreground, might 
 have held the painter while he sketched the 
 brilliant scene. 
 
 " It is my Venice ! " cried Millicent, " it is my 
 home ! " Her eyes were full of tears. She caught 
 Barbara by the arm and rapidly described to 
 her the point from which the picture had been 
 painted. 
 
 " Mr. Graham will be very much pleased that 
 you recognized the spot." 
 
 " Is it his picture? Yes, I ought to have 
 known it." 
 
 "Why, are you clairvoyant?" 
 
 " Yes, Barbara, sometimes." 
 
 Millicent seemed somewhat disconcerted at 
 what she had said ; and, without noticing any 
 thing more in the pretty room, ascended the 
 dainty little ebon staircase with its fanciful rail, 
 and, pushing back a panel which slid into the 
 wall, entered her bedroom. Later, when both 
 of the girls had exchanged their travelling 
 dresses, Barbara knocked at Millicent s boudoir. 
 
 " Entrate" was the response, in obedience to 
 which she opened the door, and found Millicent 
 lying on the low, crescent-shaped sofa, her fair 
 head resting on a pile of cushions. Her grace 
 ful figure was clad in a gown soft amber in 
 
94 SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 color, her only ornaments wonderful strings of 
 amber beads falling over the white neck, which 
 the fashion of the frock disclosed, and encircling 
 the smooth bare arms, with their delicate tracery 
 of blue veins like the lines in purest marble. 
 Her hands were hidden, clasped behind her 
 head, and the expression of her face was almost 
 vacant in its look of absorbing reverie. Beside 
 her on the floor lay a small parchment book, 
 ivory-clasped, "The Sonnets of Petrarch." 
 Her eyes were fixed on the panel over the mantel 
 shelf, but they saw more than the artist had pic 
 tured with brush and color: a waking day 
 dream of her home as she had last seen it, and 
 ah ! how much sweeter an imagining of how 
 she might next see it, with what surroundings, 
 with what companionship ! O blessed dream- 
 castles of women, in which all the cares and 
 privations of life are forgotten ; in which there is 
 never a weariness or a pain ; where lonely watch 
 ing is succeeded by joyous reunion ; where those 
 who have lived and know too surely that they 
 must die without that greatest happiness which 
 life can hold, drink the cup of joy innocently, 
 purely, fearing no bitter after-taste, finding no 
 foul dregs ! 
 
 At Barbara s entrance Millicent slowly drew 
 herself back from dreamland into the actual pres 
 ent. Her eyes, which had been staring widely 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 95 
 
 with a blank look, now seemed to change color 
 with returning consciousness. It was a long 
 journey, and she gave a deep sigh when it was 
 accomplished, and she realized that plump, 
 pretty Barbara, with her best frock and ribbons, 
 stood by her side looking curiously in her face. 
 
 " I was reading, and I fancy I had fallen asleep, 
 Bab, what can I do for you ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Shallop suggested our all having tea 
 here, if you liked. They do not dine till eight 
 to-night. Mr. Shallop has been detained in San 
 Francisco." 
 
 " Very well, dear, just as you say. You did 
 not mean to send for the gentlemen?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, this room is always used for a tea 
 room, unless you object, of course. If you pre 
 fer to sport your oak/ you have a perfect right 
 to do so, and we will go downstairs." 
 
 " No, no, let us have it here by all means, if it 
 is the custom." 
 
 Barbara rang the bell, which was answered by 
 a ponderous butler with a condescending man 
 ner, white neckcloth, bandy legs, and an apo 
 plectic countenance. The individual had been 
 imported by the Shallops along with the foot 
 man and driver, his two younger brothers, who, 
 in common with all the other members of the 
 household, from Mr. Shallop down to the boots, 
 stood in awe of him. To this worthy Barbara 
 
96 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 somewhat timidly gave orders that tea should 
 be brought, and the gentlemen warned that it 
 awaited them. 
 
 " Very good, miss," answered the functionary 
 in the driest possible tone, his features curled into 
 an expression of scorn toward the whole human 
 race. His bow was so terrific in its icy grandeur 
 that Barbara shivered as he left the room. 
 
 " I hate that man, and he knows it. He 
 always spoils my appetite by glaring at me all 
 through dinner; and I think he takes an evil 
 delight in handing all the most impossible dishes 
 to me first, which I have to refuse, because I 
 don t dare to attack them." 
 
 The man shortly after returned and laid a low 
 round table in the bow-window for tea. Barbara 
 placed herself behind the old-fashioned silver 
 urn and busied herself with tea-making, while 
 Millicent drew up the blinds and let the sunset 
 into the room. Soon Graham came in, begging 
 for a cup of tea, a sure bait to him, he said, es 
 pecially when Miss Deering poured out the 
 delicious beverage. This last speech he made 
 with an exaggeratedly deep bow, which gro- 
 tesqued the compliment and made the girl s 
 cheek redden. Shortly after, Ferrara joined 
 the party, and a pleasant tea-drinking ensued, 
 though the last comer refused to be tempted 
 by the pretty cups of smoking Souchong. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 97 
 
 "Neither will I reproach my luncheon, nor 
 insult the excellent dinner which I am sure Mrs. 
 Shallop will give us, by the uncivilized fashion 
 of drinking tea at this hour." 
 
 "Miss Almsford thinks we are too civilized 
 here, Ferrara. She almost fainted when she 
 learned that I was the possessor of a dress-coat. 
 She hoped to find us in eternal suits of corduroy 
 and flannel, with top-boots and bowie knives." 
 
 " You have exactly described the costume in 
 which I first saw you, Mr. Graham ; so you 
 surely should not blame me for believing that, 
 in wearing it, you followed the prevailing fashion 
 of your country." 
 
 " That alters the case ; but are you not mis 
 taken? I remember having taken particular 
 care to don a black coat on that evening do 
 you remember? when I surprised you by the 
 fire." 
 
 " But I had seen you before that, though you 
 had never seen me." 
 
 "When, fair lady? May I hope that our 
 first encounter was in your white dreams? " 
 
 The girl shook her head and laughed. 
 
 " Was it perhaps in another existence? Did 
 we dance together, you and I, in the old happy 
 days when Pan reigned? Now I think of it, 
 were you not the wood-nymph who vanished 
 from me into the arms of a great tree? Did 
 7 
 
98 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 you not tread one measure with me in the merry 
 wood-dance, and then leave me desolate with a 
 tryst appointed but never kept? " 
 
 " Did you not soon find another partner? " 
 
 " I waited long alone." 
 
 " And if I could not come sooner? " 
 
 " Well, you have come at last to keep the 
 tryst. Will you finish that dance which was 
 begun so many eons ago ? " 
 
 " Ay me ! and can we now dance the same 
 measure, you and I? Would not our feet tread 
 inharmonious steps?" 
 
 " Which of us can say? Shall we try? " 
 
 " If you say my word was given, I know not 
 how to break it." 
 
 The room had grown dim, and Barbara and 
 Ferrara in the recess of the window were speak 
 ing together, while Millicent sat gazing dreamily 
 into the glowing heart of the low-burning fire, 
 conscious that Graham was looking intently on 
 her face. She dared not lift her eyes to his, 
 and veiled them with the downcast lids. Not 
 what she might read daunted her, but what 
 might be revealed to the man who sat leaning 
 forward in the quaintly-carven oak chair. 
 
 " It is understood then that you admit .my 
 claim to your hand, for one dance at least? 
 You acknowledge the promise made so many 
 dim years back ? You have come across wide, 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 99 
 
 tossing seas and over broad, sun-parched fields 
 to keep the tryst you made with me, a smile 
 upon your face, a shadow in your eyes? " 
 
 For answer the girl bowed her head. 
 
 " Nay, I must hear it from your very own lips. 
 Is it for this that you have come? " 
 
 "Yes." The word came soft as twilight shad 
 ows, sweet as Nature s harmony. A long pause 
 preceded the low-breathed monosyllable, the 
 word which fond women love best to speak and 
 which listening lovers thrill, half cold, half hot, 
 at hearing. And when it was spoken and heard 
 came a second silence, even longer than the 
 first; and yet what they had said was begun 
 in badinage, and was finished without serious 
 thought by either man or woman. Dangerous 
 words ! dangerous silence ! happy time, how oft 
 remembered in later days ! 
 
 " Did I hear you asking Miss Almsford for 
 a dance, Graham? What ball are you contem 
 plating? I have heard of none unless you mean 
 to invite us all to your tower for a frolic. Be 
 sure you do not leave me out; I have long 
 wished to visit your hermitage." 
 
 " If the ladies would so highly honor a lonely 
 dweller in the woods as to allow him the felicity 
 of being their host, be sure, my dear Ferrara, 
 that you shall escort them to my humble 
 abode." 
 
100 SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 
 
 " Really, are you in earnest? I ha^e always 
 wished to see your tower. When shall we 
 come? " 
 
 " That is for you to say, Miss Deering. Any 
 day which will suit your convenience will be 
 agreeable to me." 
 
 " We will settle it after we return to the 
 Ranch." 
 
 Soon after this Mrs. Shallop joined the group, 
 and they all went out and walked on the wide ter 
 race till dinner was served. Here Millicent met 
 Mr. Shallop for the first time. He was a heavy- 
 featured Irishman, with light-blue eyes, over 
 hanging brows, and thick, coarse brown hair. 
 His badly modelled nose had a decided up 
 ward tendency, and the broad mouth disclosed 
 sharp, long teeth, like those of an inferior animal. 
 When he smiled he showed the whole set, which 
 gave him a rather ferocious aspect. His face 
 was clean shaven, save for a fringe of whisker 
 stretching from the lobe of the ear to the lower 
 jaw. With a pipe and ashillelah he would have 
 been an excellent specimen of a patron of 
 Donnybrook Fair. On this occasion he wore 
 irreproachable evening dress. His linen was 
 finer than Graham s, and the cut of his collar 
 and pattern of his studs were of a later fashion 
 than those worn by Ferrara. A valet s care 
 had smoothed the rough hair and cared for the 
 
SAN ROSARIO R-AtiCK ; 
 
 ugly hands. One of his peculiarities was to ad 
 dress all ladies as " Marm." His conversation 
 was not unintelligent, and betrayed a keen, sharp 
 mind, which clearly understood those things 
 which came in close contact with it, but whose 
 mental vision was bounded by the physical one. 
 Those things which he had learned by expe 
 rience he knew absolutely, and he never ques 
 tioned or theorized on subjects which did not 
 directly touch himself or his own interests. 
 California had been to him a place which held a 
 gold mine, nothing more or less. His history, 
 which he made no effort to conceal, was not 
 an uncommon one. He had come out in 49, 
 among the fevered crowd of gold-seekers drawn 
 from every country, from every station in life, by 
 the loadstone which had been discovered on the 
 banks, of the American River, by James Mar 
 shall. He had come to San Francisco in those 
 early days when law and order were not, save 
 when the conscience of the public, stronger and 
 purer in its united power than in the individuals 
 which compose it, was awakened, and hastened 
 to punish a crime by a rude and swift justice. 
 Shallop had built a cabin in which he lived, and 
 in which he sold, when he was networking in the 
 gulches, any articles of food which he was able to 
 procure. When there were no potatoes or bread, 
 he closed the door of his shanty and started 
 
102 iSfiliV ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 off with pick and washing-pan for the gulches. 
 When these staple edibles were to be had, he 
 made a brisk trade in catering to the half-starved 
 miners. It had been said that though Shallop s 
 bread was heavy, it cost nearly its weight in 
 gold. In those days he had wooed and married 
 the widow of a brother miner, one of the few 
 women whose sad lot brought them to the land 
 of disorder and bloodshed. A few weeks only 
 elapsed, before the widowed woman gladly 
 changed her state for the protection of the 
 strong arm of Patrick Shallop, to whom she be 
 came deeply attached, with a pathetic love re 
 sembling that of a dog for a kind master. The 
 bread grew lighter then, and sometimes the po 
 tatoes fed pitiful pale youths who brought no 
 store of gold-dust to pay for them. Patrick 
 Shallop, living in the most magnificent dwelling 
 in the whole length and breadth of California, 
 was sometimes moved to tell of the little cabin 
 where he had brought home his bride on a wet 
 night, borrowing an umbrella to place over the 
 bed to keep the rain from wetting her to the 
 skin. There had been times when things had 
 gone badly with the inmates of the little cabin, 
 and days had passed when the mother s ears 
 were torn with the cries of children hungry for 
 bread. It was at this time that Barbara s father 
 had known the Shallops. Mr. Deering was a 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 103 
 
 delicately bred, handsome young man, who had 
 come with the eager crowd of men all pushing 
 ruthlessly forward to the golden goal, sometimes 
 trampling to death the weaker brothers who fell 
 by the wayside. Sick of a fever, faint and dying, 
 he was plundered of his hard-earned store of 
 gold-dust, and would have been murdered by 
 his robber but for the interposition of Shallop, 
 who stood by to see fair play, and carried the 
 sick man home to his shanty, where the tender 
 nursing of the busy wife saved his life a second 
 time. Adversity makes strange companion 
 ships between men ; and the friendship between 
 the saloon-keeper and the delicately nurtured 
 youth with the blood of a Puritan ancestry 
 in his veins, was one which lasted through both 
 their lives. By some mining exploits which 
 would hardly bear tlae light of day, but which 
 were, alas ! not more uncommon at that time 
 than at the present day, the Irishman had made 
 a colossal fortune which placed him among the 
 richest men in the world. There could be lit 
 tle sympathy between .the two men whom the 
 chances of that wild time had thrown together for 
 the moment, but a cordiality was always felt ; and 
 after Mr. Deering s death frequent visits were ex 
 changed between the dwellers of the San Rosario 
 Ranch and the inmates of the most celebrated 
 house on the borders of the Pacific Ocean. 
 
104 SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 
 
 The dinner was a long one, served with all the 
 tedious formalities which the fierce butler chose 
 to inflict. It was not until the servants had 
 withdrawn that the host and hostess, who stood 
 in mortal dread of their chief functionary, their 
 oracle on all matters of etiquette, seemed to 
 feel themselves at home at their own table. 
 The removal of this restraint, and the excellent 
 wine, served to make the last quarter of an hour 
 spent over the dessert the pleasantest part of 
 the repast. Millicent, sitting at the right hand 
 of her host, at last succeeded in making him tell 
 some anecdotes of his early Californian expe 
 riences, to which she listened with breathless 
 interest. Her feelings were undergoing a radical 
 change; and if the country which she at first 
 detested had not yet become dear to her, she 
 certainly felt the greatest interest and curiosity 
 to learn more of it. In the old dreamy life of 
 Venice, her days had been spent in golden 
 visions of a vanished grandeur. She was now 
 awaking to the stirring reality of the present, 
 and felt dimly that to be an heir to the glories 
 of the past was but a part of living, an inheri 
 tance which affects us less than the actual doing 
 and striving of our own times. 
 
 The party sat together in the library, with its 
 comfortable chairs and rows of undisturbed 
 books sleeping between their gilded covers, 
 
SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 105 
 
 until late in the evening. The conversation was 
 general, and the quick mind of the stranger 
 guest learned from it much that roused her 
 attention. " If I only had four ears instead of 
 two ! " she cried at last, after a vain endeavor 
 to follow at the same time a discussion between 
 Ferrara and Mr. Shallop on the best method of 
 vine culture, and a conversation between Gra 
 ham and Mrs. Shallop on the subject of the 
 public schools. Soon after this, the ladies left 
 the room ; and Millicent, her pulses all a-trem- 
 ble with the various new experiences of the day, 
 was slow in falling asleep. That night her lips 
 forgot to give their wonted homesick sigh for 
 Italy, for Venice. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm 
 
 in May ? 
 
 When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow do you 
 say ? " 
 
 THE week s visit at the Shallops slipped quickly 
 away, each pleasant day passing too hastily 
 into to-morrow, Millicent thought. The order 
 ing of each day had something of a routine, 
 beginning invariably with a gallop on horseback. 
 The way sometimes led across wet, hard beaches 
 where the horses hoofs crushed, with a crisp 
 sound, the tiny sea-shells left by the receding 
 waves. The tall roan which Millicent rode was 
 a young thoroughbred, with slender legs, a 
 proud, arching neck, and undipped mane and 
 tail. Mrs. Shallop had given the fine animal 
 to her guest ; and Millicent, who had a magnetic 
 influence over all animals, easily controlled the 
 horse by word or touch. The young people 
 usually paired off; Millicent riding beside Gra 
 ham, Barbara and Ferrara following, while Mr. 
 Shallop brought up the rear on a sturdy cob 
 whose character and strength were well calcu 
 lated to bear up the portly magnate. Some 
 times they rode through the odorous woods, 
 
SAN EOS A RIO RANCH. IO/ 
 
 where the air was heavy with spices, and melo 
 dious with sweet bird-notes foreign to Millicent s 
 ears. The tall and stately redwoods standing 
 straight and unbending in their close serried 
 ranks, seemed to her a noble symbol of the life 
 of an upright man, who looks fearlessly into 
 the wide heavens, raised far above the briers 
 which grow about his lesser brethren. 
 
 On their return from their ride, glowing with 
 the splendid exercise, breakfast was served ; 
 sometimes in the pretty morning room, oftener 
 in a sheltered part of the wide veranda, from 
 whence they might look out upon the shadowy 
 woods stretching behind the house. After this 
 meal, Mr. Shallop and Ferrara took the train 
 for San Francisco ; and the hostess and Graham 
 disappeared into the temporary studio which 
 had been arranged for the artist. The two girls 
 were left to amuse themselves. Millicent, who 
 had brought her usual store of books, did not 
 open one of them, but moused about in the 
 library, finding many works quite new to her 
 and full of interest. If her knowledge of Italian 
 and French literature was remarkable, her ierno- 
 
 o 
 
 ranee of the English classics was stupendous. 
 Shakspeare alone was familiar to her among 
 the great ones. The long rows of finely bound 
 books were mostly uncut and showed little evi 
 dence of having been read, a copy of a lady s 
 
108 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 fashion book, and a volume treating of the 
 manners of polite society, forming notable ex 
 ceptions to this rule. At mid-day a beach- 
 wagon conveyed the young girls to the shining 
 sea-sands, and they indulged in the luxury of a 
 bath. In the afternoon they took long drives, 
 or played lawn tennis with friends from the 
 hotel in the town. The evenings were some 
 times spent on the long, cool veranda, oftener 
 on Mr. Shallop s stanch yacht, the " Golden 
 Hind." She was a fine vessel several tons heav 
 ier than her illustrious namesake, in which Sir 
 Francis Drake sailed along the coast of Cali 
 fornia more than three centuries ago, and took 
 possession of the land as " New Albion/ in the 
 name of good Queen Bess. 
 
 Pleasant days, full of incident and enjoyment, 
 filled with new impressions to Millicent, and 
 freighted with sunlight and merriment to all 
 the party. No thought of the weather lent the 
 anxious uncertainty to plans which so often 
 to us in the East takes half the enjoyment from 
 anticipation. From May to November in this 
 favored land the blue of the sky is unclouded, 
 save by gossamer white drifts of vapor, massed 
 into soft shapes and mystic outlines. The sky 
 smiles from spring to laughing summer, and 
 the land lies steeped in sunshine through the 
 late autumn. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 109 
 
 The wide white beach, with its row of bathing- 
 houses and little tents, was very attractive to 
 Millicent. She sometimes sat in the warm sand 
 for hours, chatting with Barbara or making 
 friends with the bare-legged children, the tire 
 less architects in sand. Finally, donning their 
 bathing-suits, they ran, hand in hand, over the 
 dry sands, across the wet space which the last 
 wave had darkened, through the white fringe of 
 the sea, into the cool green billows. 
 
 The last day of their visit had come, and the 
 morrow would see them on their way back to 
 San Rosario. Millicent and Barbara had pro 
 longed their sea dip beyond their usual wont. 
 Never before had the water seemed so bracing 
 and delicious. As there were twenty or thirty 
 bathers to keep her company, Millicent lingered 
 among the breakers, while Barbara regained the 
 shore. She swam leisurely about, displacing 
 the clear water with her white arms and pretty, 
 small feet. She suddenly became aware that a 
 swimmer was gaining on her from behind, and 
 her stroke instinctively quickened. Millicent 
 swam as only the women of Venice can swim ; 
 and the race between her and her unseen pur 
 suer bade fair to be hotly contested. With 
 head high lifted from the waves which circled 
 caressingly about the smooth round throat, 
 knotting the tendril curls at the nape of the 
 
110 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 neck, th e girl kept steadily on her course with 
 out turning her head to see who might be so 
 audacious as to follow her. Strong as were 
 her strokes, she slowly lost ground ; and finally 
 the water about her rippled with the strokes 
 of the man who was gaining. Soon he had 
 caught up with her, and side by side they swam 
 for a space. Then the victor spoke in a voice 
 well known to her, and the girl answered him 
 with a laugh which rang out fresh and crisp 
 as the sound of the wavelets. Then she turned 
 her head and looked full at him as he moved 
 by her side, strong and graceful as a young 
 merman. 
 
 " So, my nymph, you are at home in Father 
 Neptune s arms as well as in the embrace of the 
 great tree. Which is your native element, 
 earth, air, or water? " 
 
 " I am amphibious." 
 
 " And which of your three elemental homes 
 do you like the best? " 
 
 "When I am dancing, the air; when I am 
 walking, dear Mother Earth ; and when I swim, 
 the sea." 
 
 " When I paint you, it will be as I see you now, 
 triumphing over the waves as our great mother, 
 Aphrodite, triumphed over them before you." 
 
 " That compliment would go to my head 
 were it not mixed with so much water." 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. Ill 
 
 Then they both laughed, because the sky was 
 sapphire clear, and the sea beryl green ; because 
 the golden sun warmed them with its kind rays ; 
 because each was fair and good to look upon ; 
 because, when they were together, winds blew 
 more softly, and sky and sea took on a more 
 tender hue where they melted at the horizon 
 into one ineffable kiss. A pair of white-winged 
 gulls swept above them, shrieking their love- 
 notes hoarsely, while the white-armed girl and 
 the strong-limbed man breasted the waves to 
 gether, side by side. Though lapped by the 
 cool water, Graham felt the warm influence 
 which folded about him like a cloak in Milli- 
 cent s presence. When she grew tired the girl 
 turned upon her side and floated ; while Graham 
 swam about her in little circles, first moving 
 like a shark on one side, with long, far-reaching 
 strokes, then swimming upon his back, and 
 finally beneath the waves, looking always at her 
 face seen dimly through the dark-green water. 
 
 After a space Millicent looked about to find 
 herself alone, far from the shore with its group 
 of bathers. At first she fancied that her com 
 panion must be swimming below the water as 
 he had done before ; but, as the slow-passing 
 seconds went by, she realized that some ill must 
 have befallen him. Stretching her arms above 
 her head, she dived straight and swift through 
 
112 SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 
 
 the clear water towards the pebbled bottom of 
 the ocean shining through the pellucid waters. 
 In that dim under-current she touched him, 
 stiff and cold, rising toward the surface, but 
 through no effort of his own helpless limbs. 
 In that terrified heart-beat of time she saw his 
 face set and white, with horror-stricken eyes 
 widely strained apart. Into them she looked, 
 her own firing with hope and courage, and 
 giving a mute promise of rescue. She seized 
 his rigid arm with her strong, small hands, and 
 they rose together to the surface. The man 
 was as if paralyzed ; and the girl for an instant 
 tried to support him, but, feeling such a strain 
 would soon out-wear her half-spent strength, 
 she cried, 
 
 " Put your hand on my shoulder so, and I 
 will swim below you." Her voice was hoarse 
 and shrill as that of the screaming sea-gulls. 
 He could not speak, but looked toward the 
 shore as if he would have her save herself and 
 abandon him to his fate. 
 
 " No, no ! " she cried, " I will save you ;" and, 
 placing his hands on her shoulders, struck out 
 bravely toward the shore. To reach it seemed 
 at first an easy thing, but the struggle proved a 
 terrible one, cruelly unequal, between the girl s 
 small strength, with the burden now added to 
 her own weight, and the waves grown hungry 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 113 
 
 for human prey. Their babbling music now 
 was changed to Millicent s ears, and they clam 
 ored greedily for her life, for that other life 
 which she was striving to snatch from their 
 cruel embrace. Again and again the man would 
 loosen his hold. She could not save him : why 
 should she die too, she was so young, so fair ! 
 This he tried to tell her in gasping accents, but 
 she only gripped his hand more firmly and 
 placed it as before. They should both live or 
 die. Fate, which had been so cruel to her, had 
 cast their lots together for that day at least; and 
 death seemed sweeter by his side than life with 
 out him. Her brave spirit fainted not, though 
 her labored strokes grew slower and feebler. 
 Then she gave one great cry for help to those 
 who were so near them, and yet so unconscious 
 of their danger. She heard their voices plainly, 
 the mothers talking to romping children, whose 
 ringing laughter mocked her agony. Was it 
 their death knell, this sound of sweet child-voices 
 that drowned her frenzied cry, and filled the ears 
 of the strong men and women, keeping out the 
 fainting accents which pleaded for his life and 
 her own? Once again, and this time with a 
 thrilling vibration of despair, the woman s voice 
 rang out across the waves. It was freighted 
 with her last hope ; it was the latest sound her 
 gasping lungs could utter. Could love and 
 8 
 
114 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 hope of life outshriek the murmur of the waves, 
 the shrill note of the sea-mews, the noisy prattle 
 of the infants? The man, long since despairing, 
 groaned : it seemed murder to him that his help 
 less weight should drag down the fair, brave 
 young creature to her grave ; his death agony 
 was made more bitter by the thought. The 
 girl s determination never wavered, and her little 
 strength was not wasted in a longer struggle; 
 she managed to keep his face above the waves, 
 but now only held her own, and had ceased to 
 make the slightest progress. She could now no 
 longer see the bathers. Had her cry been heard ? 
 O waves ! be merciful and still your clamor ! 
 White-winged partners, cry no more your mock 
 ing love notes ! Sweet mothers, list no longer to 
 your children s laughter, for there is other sound 
 which must reach your fond ears and chill your 
 warm hearts with horror ! For a moment there 
 grew a great silence as of listening, and then 
 over the water came answering cries of women 
 agonized with sympathy, came the hearty voices 
 of strong men saying, " Keep up, keep up ! for 
 help is coming, it is close beside you." Ah, 
 God ! it is in time, for the two white faces, lying 
 so close in the green waters, have but just van 
 ished from sight; they still shine through the 
 waves but a little space beneath the surface. 
 Strong helping arms raise the nerveless bodies 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 115 
 
 from the waves that murmur sullenly, bear them 
 safely to the shore with its shining white sands, 
 and, last, gently loose the maiden s white hands, 
 clinging still, though all unconsciously, to the 
 man whose life she has saved. Weeping women 
 gather about them, lying there so still and fair 
 upon the white beach ; frightened children look 
 curiously at the half-drowned figures of the man 
 and the woman. Still are they man and woman, 
 and not yet fallen to that terrible neuter of 
 death, wherein age and sex are not, where serf 
 and queen are equals. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " A flame ! Her clear soul s essence slips, 
 To steep for aye with mine, from her fast-whitening lips ! " 
 
 SEVERAL days passed before these two who, 
 hand in hand, had looked death in the face, and 
 felt his chill breath freezing up the current of 
 their lives, again saw one another. Graham, 
 after twenty-four hours, was able to be about, 
 looking pale and ill. The congestive chill which 
 had overcome him was the result of his having 
 plunged into the sea while very much over 
 heated. The water at San Real, and indeed all 
 along the Pacific coast, is very much colder 
 than at the Eastern watering places of a corre 
 sponding latitude, where the genial influence 
 of the Gulf Stream is felt. His vigorous consti 
 tution quickly threw off the effects of the terrible 
 experience ; but three long days and nights wore 
 themselves out before Millicent s light step 
 sounded on the stairs. Mrs. Shallop and Bar 
 bara were sitting alone at the luncheon table, 
 when the latter caught the sound of the well- 
 known footfall; she hastily left the room, and 
 running up the stairs passed her arm about the 
 feeble girl, supporting her into the room. 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 1 1/ 
 
 "Why did you not tell me that you were 
 coming? Do you think it prudent, dear? " 
 
 " Yes, I wanted to come, and the doctor said 
 I should do whatever I fancied," she answered 
 a little fretfully ; then she smiled, with that flash 
 ing of the eyes that always won her pardon for 
 any little sin. It was a strange coincidence, 
 Barbara thought, that Millicent should have 
 come downstairs for the first time on the morn 
 ing when Graham had gone to San Francisco. 
 It was his first absence since the beginning of 
 their visit. Why should she avoid meeting the 
 man whose life she had saved at the risk of her 
 own? Graham had every day begged to see 
 her, but Millicent had not felt equal to the in 
 terview. Barbara was genuinely puzzled ; but 
 then Barbara was often puzzled by Millicent. 
 During the days just past her gentle care and 
 nursing had brought her much nearer to Milli 
 cent than she had been before. In those long 
 mornings when Barbara, in a full, deep voice, 
 read to her from her favorite books, Millicent 
 had time to think more about her new friend ; 
 and the more she thought about her the better 
 she liked the sweet, sound, womanly nature, 
 with its domestic instincts, and maternal care 
 of all creatures sick or sorry. One morning, as 
 the invalid lay upon her couch, while Barbara s 
 gentle hands plaited her long hair in thick 
 strands, she said, somewhat abruptly, 
 
Il8 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 " Barbara, why have you not married? " 
 
 " What an odd question ! " 
 
 " If you knew what a charming wife you would 
 make, you would think the question a most 
 natural one. I suppose you have been in love? " 
 
 " I suppose so," jestingly. 
 
 " Bah ! talk seriously for a moment with me. 
 Why do you not marry Ferrara? The poor fel 
 low is perfectly pathetic in his devotion to you. 
 You know, Barbara, that matrimony would suit 
 you delightfully; there is nothing so becoming 
 to a woman of your type as the background of 
 a home of her own. There you would shine 
 like Jessica s candle in this naughty world." 
 
 " I have never thought about it in the way 
 of a background." 
 
 " Of course you never did ; but, Barbara, do 
 you think you could fall in love again?" 
 
 "Who knows?" 
 
 " Then I know that you have never been in 
 love at all, ma belle oh, I forgot, and have 
 broken my vow to speak English pure and 
 simple. Well, never mind, now we will talk 
 about my broth, for I am very hungry. I feel 
 like little Rosalba in the Rose and the Ring, 
 when she went about crying, Dutess Tountess, 
 my royal highness vely hungy. " 
 
 Long confidences had followed this conversa 
 tion ; and Millicent listened to Barbara s account 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 1 19 
 
 of a childish romance with that deep interest 
 which women all feel in the heart experiences 
 of their sisters. Such sympathy is born in the 
 feminine breast before the power of loving 
 awakes there, and dies not when experience has 
 brought nothing to it but grief and bitterness. 
 The veriest chit of a girl of ten will read a love- 
 story if she be allowed, while her brothers are 
 inventing ingenious instruments for the torture 
 of cats and nurses. The deafest grandam will 
 listen with keen interest to her favorite grand 
 daughter s confession of love, and will be care 
 ful not to chill young hopes with her own sad 
 memories. All those who have loved truly, 
 with that love which outlasts grief, death, and 
 human passion, which smiles at the cruelest 
 neglect, which, like the love of the Most High, 
 passeth all understanding, have sympathy and 
 kindly interest for those who are in love. That 
 " all the world loves a lover," is the truest of 
 all sayings. 
 
 As soon as they were alone, Millicent told 
 Barbara that she was anxious to return to the 
 Ranch the following day. Since her first meet 
 ing with John Graham, her life had danced away 
 through bright hours passed in his company, in 
 remembering past interviews, in looking forward 
 to future meetings. In the long days when she 
 lay weak and helpless, slowly recovering from 
 
120 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 the terrible drain on forces, nervous and muscu 
 lar, she had thought long and deeply ; and now 
 that she was well, she did not wish to meet Gra 
 ham, and avoided his presence. She realized, 
 as she had not done before, that she deeply 
 and irrevocably loved this man, whose name six 
 months ago had been unknown to her. Whether 
 this understanding of what was in her own heart 
 came upon her in one broad flash of quickened 
 intelligence, when she lay half swallowed up by 
 the jaws of death, still clasping him with feeble 
 hands, or if, in the quiet hours of introspection 
 which followed that awful moment, she gradually 
 learned the truth, it would be hard to say, but 
 that she now knew it, was indubitable. The 
 fact that the man she loved should be indebted 
 to her for his life was a distasteful one. Not 
 through gratitude did she wish to attract him ; 
 the very thought of it was galling to her. She 
 loved him, and longed, with the deepest power 
 in her soul, to arouse in his breast that an 
 swering passion, which, like a deep bass chord, 
 mingles with the sweet treble song of woman s 
 love, their harmony making the one perfect 
 note to which the keystone of the universe 
 trembles sympathetically. Sweet as was the 
 thought that her strength had sufficed for them 
 both, she mourned the chance which had made 
 her hand the rescuing one. Love that springs 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 121 
 
 from gratitude or from pity is earth-born and 
 earth-bound; she would have none of it; it was as 
 if she had a claim upon him for that gift, which 
 if not freely given is valueless. So, with a shy 
 ness new to her, she avoided meeting Graham ; 
 and the night of his return she sought her room 
 again and did not appear until the following 
 morning. If Graham did not know all, he was 
 ready enough to understand that she avoided 
 his thanks. 
 
 Mrs. Shallop passed the last evening of her 
 guests visit sitting with Miss Almsford, answer 
 ing her many eager questions of the strange, wild 
 days when law and order were not in the broad 
 golden land. It seemed almost incredible to 
 Millicent, and yet she felt it to be true, that the 
 wife of the mining king regretted the past days 
 of poverty and simplicity. The hard-earned crust, 
 shared with a husband whose every thought was 
 known to her, had tasted sweeter than the luxu 
 ries of a table at which she often sat alone, or 
 with a partner absorbed in thoughts and enter 
 prises in which she had no part. Her children 
 had then been entirely hers ; now they were far 
 distant, the boy at an English college, the girl 
 in a French conventual school, whence they 
 would both return grown too clever and proud 
 to care for her simple-hearted companionship. 
 What mattered it that she had toiled day and 
 
122 SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 night to buy them food and clothing, had worn 
 out her poor body and dulled her simple mind 
 with anxious overstrain and grinding labor ? 
 Would they thank her for it now ? When, a 
 year before, she had visited these adored chil 
 dren, she had felt the distance between them 
 and herself. If her son had not been ashamed 
 of his poor mother, it was only because his 
 heart was not quite weaned from hers. The 
 girl was gentle and kind ; but the pitying care 
 with which she brought her conversation to the 
 level of her mother s understanding was all too 
 obvious to the sensitive woman, whose nervous 
 strength had been shattered in the hard fight 
 which she had made all those years ago, to keep 
 the breath of life in their little bodies. Half 
 her life had been passed at the wash-tub, half in 
 the drawing-room ; the transition had been too 
 sudden for a person of her temperament. The 
 soapsuds, which used to flash the splintered rays 
 of light from her hands, were more appropriate 
 to them than the diamonds with which they 
 now glittered. Poor woman, the extremes of 
 fortune were both known to her. 
 
 Though their visit had been a delightful one, 
 Millicent was anxious to return to the Ranch ; she 
 longed for the quiet, refined atmosphere of the 
 place, with its simple comforts, doubly attractive 
 after this experience of the luxurious but inap- 
 
SAN EOSAPJO RANCH. 12$ 
 
 propriate house of Mr. Patrick Shallop. There 
 is a certain fitness in things ; and the ex-miner, 
 living in the palace of the railroad king, was less 
 at home than England s monarch could have 
 been in the cowherd s hovel. Millicent felt the 
 social malaise which arises from the incongruity 
 of persons with their surroundings. Graham, 
 interested in his portrait, which was coming on 
 famously, was not easily affected by a personal 
 atmosphere to which he was indifferent ; while 
 Barbara and Ferrara, used to a similar condition 
 of things, accepted it without question. 
 
 The morning of the last day of their visit 
 dawned bright and clear ; and Millicent, standing 
 on the terrace, thought the wide view had never 
 seemed so beautiful before. She was taking 
 farewell of that sea which had so nearly swal 
 lowed her young life with all its hopes and fears. 
 The waves murmured with a gentle sound, as if 
 quite oblivious of their late rapacity. She 
 went out into the thick pine woods behind the 
 house, and stood for the last time among the 
 great redwoods, which to her were so wonderful, 
 and which everybody else accepted as a matter 
 of course. A well-known footstep behind her 
 on the dry leaves caused the slight pink tinge 
 which the morning breeze had brought to her 
 cheek to fade suddenly; the blood seemed 
 rushing from every vein back to its source, and 
 
124 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 her heart stopped its pulsations for a moment 
 She did not turn her head, but stood quite silent, 
 waiting for Graham s first word. When he was 
 at her side, she felt her hand suddenly caught 
 in a warm pressure which sent the blood rush 
 ing through the arteries again, tingling painfully 
 in every fibre of her body, and loosening the 
 cold silence of the heart, which beat out a quick 
 answer to the words of greeting. They were 
 but few and very earnest, the words of a brave 
 man glad to be beholden to so fair a woman 
 for his life. Was it gratitude that made his 
 voice tremble, that lighted his grave eyes with 
 a smile? 
 
 She answered him sweetly and seriously, with 
 a steady voice and calm eyes, though the rose- 
 flush flooded and ebbed from her cheek and 
 brow. The man did not trouble himself to ana 
 lyze the feelings*which gave rise to the fleeting 
 blushes ; he was too full of his own enthusiasm 
 to notice how it affected its object. He spoke 
 as he felt and thought of the woman standing 
 there so full of life and beauty, only in the 
 light of his relation to her. He knew how he 
 felt towards her, and told her so with admiring 
 frankness ; of her feelings towards himself he 
 never stopped to think. His was an egotistic 
 nature, as are those of all strong men whose 
 personality stamps the age in which they live. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 12$ 
 
 Weaker men and women receive the imprint of 
 their time; only the few strong ones leave their 
 images impressed when the soft clay of the 
 present is transmitted into the unmalleable 
 granite of the past. 
 
 They walked together for a time, Graham full 
 of anxious inquiry for her health, and Millicent 
 happy in his anxiety. When the artist learned 
 of the proposed departure, he strongly opposed 
 it, urging a longer stay. When he found that 
 the young ladies had decided to leave San Real, 
 he announced his intention of accompanying 
 them. Mrs. Shallop shortly afterward joined 
 the pair and handed Millicent a newspaper, at 
 which the girl looked quite indifferently until 
 her eyes caught her own name in large letters 
 at the head of a column. She quickly read the 
 article, which proved to be a highly sensational 
 account of the rescue of Graham. 
 
 A FIGHT WITH DEATH ! Heroism of a Young Girl ! 
 John Graham rescued from Drowning by Beautiful Millicent 
 Almsford! The Personal Appearance of the Heroine! 
 Early History of the Lucky Man ! 
 
 These headings preceded the two-column 
 article at which Graham laughed contemptu 
 ously, and which drew hot tears from Millicent s 
 eyes. She had never before seen her own name 
 in print, and the freedom with which the Anglo- 
 Saxon press deals with the affairs of ladies who 
 
126 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 have no claim on the public interest was un 
 known to her. She only felt that her name was 
 being spoken by people who never had heard 
 of her ; that the most sacred and awful hour of 
 her life was revealed to the world ; and that the 
 event of which she had hardly spoken, and of 
 which she barely dared to think, was now fa 
 miliar to thousands of indifferent readers. The 
 news had in fact been telegraphed to one of 
 the large New York papers, and in the course 
 of a week filtered down through the smaller 
 organs of that city to the suburban press, and 
 was read and forgotten by the careless public 
 throughout the length and breadth of this en 
 lightened land. To Mrs. Shallop and Barbara, 
 accustomed to the vagaries of American jour 
 nalism, the state of mind into which Millicent 
 was thrown by the article in the San Francisco 
 " Roarer," was entirely surprising. It was with 
 out doubt annoying, but they had both become 
 so accustomed to seeing their own names and 
 those of their friends in the columns of the daily 
 journals, that Millicent s horror and indignation 
 seemed disproportionate to the cause. This 
 utter disrespect of the privacy of life which is 
 the right of all men and women leading peace 
 able lives, breaking no law of the civil or social 
 statutes, is the crying sin of modern journalism. 
 When they are charged with this, the journals 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. \2J 
 
 very tritely retort that " social news " pays bet 
 ter than any other class of matter ; that its inser 
 tion is more often prized and sought after by the 
 individuals mentioned than resented by them; 
 that much of the personal news is actually fur 
 nished by the individuals whom it most con 
 cerns ; and that they but supply the demand of 
 their readers. It would be well for them to 
 remember that to pander to the public taste is 
 not the highest object open to journalism ; to 
 elevate that taste were a task more deserving 
 of commendation, and less unworthy of good 
 printer s ink and paper. 
 
 The next mail brought two letters for Milli- 
 cent; one from a well-known photographer 
 asking her for an early sitting, and begging that 
 he might have the sole privilege of photograph 
 ing her. The other communication was a civil 
 letter from the editor of a weekly journal, asking 
 for a slight autobiographical sketch from the 
 hand of the heroine of San Real. In the course 
 of the morning a reporter from the California 
 " Bugle," a rival sheet, arrived and requested an 
 interview with Miss Almsford and Mr. Graham, 
 from which to compile an article on " The Res 
 cuer and the Rescued." Millicent s eyes flashed 
 angrily when the import of the small printed 
 visiting-card bearing the name of this nineteenth- 
 century inquisitor was explained to her. She 
 
128 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 was heard to murmur, beneath her breath, some 
 Italian words highly inimical to the smart young 
 person who was taking the opportunity to ex 
 amine Mrs. Shallop s drawing-room with an eye 
 to future " notes." She was astonished when 
 Graham quietly lighted a cigarette, and asking 
 that the gentleman might be shown into the 
 smoking-room, joined him there. 
 
 "Why does he not beat him?" she cried. 
 " If I were a man I should thrust him from the 
 house." 
 
 " And be held up to the public as a brutal 
 assassin? " laughed Barbara. " No, no, my dear, 
 let Mr. Graham alone; he knows best how to 
 manage the visitor. It never does to insult 
 those gentlemen ; they are dangerous enemies, 
 and have the public s ear into which to pour all 
 their grievances. Our friend will draw the fire 
 on himself, I fancy, in order to spare you. 
 News the news-fiend must have; he will make 
 it himself if it be not provided for him. Poor 
 thing ! he must live, after all, as well as you or 
 I. It is not his fault that he is obliged to inter 
 view people; it must be a very disagreeable 
 profession." 
 
 Thus kindly and with wide sympathy did 
 Barbara Deering judge all men and women; 
 ay, and reporters too, together with babies, 
 Chinamen, and other unfortunate works of God. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 129 
 
 Graham returned in a quarter of an hour, having 
 appeased his visitor with the aid of a good cigar 
 and a champagne cocktail, compounded by the 
 careful hand of the solemn-faced butler. 
 
 Millicent was still flushed and excited, all 
 Barbara s arguments having failed to soothe her 
 nerves. Graham, with one sentence, banished 
 the angry dint from her white forehead and 
 brought a smile back to her face. The hour of 
 the last good-bys had arrived ; and the guests 
 took leave of their kind hostess, with promises to 
 repeat their visit before long. Little Mrs. Shal 
 lop really cried at parting with Millicent, to 
 whom she had become greatly attached. She 
 sighed as the carriage disappeared from view, 
 bearing its freight of young people with their 
 vivid lives and strong interests. When she went 
 back to her great lonely drawing-room, with its 
 splendid furnishings, she realized what a fitting 
 frame it had made for the two pretty young 
 guests, and how unsuitable it was to her simple 
 tastes. The house was dreary without their joy 
 ous voices and quick footsteps. 
 
 Just after sundown the travellers reached the 
 San Rosario station, where Hal was awaiting 
 them in the great red-painted wagon. The two 
 sturdy mules were supplemented by old Sphinx 
 harnessed before them, making what is known 
 as a spiked team. 
 
 9 
 
130 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 " Hail ! the conquering Heroine comes ! sound 
 the trumpets, beat the drums ! " cried the irre 
 pressible young rancher. " How is our most 
 heroic Princess, and will she deign to enter the 
 triumphal car which her humble slave has pre 
 pared for her? " 
 
 They all laughed ; but, through all the lively 
 nonsense which he reeled off to them on the 
 way to the house, Millicent felt that he had been 
 really moved by what had occurred. The grip 
 which he gave her hand spoke a volume of ap 
 proval ; and the loud clap on the shoulder with 
 which he greeted Graham expressed more than 
 a dozen sentences of rhetorical eloquence could 
 have done. The antics of the unicorn team 
 were extremely diverting; and these, with the 
 absurdities which Hal perpetrated at every step 
 of the road, brought the quartette to the house 
 door " in a state of merriment bordering on 
 idiocy," as he expressed it. Mrs. Deering, with 
 her sweet motherly greeting, made their return 
 seem a home-coming to Millicent and Graham, 
 as well as to Barbara, the tall daughter of the 
 house. Her hospitality was so genuinely of the 
 heart that the recipient of it was made to feel 
 that it was simply his due, and that his pres 
 ence was as great a favor to the hostess as her 
 kindness was to him. 
 
 Graham was warmly urged to stay over night, 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 131 
 
 but he resisted the temptation of remaining. 
 Neither Millicent s voice nor Millicent s eyes 
 had supplemented the invitation. 
 
 As they paced the path together, her hand 
 lying on his arm, Graham told Mrs. Deering, in 
 a low voice, of all that had happened since their 
 departure, of the pleasant days with their ex 
 cursions ; of the new impressions made on Milli- 
 cent by all that she saw ; of the friends whom he 
 had met, remembering all the kind messages 
 which had been sent to the gentle chatelaine of 
 San Rosario ; of Barbara s sweetness and Mrs. 
 Shallop s hospitality; of the progress he had 
 made on the portrait of his hostess ; of the thou- 
 sand-and-one little items of news so welcome to 
 people leading a life of quiet isolation. Then in 
 graver tones he spoke of his great peril and 
 Millicent s bravery, of the strange thoughts 
 which had crossed his mind in that last moment 
 of consciousness, how her face as well as his 
 mother s had been revealed to him as in a vision. 
 All this was listened to with that perfect sym 
 pathy that is always ready to receive confidences, 
 and which forbears to claim them when they 
 are not spontaneously given. Blessed among 
 women are these rare ones to whom motherless 
 sons can confide every hope and disappointment, 
 sure of a quick sympathy, and in whom the 
 mighty instinct of maternity is not satisfied in 
 
132 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 ministering to their own flesh and blood, but 
 springs forth to succor all who are suffering for 
 the gentle mother love. 
 
 It was late when these two said good-night, 
 and Graham went to find the others to take 
 farewell. Barbara and Hal were singing duets. 
 They had neither of them seen Millicent, and 
 fancied that she must have gone to her room. 
 With a sense of cold disappointment and injury 
 the young man left the house. As he passed by 
 the corner of the piazza he fancied he saw a fig 
 ure standing close in the shadow of an angle. He 
 stopped ; the figure remained motionless; through 
 the heavy drapery of the vines he could not tell 
 whether it was a person or merely a shadow. 
 
 " Who is it?" he asked in a low voice. No 
 answer came, but through the stillness of the 
 night he thought he heard the sound of a quick- 
 drawn breath. Putting the honeysuckle aside 
 he stepped on the piazza, and found that his 
 eyes had not deceived him. Millicent stood 
 beneath the rose vines. When she saw that she 
 was discovered she spoke with a light laugh : 
 
 " I did not want you to see me, for I have 
 been unsociable this evening, and hoped you 
 would all think I had gone to bed." 
 
 " Is it not damp for you to be sitting out-of- 
 doors? " he asked, with a voice grown deep and 
 tender. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 133 
 
 " Oh, no ! I am quite used to it. What a 
 wonderful night ! I think I never saw the stars 
 so brilliant." 
 
 The girl seated herself on the edge of the 
 piazza, Graham placing a cushion under her 
 feet and taking his place at her side. It was a 
 perfectly still evening, the only sound being the 
 far-away tinkle of a sheep bell. There was a 
 moment of dangerous silence, which Millicent 
 broke a little nervously, speaking of Italy, of 
 Mrs. Shallop and their late visit, of Hal s irre 
 sistible wit, of any one of the subjects which 
 danced through her brain. She was afraid to 
 be silent, and feared yet longed for what might 
 be said if she left too long a pause. The spell 
 which kept Graham at her side when he should 
 have been half way to his lonely tower, began 
 to assert itself over the woman, always the last 
 to yield. The man had long since abandoned 
 himself to that mysterious state of being in 
 which every nerve of brain and every pulse of 
 heart yearns for sympathy and reaches out 
 toward its counterpart. At last she was silent, 
 the last commonplace dying half spoken on her 
 trembling lips. Silence now in all the land ; 
 only the sound of heart-beats which each felt 
 must reach the other s ears. Stars more tender 
 than those of heaven shone close to Graham 
 through the blue-black night ; a breath sweeter 
 
134 SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 than the wind stirring the honeysuckle touched 
 his cheek. At length that silence, more musical 
 than sweetest harmony, was broken by a low., 
 deep voice. 
 
 " May I kiss you? " said the voice. 
 
 What was the faint sound which the night 
 wind wafted to his ear? Was it the whirring of 
 the humming birds whose nest hung close by? 
 Was it the far-off silver ripple of the brooklet, 
 or the cadence of the distant sheep-bell? Was 
 it that sweeter sound than note of mating bird, 
 of falling water, or of faint bell-chime, was it a 
 loving woman s " Yes " ? 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Oui, les premiers baisers, oui, les premiers serments 
 Que deux etres mortels echangerent sur terre 
 Ce fut au pied d un arbre effeuille par les vents, 
 Sur un roc en poussiere." 
 
 WHEN he awoke the next morning, John Graham 
 gave a deep sigh. His dreams had been so 
 sweet that no reality could equal their happi 
 ness. As he sat on the edge of his narrow bed 
 disentangling what was real from what was 
 dream-born in his thoughts, his eye fell upon 
 the knot of roses which he had taken from Milli- 
 cent s hair the night before, and had clasped to 
 his lips as he fell asleep. They were faded now, 
 but they still gave out a strong perfume. His 
 cheek had been wounded by a thorn, but he 
 kissed the wilted posies, for all that, placed the 
 little bouquet tenderly in an exquisite Venetian 
 vase, and then bounded down the stairway of 
 his tower and across the narrow space which led 
 to a clear deep pool where a crystal stream fell 
 in a white cataract to a rocky basin. The foam- 
 bubbles danced joyously in the clear dark wa 
 ters, and the plashing of the fall had a sound of 
 a sweet deep voice which had grown very dear 
 to him. A mossy bank, shaded by two drooping 
 
136 SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 
 
 trees, sloped to the edge of this natural bath, 
 refreshing enough to have tempted Diana from 
 the chase. As Graham plunged into the cool 
 waters he shouted out a verse of a song he had 
 learned long ago. Attracted by the sound of 
 his voice, French John laid down his axe beside 
 the young tree he was about to fell, and came 
 down to the pool where Graham was vigorously 
 tossing about the bright water. The old wood 
 cutter looked at the young man as if the sight 
 did him good. He responded to the uproarious 
 greeting which the artist shouted to him, by his 
 usual silent nod of the head. Had words been 
 worth their weight in diamond dust, the old 
 soldier could not have been more chary of wast 
 ing them, but the look in his faded blue eyes 
 was gentle and full of admiration. He had had 
 a son of whom he had lost all trace since its 
 infancy. If the boy had lived he would have 
 been about Graham s age, and it was the man s 
 fancy that he would have resembled his patron. 
 He imagined he could trace in the splendidly 
 modelled arms and legs and the strong, perfectly 
 proportioned torso of the bather the shape into 
 which the baby contours he remembered so 
 well must have developed. Graham had by 
 this time gained the green turf and stood shak 
 ing the water out of his thick hair, drawing 
 quick panting breaths, meanwhile, and springing 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 137 
 
 about to warm himself, with the grace and 
 strength of a leopard. The old Frenchman 
 gave a deep sigh as he looked at him. 
 
 " Yes ; Hector certainly must resemble this 
 young man," he murmured, as he wetted his 
 hard hands, and, grasping the handle of his axe, 
 smote heavily at the stem of a young pine-tree. 
 Graham rapidly made his toilet in the open air. 
 The plunge in the clear cold water had rather 
 stimulated than expended the electric, nervous 
 force which ran through his veins, quickening 
 the life-blood in its flow. He felt ten years 
 younger since yesterday morning. His thirty 
 years and the gravity they had brought to him 
 had shrunk to twenty. As he looked up at his 
 tower he sang aloud a snatch of an old song which 
 had been often on his lips in those happy, care 
 less days in the Rue cC Enfer, words which he 
 had painted over the tiny grate in the cramped 
 apartment under the leads, where he had suffered 
 from heat all summer, and shivered all winter : 
 
 Dans un grenier qu on est bien 
 A vingt ans, a vingt ans ! 
 
 He would have liked to dance. Had his years 
 in truth been but twenty, he would have yielded 
 to the temptation. He would gladly have 
 thrown his arms about the old Frenchman, for 
 lack of another confidant, and have told him the 
 cause of his happiness. But, after all, this reflex 
 
138 SAN ROSARIO RANCH, 
 
 of youth could not entirely melt the reserve of 
 manhood from him ; he wore his thirty years 
 lightly indeed, but could not shake them off. 
 
 " Give me your axe, John ; I know something 
 of your woodman s craft ; let me show you how 
 easily I can fell this young tree." 
 
 He took the tool from the woodcutter, and, 
 whirling the sharp edge in the air, laid it at the 
 root of the tree with a ringing blow. 
 
 " It appears in truth that monsieur ave 
 andled an axe before." 
 
 " Surely, John. I once spent a summer with 
 some friends of mine, who lived in a forest in 
 Brittany ; they were sabotiers" 
 
 " Monsieur is jesting ? " 
 
 " Not in the least. I not only can fell a tree, 
 clumsily enough, be it confessed, but if I 
 had the tools I could shape you a pair of sabots, 
 as good ones as you could buy for ten sous at 
 Quimper ; that is your town, I think ? " 
 
 He talked in short, jerky sentences between 
 the strokes, while the white splinters flew about 
 him like a hail-storm. After a few moments the 
 knack which he seemed at first to have forgotten 
 came back to him. The smell of the bruised 
 bark was aromatic ; the death-sigh of the young 
 branches was musical as they trembled for the 
 last time together, reaching out to touch their 
 sister trees in solemn leave-taking. Their sigh 
 
 

 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 139 
 
 was now drowned in the groan of the swaying 
 tree. 
 
 " Take care, monsieur, take care ; it is about 
 to fall," cried the Frenchman. 
 
 His warning was a timely one. Graham, so 
 long unused to the exercise of the craft, had not 
 noticed how deeply he had cut into the stem. 
 The straight tree seemed to hesitate, tossing its 
 branches helplessly heavenward, and then with 
 a creaking sound crashed through the surround 
 ing underbrush, and with a dull thud measured its 
 slender length upon the earth. For a moment 
 its branches shook convulsively, and then all 
 was quiet. It seemed as if all nature paused at 
 the fall of so fair a thing : the birds were silent 
 in the thicket ; the babble of the water-fall grew 
 faint ; and the wood creatures stirred not in their 
 burrows. A mighty breeze crept through the 
 forest, rustling the surrounding trees, wailing 
 through the open gap as if in requiem, and a 
 light cloud floated over the face of the sun, 
 throwing its shadowy pall on the spot. 
 
 " That was well done, monsieur." 
 
 And, at the sound of the man s voice, the 
 cloud floated by and the sun shone out once 
 more, the wood birds took up their song again, 
 the squirrel in the hollow of the white oak went 
 on cracking her nut, and the brief mourning was 
 over. 
 
140 SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 
 
 That man must feel himself indeed beloved, 
 who fancies that the world will pause as long 
 beside his grave as does the forest at the fall of 
 one of its children. 
 
 Not until the branches had been lopped off 
 and the long stem cut into lengths, did Graham 
 cease his labor. The exercise did him good, and 
 gave him an appetite for the breakfast which old 
 John served him in the open air. He declared 
 that the coffee was better than could be had at 
 the Cafe de Paris ; and assured John that neither 
 Paris nor Vienna could produce such bread as 
 that which the old man had baked in some mys 
 terious manner in an oven of his own construc 
 tion, made of flat stone sunk in the ground. 
 Graham remembered that he had somewhere in 
 the tower a bottle of rare old wine, which he 
 sent John to fetch. 
 
 " Bring my glass and your tin cup, John." 
 
 He needed sympathy, he who had lived for 
 years without asking man or woman to share his 
 joys or sorrows ; he felt a new need in himself 
 for human companionship ; and the silent old 
 fellow who did his bidding was the only soul to 
 whom he could look for it. The ice which had 
 encased his heart was broken ; and instead of 
 sternly demanding from his fellow-men honor, 
 truth, and sincerity, he embraced the whole 
 world in a warm, unquestioning love and sym- 
 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 141 
 
 pathy. Yesterday he was a man who labored 
 for his kind ; to-day he was content to love them. 
 Yesterday he was a reformer ; to-day he was a 
 philanthropist. The henchman returning with 
 the wine, Graham filled the crystal goblet and the 
 humble cup to the brim, and together these two 
 denizens of the balmy forest drank to the new 
 day which had dawned on the young man s life. 
 After the long, black night which for months 
 obscures the face of nature in the far northern 
 land, the first rising of the sun touches the 
 hearts of men with a deeper, more profound joy 
 than the dwellers in a temperate zone can well 
 understand. So was the light of this new love 
 more glorious a thousand-fold to the man in 
 whose life there had so long been darkness, than 
 if it had arisen in a heart unacquainted with 
 grief. In the first flush of happiness, his whole 
 nature rebelled against the joyless life he had 
 been leading ; his work lost its attraction for 
 him, and he could not have painted a stroke that 
 day if his whole future reputation had depended 
 upon it. The new impulse had swung him far 
 out of his accustomed orbit ; that there might be 
 a rebound, he never for an instant fancied. 
 
 He spent an hour in ransacking his tower 
 to find the most beautiful thing he possessed 
 to carry to Millicent. He wanted to go to her 
 with something in his hand that might in some 
 
142 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 measure express the tide of generous feeling that 
 flooded his whole nature. He still had a score 
 of those treasures, souvenirs of his European 
 residence, of which the greater part had found 
 their way to the shelves and cabinets of his 
 friends houses. He spread them out before 
 him on his one table, ruthlessly pushing aside 
 paints, brushes, books, and drawing chalks, in a 
 hubbub of disorder. With an intense interest he 
 looked them all through. He had almost de 
 cided upon a rare Etruscan coin which he had 
 seen roll from the palm of an exhumed skeleton, 
 when his eye was caught by a tiny Tanagrine 
 figure. The exquisite modelling of this clay toy, 
 instinct with the beauty which pervaded every 
 detail of Greek life, made it a more appropriate 
 gift. The miniature woman was as truly pro 
 portioned as the Milo herself, and as surely con 
 structed according to that greatest law of art 
 that the world has yet seen evolved, the Greek, 
 wherein are welded together the real and the 
 ideal. A third article now struck his fancy as 
 more appropriate than either of these for his first 
 gift to Millicent. It was a crown of olive leaves 
 of the purest gold, which might have bound 
 Helen s brow. It had lain amidst the dust of 
 eons which covers Troy with its pall ; and now, 
 in the nineteenth century, it was to serve as 
 the gift of a California!! lover to his mistress. 
 
SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 143 
 
 Surely, never before had the precious leaves en 
 circled so fair a head as that which they were 
 now destined to adorn. 
 
 Among the many sins which had been laid at 
 Graham s door by friend or foe, the vice of fop 
 pery was missing. That minute attention to 
 every detail of dress, which is found as often 
 in man as in woman, had no place in his busy 
 life. He was, however, always neatly dressed ; 
 and the prosaic fashions of our time were modi 
 fied as much as possible in his wardrobe, es 
 pecially while he inhabited the forest. On this 
 occasion, instead of one absent look in his small 
 mirror, merely to ascertain if his hair were prop 
 erly parted and his cravat neatly tied, a full hour 
 was given to the process of dressing. Every 
 suit of clothes, and each possible combination 
 of the garments which his wardrobe afforded, 
 were carefully considered. When at last the de 
 cision was made, the vest needed a button, which 
 the artist laboriously attached to the garment. 
 Taking a coarse linen thread strong enough for 
 a halter, he made the button fast, taking several 
 turns of the thread about its eye, as if he were 
 belaying a rope. His cravat occupied him fully 
 a quarter of an hour. He must have brushed 
 his hair at least half a dozen times. He caught 
 sight of his anxious face in the mirror, just as he 
 was settling his cravat for the last time, and burst 
 
144 S^N ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 into a peal of laughter at his own dandyism. At 
 the foot of the tower his sturdy mustang Tasso 
 stood ready saddled. French John had given an 
 extra polish to the sleek gray coat, bright enough 
 to reflect the silver-studded Mexican bridle. A 
 pair of red cockades, set at the ears of the beast, 
 were made from flowers yielded by the small gar 
 den patch behind the woodcutter s cabin, where 
 he raised flowers and vegetables for his patron 
 and himself. The tall cock gave a condescend 
 ing crow of approval as Graham mounted his 
 horse; while the three cats sunning themselves 
 near by hunched their backs at him, as if to ex 
 press their disapproval of his idleness. It was 
 still early in the afternoon, and it was not his 
 wont to sally forth until the shadows were long. 
 Where could he be going ? they asked one of the 
 other, purring inquisitively together like a group 
 of women-folk over a cup of afternoon tea. Of 
 all his brute friends, Tasso alone knew whither 
 his master was going ; he snorted scornfully at 
 cats and cock, and, shaking his head playfully, 
 sped over the bridle path with flying feet, as if 
 conscious of the eyes that were watching for 
 him, the ears that were strained to catch the 
 first faint echo of his hoofs as they flashed over 
 the stony orchard road. 
 
 Those sweet eyes had not closed since they 
 had last looked into Graham s ; that white form 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 145 
 
 had known no rest since it had slipped from 
 his arms. The night, which had brought to him 
 such peaceful dreams, was fraught with bitter 
 memories to Millicent She had paced her room 
 through the long hours. No longer a half-yield 
 ing, shrinking maiden, but a woman, full of tears, 
 before whom some great sorrow, long stifled, 
 had risen up again. Was her nature then two 
 fold ? While she was with other people, Mil 
 licent seemed a strong, self-reliant woman, pure 
 and cold, with quick intellectual sympathies, and 
 strong opinions and convictions. When in the 
 society of the man she loved, his influence un 
 folded the closed petals of her heart as the sun 
 kisses back the white leaves of the daisy, and 
 uncovers its great golden centre to the eyes of 
 all men. A new warmth shone from her eyes, 
 and softened her silver voice. An unwonted 
 shyness made her shrinking and timid under his 
 gaze. A new life was born within her, so much 
 stronger and more intense than any that she had 
 ever known, that her past existence paled before 
 it as the luminous circle of a night-lamp fades 
 before the strong rays of morning. But when 
 she was alone. . . . 
 
 Whatever her sombre thoughts had been, they 
 were banished before she next met her lover. 
 When she learned that he had come, she longed 
 to fly from him out into the dim reaches of the 
 
 10 
 
146 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 forest, where he had told her half in jest that 
 they had lived and loved before man s time 
 began ; when nymphs and dryads danced to 
 gether in the shade of the oak-trees ; when Pan 
 reigned, and the earth was young. If she could 
 have seen him in her own sanctum, where the 
 light was softened by the dull green hanging of 
 the wall, where the air was warm from the ever- 
 flaming fire, and sweet with the spices burning 
 in a great sea-shell, she would not have greatly 
 cared ; but the stereotyped drawing-room, with its 
 blank white walls, was no place for their greeting. 
 She went down the stairway and stood a mo 
 ment before Graham ; then, as he advanced to 
 wards her as if about to speak, she glided swiftly 
 from the room across the hall and out into the 
 sunlight. 
 
 Barbara, standing near by, scattering corn to a 
 flock of tame doves which fluttered about her, 
 laughed as the light figure flitted by, with bare 
 head, and delicate silken draperies fit only to 
 rustle over soft carpets. Barbara laughed pleas 
 antly, cheerily calling over her shoulder to her 
 mother, who sat indoors, 
 
 " Look at Millicent racing with her own 
 shadow." 
 
 " T is a substantial shadow, Bab, but other 
 wise the simile s good," said Hal, as he passed 
 by on his way to the dairy. 
 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 147 
 
 And Barbara looked again, and looking sighed. 
 Another figure had sped by her, down the orchard 
 road towards the wood, the figure of a man. 
 pursuing the flying girl, with kindled face and 
 fleet steps. She threw her last handful of grain 
 to the circling doves, went into the stiff drawing- 
 room, mechanically set straight the disordered 
 chairs and drew down a shade where the light 
 fell too hotly upon a breadth of carpet. She 
 paused before a mirror and looked at her own 
 pretty face clouded by a pain she would not 
 explain. More than one lover had sued for 
 her hand, earnestly and tenderly, but she had 
 listened to no suit. No man had ever pur 
 sued her with fleet steps and sparkling eyes, no 
 man had ever brought that expression of half- 
 shamed happiness to her face which had made 
 Millicent look just now like a child racing with 
 her own shadow. 
 
 In the forest Graham found her standing 
 breathless beneath an oak-tree, whose branches 
 had caught her gown and forced her to stay her 
 flight. 
 
 " Again under that terrible oak-; but I shall 
 not lose you this time. Say that you will not 
 vanish in his jealous arms." 
 
 "He opens them tome no longer; he offers 
 me no refuge now." 
 
 " And I stand waiting for you, and hold out 
 
148 S4 AT ROSA RIO RANCH. 
 
 my hand for yours. Not for a dance now do I 
 ask it, but for a happy walk which shall end 
 only with our lives. Will you put your hand in 
 mine ? " 
 
 For answer a little warm palm creeps into 
 his broad fingers ; and the oak-tree sighs a bless 
 ing on the betrothal of which he is the only 
 witness. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " And in the forest delicate clerks, unbrowned, 
 Sleep on the fragrant brush as on down-beds. 
 Up with the dawn, they fancied the light air 
 That circled freshly in their forest dress 
 Made them to boys again." 
 
 THE life of John Graham had been one wherein 
 the sorrowful days far outnumbered the joyous 
 ones. His youth had been .saddened by the re 
 verses and griefs which had pursued his parents 
 with a relentless persistence. His home life 
 had not been a happy one. In the large family 
 of brothers and sisters there had been a meet 
 ing and clashing of strong, positive characters 
 and opposing wills. An intense family pride 
 was the one bond which united them. This senti 
 ment, almost amounting to a passion, made the 
 members cling closely to one another when there 
 was little of sympathy to make a sweeter bond. 
 Graham s parents had moved to California, from 
 the Eastern town where they were both born, 
 while he was still an infant. The first sixteen 
 years of his life had been spent on the Pacific 
 coast. At this age he was sent eastward to pursue 
 his studies. The youth had already determined 
 on devoting himself to art. The years passed 
 at the famous New England college were very 
 
ISO SAN EOSARIO EANCH. 
 
 busy ones. The painful economies by which his 
 beloved mother defrayed his college expenses 
 were well known to the young man, and he held 
 himself responsible to that dear and honored 
 parent for every hour of his time. His active 
 mind eagerly grasped such fruits of knowledge 
 as were offered by that garden of learning, and 
 his career in the university fully repaid the sacri 
 fices which it had entailed. During all this time 
 he never for an instant relinquished his fixed de 
 termination to become a painter. In the leisure 
 hours when his companions were amusing them 
 selves according to their several tastes, Graham 
 was always found at his easel. Some wiseacre 
 once suggested to the young man that Greek 
 and Latin were expensive acquirements, likely to 
 prove useless to a painter. 
 
 "And if I were to be a shoemaker, I should 
 make better shoes for having studied the clas 
 sics," was his reply to this admonition. 
 
 He had not been among the popular men of 
 his class, being very poor in leisure time, the 
 currency which buys that most expensive com 
 modity, popularity. He made few friends and 
 no enemies. His strong, earnest nature com 
 manded the respect of his fellows ; and his stu 
 dious example endeared him to a few of the 
 most serious among them. At the age of twenty 
 Graham went to Europe, where he passed the 
 
SAN R OS A RIO RANCH. 151 
 
 next eight years of his life in study and hard 
 work. The sketches which he sent home 
 brought him money enough to live on in that 
 quarter of Paris where the young art students 
 congregate. Poor enough the living had some 
 times been ; hunger and cold were well known 
 to the youth by actual experience. When he 
 lived at the rate of five francs a day he thought 
 himself rich, and gave suppers in his studio, an 
 cinquieme, Rue cT Enfer. Times there had been, 
 while he was at work upon his great Salon 
 picture of St. Paul, when a loaf of bread and 
 five sous worth of the rough red wine of the 
 people, had sufficed for his day s provender. 
 Those days of earnest work among the gay com 
 panions, whose lives much resembled his own, 
 were, perhaps, the happiest time in the life 
 of the young artist. Success had not been 
 wanting to crown his efforts. The picture on 
 which he toiled for weary days and months re 
 ceived "honorable mention" from the judges of 
 the Salon; and to the passing fame which this 
 success brought him, he owed his introduction to 
 the woman who had so spoiled the happiness of 
 his youth. She was his compatriot, the daugh 
 ter of a rich Parisian American, who desired to 
 make the acquaintance of the artist hero of the 
 hour. The young woman was beautiful, heart 
 less, and slightly emotional. While in the so- 
 
152 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 ciety of the handsome, spiritual painter, she 
 yielded to the charm his strong spirit exercised 
 over her ; and it was not long before their names 
 were linked together by the small world which 
 knew them both. But Graham s happiness was 
 short-lived ; and a few months served to show 
 him the cold, shallow nature of the woman who 
 had aroused his first passion. After he had been 
 jilted and disillusioned, he turned his back upon 
 the city where he had learned and suffered so 
 much, and became a wanderer on the face of Eu 
 rope. One year found him painting the beauties 
 of Southern Spain ; the next saw him sketch 
 ing the wonderful scenery which lies about 
 Stockholm. 
 
 About two years before the opening of our 
 story he had returned to San Francisco, with 
 a portfolio of sketches, a few hundred dollars, 
 and a prodigious store of canvases, paints, and 
 brushes. He was welcomed by the many friends 
 who had followed his career with interest, and 
 soon received more orders for portraits than he 
 could well fill. His taste led him to prefer an 
 other branch of painting ; and it was for the pur 
 pose of studying the very beautiful scenery in the 
 neighborhood of San Rosario that he had estab_ 
 lished himself in the tower of the old Spanish 
 Mission. He was also partly induced to take 
 this step, because he found that home life, always 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 153 
 
 irksome to him, had become, after his long eman 
 cipation from domestic rules and regulations, 
 wellnigh intolerable. 
 
 Graham s character was a peculiar one, full of 
 contradictory traits ; it might be compared to 
 a mass of white quartz, through which ran deep 
 veins of the purest gold. In some respects it 
 was a hard nature, with certain tender qualities ; 
 and nowhere was there to be found an ounce of 
 base metal ; a pitiless nature, which knew not 
 how to forgive either its own faults or those of 
 his fellow-men. If his judgments of others were 
 harsh, his self-despair was sometimes fanatical. 
 His ideal of manhood was as pure and noble as 
 was that of the perfect King Arthur; that he 
 failed a hundred times a day in living up to 
 it, had not the effect of lowering that ideal one 
 hair s-breadth. His highest duty was towards his 
 own soul and its struggle to reach the perfection 
 he held it to be capable of attaining. With 
 the mind of an ascetic, he was endowed with a 
 warm, sensuous temperament, having a passion 
 ate delight in beauty, light, and color, and ca 
 pable of living through the senses with the keen 
 enjoyment of a Sybarite. A strain of music, a 
 beautiful flower, or a fair child moved him to a 
 degree of pleasure that to any nature save an 
 artistic one was incomprehensible. Filled with 
 pity at the sight of distress, he would unhesitat- 
 
154 SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 
 
 ingly give his last dollar to a needy rascal ; but 
 if appealed to for sympathy by the same sinner, 
 the scorching contempt by which he would blast 
 the shameful deeds for which, to him, there was 
 no palliation, would leave the wrong-doer a sad 
 der if not a wiser man. Because he expected 
 so much of men, their, short-comings outraged 
 him. To a man of this character it was easier, if 
 not better, to avoid the paths of his fellows ; and 
 his life had often been that of a hermit, even 
 when he dwelt in the busiest cities of the world. 
 Not willing that one shadow from the burden 
 of his life should fall upon the paths of those 
 who cared for him, his voice and face were 
 always cheery when in their company. He 
 wanted not the sympathy of man or woman, and 
 endured what griefs were given him to bear in 
 silence and alone. That divine mandate, " Bear 
 ye one another s burdens," was meaningless to 
 him ; for he had ever borne his burden unsup 
 ported and unhelped. The struggle between 
 the two sides of his nature, the ascetic and the 
 poetic, seemed sometimes like to rend soul and 
 body apart ; at other times both contending 
 forces seemed asleep, and the current of his life 
 flowed peacefully on. There were periods when 
 the tender golden veins seemed to overlap and 
 hide the flinty quartz ; then he felt alive, with 
 thrilling pulses and lips breaking into song ; then 
 
. SAN ROSARIO EANCH. 155 
 
 he painted rapidly, painlessly, achieving quick suc 
 cesses, sometimes making brilliant failures. At 
 other periods hyper-criticism of himself seemed 
 to weight his brush and dim his vision, to take 
 the color from the warm earth and tender sky ; 
 then the life-blood pulsed slowly through his 
 veins, and he forgot to sing. 
 
 Into the existence of this self-centred being, 
 with its extremes of cold and warmth, few per 
 sonal influences had crept ; and now, for the first 
 time in many years, he felt his life to have be 
 come entangled, for good or ill, with that of an 
 other human creature. Since his first meeting 
 with Millicent, on that memorable night when he 
 had found her the central figure of a picture of 
 warmth and comfort, his frozen existence had 
 been thawed and made happy by the subtle in 
 fluence which she wielded over him. Without 
 reasoning with himself, he had yielded to the 
 pleasurable charm, only amazed, and perhaps 
 a little glad, to find that there was a woman 
 who could rob him of his well-earned sleep, 
 and dance through his dreams at night with a 
 wilful persistence. If he had been obliged to 
 characterize the influence which the girl held 
 over him, he would probably have said that she 
 made his life vivid, and reminded him that his 
 nature was human and not mechanical. Day 
 by day her presence became more necessary to 
 
156 SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 him ; and his work was slighted, or hastily per 
 formed, in order that he might be free the sooner 
 to reach her side. Without retrospection or 
 introspection he had lived through the pleasant 
 days at San Real, when Millicent s heroic be 
 havior had made him feel doubly grateful to 
 her : he now owed her his life, as well as the 
 new pleasure in that life. When the happy 
 visit had come to an end, and he had parted with 
 her after the return to the Ranch, it had seemed 
 as if he could not leave her as a friend only. 
 That one swift, silent embrace had broken the 
 peaceful contract of friendship ; and he had sealed 
 the tumultuous untried bond of love upon her 
 lips. 
 
 Since that white night with its unspoken pro 
 testation, Time seemed to have taken unto him 
 self new, strong wings, on which he bore the 
 lovers through the bright weeks of the spring 
 tide of love all too swiftly. Few words of ex 
 planation had been necessary ; each understood 
 the other, except when that chill, impalpable 
 something seemed to come between them like a 
 cloud, as it had done in the first days of their 
 acquaintance. The one note which was never 
 absolutely in tune in their love harmony, at 
 these times made a discord, and disagreements 
 which grieved them both sprang up between 
 them ; but these were rare, and the pale face of 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 1 57 
 
 the artist was less shadowy than in other days ; 
 while Millicent seemed transformed from a statue 
 to a living being, with a heart tender and full of 
 love towards all her kind. But her cheek grew 
 less round than it had been in the days before 
 this new life was poured into her veins, and long, 
 sleepless vigils told upon her strength. She was 
 happy with a joy of which she had never before 
 dreamed, and yet weary nights of weeping traced 
 dark circles about her eyes. What struggle 
 could it be that left her pale and broken, and 
 drew pitiful sighs from her white lips when she 
 found herself between the four walls of her own 
 room ? One word from Graham, the sound of 
 his horse s hoofs as he drew near the house, 
 would banish the pained look, call back the color 
 to the lips and cheek, and give the old bright 
 ness to her deep eyes ; but when he was gone, 
 the painful thoughts winged swiftly back to 
 torture her. 
 
 To the sweet, open-hearted Barbara, Millicent s 
 state of mind was incomprehensible. The cool, 
 indifferent, somewhat scornful girl had been 
 transformed into an excitable, impulsive creature, 
 always in one of the extremes of spirits, by turns 
 gay with a gayety contagious, irresistible, com 
 mitting every sort of extravagance ; and again 
 serious with a tragic sadness, more pathetic 
 than the wildest weeping. Mrs. Deering, with 
 
158 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 that sublime unconsciousness which sympa 
 thetic women know how to assume at will, saw 
 nothing. 
 
 The happy summer weeks slipped all too 
 rapidly away, and the last days of August were 
 come. It was at this time that a long-planned 
 excursion took place, and the family of the San 
 Rosario Ranch went to pass the day with some 
 friends who were camping out at a distance of 
 fifteen miles from the house. Ever since her 
 arrival in California, Millicent had heard of Mau 
 rice Galbraith, a friend of the family, whom a 
 combination of circumstances had prevented her 
 from meeting. It was to his camp that they 
 were wending their way when Graham joined 
 them on horseback, as they drove down the 
 shaded road which passes through the great 
 grove of redwoods, and leads to the dusty high 
 way. Millicent was driving in the light phaeton 
 with young Deering ; Barbara and her mother 
 following in the large wagon driven by Pedro, 
 one of the Mexican helpers. Crouching on the 
 floor of the wagon behind the seats sat Ah Lam, 
 with his spotless linen and shining coppery coun 
 tenance. He could not sit beside the " Greaser," 
 or Mexican, and this lowly place was allotted 
 him. His round, placid face, with its clear brown 
 skin and oblique eyes, was not an unpleasing 
 one. His hands and arms were finely modelled, 
 
SAN ROSARIO EANCH. 159 
 
 and his sturdy figure was of a much more solid 
 type than is usual with his race. From his posi 
 tion it was possible for him to hold a parasol 
 over Mrs. Deeririg, which he did without vary 
 ing the angle of the rather heavy umbrella one 
 degree during the whole long journey. He had 
 been taught that hardest of lessons for the 
 Chinaman, that obedience and respect to the 
 ladies of the family are even more necessary 
 than submission to the master. On his arrival 
 at the Ranch he had coolly and placidly ignored 
 all orders given him by the female members of 
 the household as unworthy of notice. When he 
 finally had learned the lesson that " Melican 
 woman boss too," he had never failed in respect 
 to the ladies. 
 
 The drive was a beautiful one. The road led 
 through deep valleys, still wet with the night 
 dew ; sometimes it curled around the side of a 
 mountain which barred its progress, and again 
 it plunged down to the level of a swift stream. 
 There was a certain spot where Millicent, who 
 was familiar with the first five miles of the route, 
 always stopped for a few moments. Sphinx 
 had grown accustomed to bring his sleepy 
 gait to a standstill just at the brink of the 
 bridge which spanned the rushing forest river, 
 grown boisterous at this place. All about the 
 spot stood the great hills, some green with the 
 
160 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 never-fading redwoods and madrone trees, others, 
 stripped by the woodman s craft, naked and un 
 sightly. Behind them stretched the hot, red 
 high-road, with its group of humble cabins. 
 In front of one of these a group of strange, 
 wolfish-looking children had called a greeting to 
 Pedro, the driver, who was of their kin. The 
 narrow, weather-beaten bridge, with its shaky 
 wooden piers, joined the highway over which 
 they had come, to a forest road which hung 
 over the stream and skirted the mountain s 
 base. The gray ruin of what had once been a 
 mill stood on the farther bank, with rusty, idle 
 wheels and empty grain-bins. There was a 
 small islet in the stream, between which and 
 the near bank was a clear pool which reflected 
 with perfect distinctness the trees and rocks, 
 the very ferns and marsh flowers of the over 
 hanging bank. Here the party paused for a 
 few moments, enjoying the familiar beauty of 
 the scene. 
 
 " You will paint this place one day for me, 
 will you not ? I care very much for it." Milli- 
 cent was the speaker ; and the artist close at her 
 side laughed and answered, 
 
 " Your will, of course, is my law, lady ; but 
 when you can teach the bird on yonder twig 
 a new song, you can perhaps choose a spot 
 where a painter shall see a picture. Much 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. l6l 
 
 that is beautiful in nature cannot be portrayed 
 in art." 
 
 For a moment longer they paused on the 
 bank, little thinking how that scene would be 
 graven on their memories in after days ; and then 
 Hal brandished his whip, and Sphinx started off 
 at a brisk trot, the strong mules following at the 
 top of their speed, while Graham led the way 
 on his fleet mustang. It was not far from high 
 noon when the party arrived at the place of des 
 tination, recognized by a flag floating above the 
 low underbrush at the foot of a hill. In reply 
 to Hal s lusty hallooing, a young man emerged 
 from the other side of the hill, and waving his 
 hat in greeting, hurried to help Mrs. Deering 
 descend from the wagon. 
 
 " How late you are, good people ! " he cried in 
 a pleasant voice. " The fellows thought you were 
 going to disappoint us ; but I had too much faith 
 in your word, Mrs. Deering, to doubt you. Miss 
 Deering, you were too quick for me ; your agility 
 is only excelled by your grace. Well, Graham, 
 glad to see you ; for once you are better than 
 your word." 
 
 The young men shook hands with that punc 
 tilious politeness which gentlemen who do not 
 quite like each other are apt to show in the 
 presence of mutual lady friends. Deering pre 
 sented their host to Miss Almsford, and at that 
 
162 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 moment the other two woodmen made their ap 
 pearance, Michael O Neil, a jolly-looking young 
 Irishman, and Dick Hartley, a dark-browed Eng 
 lishman. The three men were intimates at 
 the Ranch, and Millicent already knew O Neil 
 and Hartley; the latter was an old friend and 
 travelling-companion of Graham. Leaving Deer- 
 ing and O Neil to take care of the horses, Gal- 
 braith led the way to the camp, a sheltered spot 
 on the south side of the protecting hill. Three 
 small sleeping-tents here stood close together. 
 Galbraith s was the central one ; it was wonder 
 fully luxurious, Millicent thought, with its com 
 fortable rug and little iron bedstead, two chairs, 
 and a writing-table. A small looking-glass had 
 been brought from town "on purpose for the visit 
 of the ladies," Hartley assured them ; at which 
 statement there was a general laugh at the 
 young Englishman s expense, his personal vanity 
 being well known. But it was of the greenwood 
 drawing-room that the ladies expressed the 
 highest approval. A square space of ground 
 had been cleared of the dense undergrowth, its 
 smooth surface being thickly carpeted by soft 
 piles of fresh, sweet ferns. Close-growing 
 shrubs and bushes served as walls, while the 
 thick branches of the great trees made a roof 
 close enough to keep out the heat of the sun. 
 The flowers of the manzanita and the buckeye 
 
SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 163 
 
 perfumed the air of this sylvan boudoir, wherein 
 were ranged comfortable stools and camp-chairs. 
 A wide hammock fitted with a red blanket 
 swung between two straight tree stems. Here 
 they sat for a while, resting from the long drive ; 
 and here it was that Millicent had time to ob 
 serve more particularly the appearance of Mr. 
 Maurice Galbraith, of whom she had heard so 
 much. Galbraith was not, strictly speaking, a 
 handsome man, though he had a good deal of 
 beauty. He was tall and slender, with a finely 
 shaped head, well set upon the shoulders. His 
 bright, intelligent face was too thin for beauty ; 
 while the fine, brilliant eyes, with their heavy 
 lashes, were hollow from over-work. His deli 
 cate chin and mouth were exquisitely modelled ; 
 while the nose seemed a trifle over-large through 
 the extreme thinness of the face. The features 
 in repose were almost stern in their look of 
 concentrated thought; but when he laughed it 
 was with the sudden merriment of a child, the 
 mouth parting over the small white teeth, and 
 the large, dark, hollow eyes flashing cheerily. 
 Barely over thirty, he might have passed for 
 some years older, an unflagging attention to his 
 arduous profession having told somewhat upon 
 his strength. Among the lawyers on the Pacific 
 coast, Galbraith was considered a rising man, 
 his late appointment to a district attorneyship 
 
164 SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 proving the confidence which he enjoyed. Milli- 
 cent thought him decidedly the most attractive 
 of their hosts ; but her quick intuition had already 
 told her that Graham felt little cordiality towards 
 him, and she spoke chiefly to Hartley, the rather 
 insignificant " beauty man " of the camp. From 
 him she learned that for several years the trio 
 of friends had passed the summer months in 
 camping out at some spot not far distant from 
 the railroad, which carried them every morning 
 to San Francisco, and which brought them back 
 as early in the afternoon as might be. Their 
 one henchman (of course a Chinaman) was left 
 in charge of the camp during the day, and per 
 formed the household work necessary to so 
 primitive a menage. Not far distant from the 
 camp, the stream whose course they had fol 
 lowed spread out into a wide, deep pool, afford 
 ing an opportunity for a refreshing plunge, with 
 which the three friends were wont to begin the 
 proceedings of the day. A breakfast eaten at 
 the tent door was followed by a walk to the 
 station, half a mile distant, when they bade 
 good-by to their sylvan home. Four o clock, or 
 at latest five, saw them on their way from the 
 city; and an hour or two of angling in the cool 
 stream, wherein swam delicious trout, or a tramp 
 through the woods with a gun, brought them to 
 the dinner hour. Just at this point in Hartley s 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 165 
 
 chronicle of their daily life, Ah Lam, who had 
 been brought to assist the one servant of the 
 camp in his preparations, announced that dinner 
 was served. Millicent never learned how the 
 evenings were passed in camp, for there was 
 a general move towards the dining-room, another 
 triumph of sylvan architecture. A few paces 
 distant from the green parlor, but hidden from 
 it by the thick intervening bushes, was a great 
 fig-tree with wide-spreading branches laden with 
 delicious purple fruit. At the foot of the tree 
 stood a table laid with plates, knives and forks, 
 and other appurtenances of civilized life. Milli 
 cent gave a little cry of delight at the prettily 
 decorated board, which was wreathed with a 
 garland of green leaves and covered with bright 
 flowers. Barbara, who had been reading Dumas 
 with that intense delight to which the first ac 
 quaintance with French romance gives rise, said 
 that the banquet surpassed the one spread by 
 Joseph Bassano for the Dauphine of France in 
 the old Chateau. Millicent found herself at the 
 table between Graham and the good-natured 
 Irishman, O Neil. Her lover seemed to her 
 handsomer to-day among this band of his con 
 temporaries than ever before ; and she looked 
 at him with her whole soul in her eyes, for 
 getting all in the world beside or beyond him. 
 O Neil, who was the wit of the camp, told funny 
 
166 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 stories at which every one laughed ; but when 
 Graham spoke, the men all listened, like soldiers 
 waiting the words of their superior. Before they 
 had come to the table, the artist had twined 
 a girdle for Millicent s slender waist of some 
 feathery green creeper, a spray of which she had 
 wreathed about her head. When the red wine 
 was poured, Graham spilled from his glass, as 
 if by accident, a few drops upon the earth, 
 then, touching his goblet to hers, he said in an 
 undertone, 
 
 " We will drink the old toast, my nymph, to 
 Pan, evoe, evoe /" 
 
 Galbraith devoted himself to Barbara ; and after 
 dinner, when all justice had been done to the 
 woodland fare, and the great warm figs had been 
 eaten with the sunshine in them, the party broke 
 up into groups. Graham, who had brought his 
 colors, made a sketch of the view from the hill 
 tops, Millicent sitting silently beside him, hand 
 ing him the brushes as he required them, then 
 squeezing the little tubes of paint with a childish 
 delight. Barbara and Galbraith made their way 
 to the pool, where Miss Deering angled suc 
 cessfully, landing four good-sized trout within 
 the hour. Hal Deering and O Neil employed 
 the time in firing at an ace of hearts pinned to a 
 tree ; while Hartley and Mrs. Deering sat in the 
 green parlor, where the thoughtful, motherly 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 167 
 
 woman put a very necessary patch on one of 
 Galbraith s coats, in which her quick glance 
 had descried a rent, as it hung on a peg in his 
 tent. 
 
 As the afternoon shadows lengthened, and his 
 sketch drew near its completion, Graham found 
 time occasionally to speak to his companion sit 
 ting so quietly and contentedly at his side. The 
 absolute ignoring of self possible to this intelli 
 gent girl, with her strong mind and latent talents, 
 was incomprehensible to him. She was per 
 fectly happy to forget her individual existence in 
 a sympathetic interest in his work. He felt sure 
 that should it please him she would give up her 
 music, her studies, every other interest in life 
 and be content to sit always as now, watching 
 his work, giving a word of intelligent criticism 
 when asked to do so, stifling every thought which 
 should cloud the mirror of her mind in which he 
 might see himself ever reflected. To the sensi 
 tive man, who had passed most of his life in 
 solitude, this absolute, unreasoning devotion had 
 something intensely painful about it. If he had 
 known how to frame his thought he would have 
 begged her to care Jess for him. He felt him 
 self an ingrate, so poor a return could he make 
 for this wealth of love poured out at his feet. 
 Her presence was a pleasure to him ; he loved to 
 watch her graceful motions as she walked, and 
 
168 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 the beautiful poses which she all unconsciously 
 took in sitting, standing, or moving. Her appre 
 ciation of his work, her understanding of himself, 
 were truer than ever man or woman had shown 
 before ; and yet he sometimes was annoyed by 
 the irksome feeling that what he had to give her 
 was but a bankrupt s portion of love. Times 
 there were when this feeling did not intrude 
 itself upon him ; and the day which was now 
 drawing to its close was one of those precious 
 ones wherein had been no slightest misunder 
 standing betwixt them. When Hal came to 
 tell them that it was time to return, Graham put 
 up his work with a sigh that it must be so 
 soon finished, and the two lovers lingered for 
 a moment, taking a last look over the little 
 camp. 
 
 After bidding their hosts farewell the guests 
 turned their horses toward home, the larger 
 wagon with Mrs. Deering and Barbara leading 
 the way. Sphinx, whose best days were over, 
 was tired ; and Millicent soon lost sight of the 
 swift mule team. Graham rode a little in ad 
 vance of the carriage, leaving the place at Mil 
 licent s side to Mr. Galbraith, who had volun 
 teered to accompany them for a part of the 
 journey. She found him a most attractive person, 
 and was much interested in his conversation. 
 He told her anecdotes of the primitive justice 
 
SAN EOS A RIO RANCH. 169 
 
 which prevailed in certain remote districts of 
 the State, and gave some personal reminiscences 
 of his earliest cases, in which he had been called 
 upon to defend or accuse criminals of the most 
 desperate class. Galbraith talked with that sort 
 of brilliancy which requires sympathetic atten 
 tion from his hearers, and for the first three miles 
 of the road he was able to win this from Miss 
 Almsford. When, however, the girl s eyes wan 
 dered from his intelligent face to the man on 
 horseback half a dozen rods in advance, and she 
 mentally compared the strong, elastic figure of 
 the distant horseman to the man at her side, 
 Galbraith found that it was time to return to the 
 camp and "leave them to their own fate." Milli- 
 cent s parting words were doubly gracious to the 
 young lawyer, from the fact that she thought his 
 departure would bring her lover to her. In this 
 hope she was however disappointed, for Graham 
 was in one of those moods when silence was more 
 attractive to him than Hal s amusing companion 
 ship. He would have liked to have Millicent all 
 to himself on that pleasant homeward ride ; but 
 Millicent with the inevitable addition of Deering 
 could not win him to her side. Suddenly the 
 two in the carriage saw Graham s horse give a 
 wild rear and plunge, after which he shied at 
 some unseen object by the roadside with a force 
 which would have unseated any ordinary horse- 
 
1 70 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 man. The animal now stood for an instant 
 trembling in every limb, and then seemed to 
 fling himself and his rider in a perfect agony 
 of terror down the high-road, his four feet beat 
 ing out the startling measure of a break-neck 
 gallop to Millicent s horrified ears. From the 
 cloud of dust, and through the cadence of the 
 mustang s hoofs, these words were shouted back 
 to them, 
 
 " Look out for rattlesnakes ! " 
 
 They had by this time reached the spot where 
 Graham s horse had taken fright ; and old Sphinx 
 shivered violently, tossing his head and snorting 
 loudly. In a few moments, it seemed to Millicent 
 an eternity, Graham rejoined them, having re 
 gained control over his fiery horse. 
 
 " Deering, stand by Sphinx s head and hold 
 my horse, will you ? " 
 
 As he spoke John Graham dismounted, pulled 
 his high boots over his knees, and seizing the 
 heavy whip from the carriage, advanced cau 
 tiously to the edge of the road, while Hal soothed 
 the startled horses. Millicent, left alone in the 
 wagon, gave a low cry of terror. Graham was at 
 her side in an instant. 
 
 " Dear one, you must help me with your cour 
 age ; do not be afraid, there is really no danger," 
 he murmured. She was silent, and tried to 
 smile an answer. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 1 7 l 
 
 Graham now walked slowly along the road, 
 looking intently into the grass which lined the 
 highway. Suddenly the dread sound of the 
 rattle was heard, awful alike to man and beast. 
 Sphinx started again, but was soon quieted, while 
 Tasso reared and gave a shriek of terror. Gra 
 ham, raising his heavy whip, brought the thong 
 with a tremendous force across the snake s body. 
 The creature reared itself with blazing eyes and 
 sprang towards its pursuer, who dealt it another 
 blow ; and before it could coil itself for a second 
 spring, Graham ran forward, and with his iron 
 boot-heel crushed the reptile s head into the 
 dust. He soon despatched the writhing creature, 
 and was stooping to cut the rattles from its life 
 less body, when a warning cry from Millicent 
 told him that the battle was not over. The 
 mate of the dead snake was close beside him, 
 ready to spring upon his stooping body. He 
 straightened himself, and ran backwards, firing 
 his revolver as he went. The shot missed the 
 snake, whose rattle rang out a very death-knell. 
 It leaped savagely towards him. Graham had 
 dropped his whip, most efficient of weapons 
 with which to meet these dangerous animals, 
 and hastily tearing off his coat he threw it over 
 the snake. He sprang upon the garment and 
 stamped in every direction ; finally pinning the 
 creature low down in the body, the bristled head, 
 
1/2 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 with its awful tongue, reared itself from beneath 
 the folds of the coat, wounded but furious to 
 avenge its mate. The horrible hiss chilled Mil- 
 licent s blood. She saw the forked tongue dart 
 out and strike Graham s leg. Mercifully it 
 struck below the knee, the fang failing to pene 
 trate the thick leather of the boot. The crea 
 ture wreathed another coil of its length from be 
 neath the iron heel, and again made ready to 
 strike. Graham cocked his revolver, and while 
 the angry red throat, with its death-dealing jaws, 
 yawned before him, he poured a volley of hot 
 lead into the writhing body. One, two, three 
 shots Millicent counted ; and then after a pause 
 Graham s voice rang out brisk and clear : "All 
 right, my girl, if there are no more of the beasts." 
 The still quivering bodies of the snakes lay in the 
 dust of the road, and Graham, recovering his 
 whip, carefully examined the locality from which 
 they had emerged, to see if by chance a nest of 
 eggs or young ones was to be found. His search 
 was unsuccessful ; and after securing the second 
 rattle, which was a long one, proving how power 
 ful the reptile had been, he measured the bodies 
 of the dead snakes, and rejoined Millicent. She 
 held out her hand to him; and Deering, who had 
 had as much as he could do in controlling the 
 two horses, congratulated him on his success, 
 and was about to resume his seat in the carriage. 
 
SAN EOS A RIO RANCH. 173 
 
 Millicent had been perfectly quiet and composed 
 during the time of danger ; her firm hand and 
 voice had controlled the frightened horse ; her 
 watchfulness had warned Graham of the ap 
 proach of his second enemy. But now the 
 snakes were both dead, her lover was safe, and 
 there was no further need of her strength or 
 composure. As Hal approached the carriage, she 
 dropped the reins, buried her face in her hands, 
 and burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. 
 Hal, who had lifted one foot to the step of the 
 vehicle, dropped it to the ground, and retreated 
 a few paces with a frightened countenance. He 
 would not have been afraid to encounter a nest 
 of rattlesnakes, but a weeping girl completely 
 unnerved him. He retreated behind the wagon, 
 and, after a hurried conversation with Graham, 
 without more ado, mounted that gentleman s 
 horse and rode off as fast as the animal would 
 carry him ; while Graham quietly stepped into 
 the vehicle, and touching Millicent lightly on 
 the shoulder, said, " Millicent, it is I." 
 
 The passionate weeping grew more quiet ; the 
 sobs became less violent ; a slight tremor ran 
 through her frame at the touch ; at the words 
 the tears rolled back to their source ; and pres 
 ently a pale face was lifted from the supporting 
 hands, and the mouth quivered into a smile. 
 And so they rode home together, hand in hand, 
 
174 SAN 110 S A III RANCH. 
 
 through the deepening shadows ; and one more 
 day of the sweet summer-tide of love had passed, 
 and each was richer for that day, how often re 
 called by both of them when the shadows of 
 life had deepened into night. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Thereon comes what awakening ! One grave sheet 
 Of cold implacable white about me drawn" 
 
 JOHN GRAHAM was one of those men in whose 
 nature there seems no trace of feminality. Man 
 and woman supplement each other, each bring 
 ing certain qualities to the completion of hu 
 manity ; and yet it is rare to find a man whose 
 character is not modified by some mother trait. 
 Graham s qualities and his faults were equally 
 masculine; he was more strongly attracted by 
 women through this intense virility than are men 
 who, having some trace of the feminine in their 
 nature, understand and sympathize more per 
 fectly with the opposite sex. The attraction was 
 one against which he rebelled, deeming it to 
 belong to the weaker side of his nature ; and he 
 had so ordered his life that it might not fall 
 within the influence of maid or matron. This 
 antagonism to woman made itself felt in his 
 work ; his successful pictures were of men, their 
 high exploits and successes. A noble, painting 
 of Saint Paul, which now hung over the altar 
 of a Roman Catholic church in San Francisco, 
 had won him his first reputation in Paris ; he 
 
176 SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 
 
 could understand and sympathize with that great 
 man as if he had known him. It was only the 
 highest type of man that attracted him, the 
 lovers of men, and not their conquerors. He 
 had never tried to paint Alexander, but had la 
 bored long and lovingly over a picture of Soc 
 rates. The female subjects which he had treated 
 were not less powerful than these, but the force 
 which they showed was scornful and untender. 
 A marvellous painting of Circe hung in his stu 
 dio ; it was one of his most masterly works, and 
 yet, though critics had praised and connoisseurs 
 had approved it, the picture was still unsold. 
 With black brows bound by red-gold serpents, 
 the enchantress lay upon a luxurious couch ; her 
 beautiful body was but half veiled, the arms and 
 bosom immodestly displayed ; about her jewelled 
 feet fawned the creatures whose brute natures 
 had conspired with the enchantress to smother 
 whatever was human in their beings ; self-de 
 spair and scorn for their abasement deformed her 
 regular features to that moral ugliness never so 
 hideous as when seen in a youthful and beautiful 
 face. A terrible picture, full of wrath, but un- 
 tempered by mercy. His Cressida, purchased by 
 a great European Academy, was another wonder 
 ful picture ; a picture which made men smile a 
 little bitterly, and had brought an angry flush to 
 the cheek of more than one sensitive woman. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 177 
 
 Over a man of this nature woman holds a more 
 important influence than with any other class ; 
 it may be a good influence or it may be a harm 
 ful one, but it is the most potent one which 
 touches his life. Had John Graham loved hap 
 pily at twenty-five, instead of most miserably, 
 he would have been a very different man at 
 thirty from the hermit artist of San Rosario. 
 It would have been better for him if he could 
 have learned the lesson which all wise men 
 learn if they live long enough, that women are 
 neither angels who stand immeasurably above 
 men, nor inferior beings whose place is at their 
 feet, but human like themselves, full of good 
 and faulty instincts, and, with all their imperfec 
 tions, the God-given helpmates of man. So 
 justly should they be judged ; and if a little 
 mercy be claimed for them, generosity should 
 not deny it, so few are their chances in life com 
 pared with those of their brothers. A woman 
 has but one possibility of happiness in this 
 world. The stakes are high on which she risks 
 her whole fortune, which she may lose by one 
 unredeemable throw. 
 
 If Graham could have known all this, as, 
 being what he was, he could not, he would have 
 gained that one element which his genius lacked 
 to make it superlative. Man and child he was 
 by turns, but never for an instant had he been 
 
178 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 able to look at life from the standpoint of a 
 woman. He had once loved the whole gentler 
 sex with that chivalrous spirit which made him 
 unfit to live in the nineteenth century. No dis 
 courteous or cruel word toward any woman had 
 he to reproach himself with ; he had looked 
 upon them as creatures so far removed from 
 his sphere, that his mind must be cleared of 
 every base thought before it might dwell upon 
 them ; they were mysterious angels which it 
 was his happiness to worship. Then came a 
 change, and the love which had turned to grief 
 darkened his soul. As his heart had been filled 
 with a love so great that it embraced all the 
 sisters of his idol, his contempt went out to 
 wards them, as his love had done before. His 
 revenge had been terrible: he had struck at 
 womankind ; he had pictured it in its debase 
 ment for all the world to see. 
 
 The few women for whom he cared were eld 
 erly people, whose life-battles had been fought 
 and won ; who sat enthroned in the calm of that 
 peaceful period when youth is no longer regretted 
 nor old age feared. Such women he could paint 
 without bitterness ; and his portrait of his mother 
 was a masterpiece of exquisite sentiment. No 
 woman that he had ever met disliked John 
 Graham ; if he was distant arid cold, he was 
 honest and courteous, and a gentleman in the 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 1/9 
 
 deepest sense of the word. He was too chival 
 rous to revenge himself on any individual ; his 
 grief was too great to stoop to anything so 
 mean. More than one woman would gladly have 
 loved him, but he avoided them as if they had 
 been poison-nurtured. 
 
 Men, as a rule, respected and feared Graham ; 
 a few of his heart-friends would have given their 
 lives for him with a smile. To those who under 
 stood and loved him, there was something more 
 than human about the man, a quality to which 
 the highest part of their nature did homage. 
 Fools laughed at him for his quixotism ; the 
 critics had worn themselves out in shrieking 
 abuse of his work which affected him in nowise. 
 He cared little for men s praise or blame; he 
 would have died to help them to a new truth. 
 He was of the stuff which made martyrs in the 
 old time, crusaders in the dark ages, and artists 
 in the Renaissance. His pictures were beautiful 
 as works of art, but they were great because 
 they embodied living truths. At twenty his 
 friends said that he had great talent ; at thirty 
 his enemies ceased to deny his force ; at forty, 
 if he lived so long, the world would crown him 
 with its laurel as a man of genius. If haply 
 that bitterness which lay like a blight on all his 
 work, on all his life, might be made sweet ! 
 What a chance was here for the woman whose 
 
I So SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 love was now breaking over his frozen life with 
 warmth, fragrance, and beauty ! How grand an 
 opportunity to sweeten by truth and faith all 
 that had grown bitter from untruth and faith 
 lessness ! If she could only have known him as 
 he was, have understood him and his past, before 
 she had loved him, what could not Millicent 
 have accomplished ! Alas ! poor child, she knew 
 nothing of all this. Her own past was black 
 with a grief and wrong greater than that which 
 he had borne. She, too, was waking, and for 
 the first time, from a trance of soul and sleep of 
 heart ; she was all engrossed in her own growth 
 and development. She was like a little dungeon- 
 born plant, which has at last climbed through 
 the iron bars, and under the light and warmth 
 of the glorious day runs riotous and unthink 
 ing across the wall, up, down, on every side, 
 content to live and grow in the sun and air. 
 But the taint of the old wrong and the lie it 
 had entailed, were not yet left behind. He 
 had taken her for a pure white lily ; and how 
 could she tell him that there had been a time 
 when she lived in darkness and despair before her 
 life flowered into its one perfect white blossom 
 under the warmth of his love ? 
 
 Life is very pleasant at the San Rosario Ranch 
 with its bordering of peaceful hills. Here all 
 are happy, be they of high or low degree ; from 
 
SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. l8l 
 
 the gentle-voiced chatelaine to the stranger with 
 in her gates, the potent charm extends. The 
 fair daughter and tall son have lived peaceful, 
 uneventful lives ; and though their young eyes 
 may sometimes turn a little wearily toward the 
 mountain barrier, beyond which lies the great 
 busy world, known more to them by hearsay 
 than by actual experience, they are happy, far 
 happier than are most of the men and women 
 in the crowded thoroughfare of the world s cities. 
 The Ranch does not lie in the belt of gold, nor 
 in the silver girdle which crosses the Pacific 
 coast. The rude mining towns are far distant 
 from this portion of the dairy lands of Califor 
 nia. The trains which leave the station in this 
 neighborhood are laden indeed with a golden 
 freight ; but no armed men are found necessary 
 to guard the boxes filled with their rolls of fra 
 grant yellow. The product of the dairy lands 
 is of a smaller, surer value than that for which 
 men toil and drudge in the gulches or mines. 
 Far away to the southward, where the orange 
 groves are white and golden with their double 
 burden of blossom and fruit, is a climate milder 
 than that of San Rosario ; and there Hal had set 
 his heart upon one day establishing himself. In 
 that vine country the air is heavy with the 
 spicy odor of the grape, and the harvest is 
 blood-red with its life-juices ; and yet to Milli- 
 
1 82 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 cent the fairest garden in this world s garden lay 
 between the circled hills of San Rosario. 
 
 Millicent, having learned the earliest stage of 
 butter-making under Hal s direction, wished to 
 be initiated into the mysteries which follow the 
 skimming of the cream. Hal gave one of his 
 boisterous guffaws of laughter when she one 
 morning gravely informed him that she was 
 going to help in that day s churning. She had 
 donned the prettiest chintz morning gown im 
 aginable, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, 
 and a fresh white apron. Her skirt was kilted 
 up half way to the knee, showing a scarlet petti 
 coat, which in turn exposed the pretty, small feet, 
 and possibly two inches more of the round ankle 
 than is usually shown by ladies of her degree. 
 Tying one of the great picturesque hats which 
 they had brought home from San Real, under 
 her chin, the energetic young woman started for 
 the dairy. Hal, giving a knowing wink to his 
 mother and sister standing near by, as if to say 
 that the joke was too good to be spoiled, followed 
 her, with Tip, the cross old dog, following him 
 in turn. 
 
 " Millicent, did you ever do any churning?" 
 
 " No, but I can learn." 
 
 " Without doubt ; but tell me, did you ever 
 see any one else churn ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; very often." 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 183 
 
 " Who, if one may ask ? " 
 
 " You will not know any better if I tell you. 
 It was old Nina, at home." 
 
 " Ah, old Nina ; and what sort of a machine 
 did she use ? " 
 
 " She did not use a machine at all ; she used a 
 churn, like anybody else." 
 
 " What did it look like ? " 
 
 " I am sure I have forgotten ; it was probably 
 an old-fashioned one, but it made quite as good 
 butter as yours does ; " this in a slightly irritated 
 voice. She objected to being catechised, and 
 had, moreover, a dim sense that Deering was 
 bent on quizzing her. She ran along the foot 
 path in advance in order to avoid further ques 
 tioning, and reached the dairy a few minutes 
 before him. Finding the main door shut, she 
 hurried round to the side, when, just as she 
 turned the corner, her rapid progress was sud 
 denly brought to an end. She had met an ob 
 stacle ; she had, moreover, fallen into the arms 
 of the obstacle, which proved to be a tall man 
 with a kindly voice, for he called out merrily, 
 " Hello, my girl, where are you going so fast ? " 
 steadying her at the same moment with his arm, 
 as the sudden shock almost precipitated her from 
 the path. 
 
 Millicent drew back disconcerted and breath 
 less, and looked up into the face of the man 
 
184 SAN ROSAHIO RANCH. 
 
 whom she had so unexpectedly encountered. 
 When she saw that it was a face familiar to her, 
 she blushed and stammered a little as she re 
 plied to his astonished greeting. Mutual apolo 
 gies and explanations followed ; and Hal, coming 
 up at that moment, laughed at her discomfiture 
 till the tears rolled down his face. 
 
 " You always laugh at other people s misfor 
 tunes," cried Millicent, trying to be angry ; but it 
 was impossible to be angry with Hal. The irre 
 pressible young rancher carried the day ; and 
 Maurice Galbraith assured Millicent that it was 
 his awkwardness which had aroused Deering s 
 merriment. 
 
 " We are very glad to see you, Galbraith, but 
 we are too busy to stop and talk to you just now. 
 You will find mother and Bab at the house. I 
 have a new hand here who is going to take 
 charge of the churning in future, and I am just 
 showing her about a little. Do you catch on ? " 
 
 " Slang again ! Five cents more towards the 
 amusement fund." 
 
 " Oh, we shall not want any more amusement 
 fund if* you are going to turn worker, Princess." 
 As he spoke they entered the cool dairy. It 
 was tenantless. At one end of the room stood 
 a large wooden vessel, half as big as the Trojan 
 horse, and from its hollow sides came a dull, 
 splashing sound. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 185 
 
 "Why, you said they would be at work al 
 ready," said Millicent, in a disappointed voice ; 
 " where are they all ? " 
 
 " Oh, it only takes one man to attend to this 
 part of the butter-making, and there he is at his 
 post." 
 
 Outside the open doorway, as wide as the 
 entrance to a barn, sat Pedro, lazily smoking his 
 pipe, and occasionally flicking with his whip the 
 strong mule who was slowly revolving round 
 the small space to which he was tethered. 
 
 " Well," said Millicent impatiently, " what does 
 that mean ? " 
 
 " Only this, my Princess, that you must turn 
 the crank that this animal is agitating, with 
 your own small hands, if you persist in your 
 resolution to help with the churning." 
 
 Millicent s face fell ; and Galbraith hastened to 
 explain to her that the quantity of cream handled 
 at one churning made it necessary, in a place 
 where human labor is so dear, to employ horse 
 power. Nobody likes to be laughed at, though 
 Millicent tried hard to smile at her own blunder ; 
 when Hal, suddenly calling out ; " By your leave, 
 Princess," without a word of warning caught up 
 the young lady in his arms, and placed her on 
 the back of the patient mule, remarking, as he 
 accomplished the feat, " No one can say now 
 that you have not helped with the churning." 
 
186 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 It would be difficult to say whether Millicent 
 or the mule felt the greater surprise ; they were 
 both taken unawares ; but the quadruped was the 
 first to recover himself, and resumed his weary 
 task of plodding round in the monotonous circle. 
 Millicent, clinging closely to the creature, cried 
 loudly to be relieved from her uncomfortable 
 position ; but Hal, fearing her wrath, had disap 
 peared into the interior of the dairy, leaving to 
 Galbraith the pleasure of assisting the young 
 woman in dismounting. Pedro, who had been 
 an amused spectator of the scene, now an 
 nounced that the churning was completed, and 
 that they should soon see the washing of the 
 butter, if it pleased them to wait. The big 
 golden fragments were collected from the sea of 
 buttermilk, and finally massed together on a 
 wide table. There it was worked by Pedro, who 
 tossed the fragrant mass from side to side, press 
 ing out the remaining deposits of the milk with 
 a heavy wooden wand. He moulded the butter 
 into fantastic forms, prettiest of which was a 
 huge bell-shaped flower like a giant trumpet 
 blossom. It struck Millicent that here was a 
 delightful material for modelling ; and taking 
 up a piece of butter and one of the dairy tools, 
 she forthwith produced a bas-relief portrait of 
 Galbraith, which would have done credit to the 
 sculptress of the sleeping lolanthe. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 187 
 
 " There are two classes of hands, those which 
 are skilful and those which are clumsy ; of all 
 other divisions of humanity this is the most im 
 portant. You, Miss Almsford, are so happy as 
 to belong to the skilful half, or rather quarter, of 
 humanity, for men are all clumsy. I see that 
 you can do all things artistic as well as useful 
 with your fingers." 
 
 " I am afraid I have never tried to do much 
 that was useful," said the girl half ruefully. " Bar 
 bara, now, can do all sorts of things. But I am 
 tired of comparing myself with her ; I always 
 suffer by the process ; " this with a rather vicious 
 little stroke at the butter-model, which she was 
 now finishing into a medallion, with a pattern of 
 scroll-work for a border. 
 
 "Let me judge between yourself and Miss 
 Barbara. I know that she can touch the ivory 
 keys with grace, and can also make wonderful 
 peach preserves. On the other hand, you model 
 in butter and and well, what else can those 
 small hands accomplish of art or industry ? " 
 
 " They can draw a little as well as model ; they 
 can trim bonnets, yes, really quite well ; they 
 are not unfamiliar with the key-boards of piano 
 and organ ; and, best of all, I had really forgot 
 ten to enumerate this accomplishment, they 
 can move tables and chairs ; they can draw pain 
 from your head ; they can put you into a trance, 
 they are, in fact, magnetic hands." 
 
1 88 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 " It seems, then, that you are a Spiritualist." 
 
 " Far from it ; by what power I do the few 
 things which form the repertoire of my manifes 
 tations, as the mediums call them, I do not know 
 any more than you." 
 
 " Will you give me a stance f " 
 
 " Indeed ; no." 
 
 "And because " 
 
 " Because it tires me, and I am rather afraid 
 of my own power. Some one once compared me 
 to a child who had got hold of an electric bat 
 tery which he did not understand, and with 
 which he unwittingly produced inexplicable phe 
 nomena, not devoid of danger to himself." 
 
 " You are really in earnest then, and believe 
 in these manifestations?" 
 
 " Perfectly so ; and I am rather cowardly about 
 exploring them to their source, as I have seen so 
 many strong minds unhinged by study of this 
 subject. I certainly object to the vulgar theory, 
 that the spirits of those who have gone before 
 us have nothing better to do than to tip tables 
 and dip their hands in pails of paraffine which 
 accommodating mediums prepare for them." 
 
 " You do not believe in mediums, then ? " 
 
 " I believe no manifestation to be genuine 
 which comes from a professional medium. That 
 they often have real power, I do not doubt ; but 
 so soon as it is a question of earning their living, 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 189 
 
 they must inevitably fall back upon fraud. But 
 we are growing quite serious about this subject 
 which I never like to talk of for fear of being 
 misunderstood." 
 
 "But I am really interested in what you say " 
 
 " Never mind ; here is your portrait, which is 
 not flattered, I frankly confess ; but is it a little 
 like you ? " 
 
 " If I know my face at all, it is wonderfully 
 good. Would that you had deigned to model it 
 in a less perishable material ! " 
 
 "Oh, no ! this is infinitely better, it is so much 
 more appropriate 
 
 "Thanks for the compliment ; but why, if I 
 may ask, should you consider butter to be par 
 ticularly suitable to me ? " 
 
 " Not to you personally, but to humanity. Is 
 it not stupid to carve bronze fac-similes of that 
 which is as perishable as the grass ? " 
 
 " But had it not been for this stupidity, how 
 should we know the features of Caesar ? " 
 
 "And would it greatly matter ?" 
 
 " I think so ; but a young lady who so cruelly 
 assures me that butter is the only material in 
 which my humble features deserve to be repro 
 duced " 
 
 Millicent interrupted the speaker by her pleas 
 ant laugh, with its sound of falling waters, and 
 thanking Pedro for what he had shown her, led 
 
190 SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 
 
 the way from the dairy. She refused to speak 
 further on the subject during the day-time, but 
 as they sat together on the piazza in the twi 
 light, Galbraith referred to it again ; and, after 
 much persuasion, Millicent seated herself at a 
 table, round which the company grouped them 
 selves, placing their hands lightly on its surface. 
 Barbara, who was seated next to Millicent, their 
 hands touching one another, seemed strangely 
 affected, after they had been sitting for some 
 time in silence. She manifested unmistakable 
 signs of sleepiness, and finally, with a long 
 sigh, her eyes closed and her head fell upon Mil- 
 licent s shoulder. With a little frightened cry, 
 Millicent quickly lifted her, and making several 
 passes over her head called Hal to come and 
 support his sister. In a moment Barbara re 
 covered herself, and showed no more symptoms 
 of sleep. She laughed heartily, and said that a 
 peculiar sensation in her elbows had preceded 
 her momentary unconsciousness. Galbraith ap 
 plauded the little episode, which he assured Mil 
 licent was very well acted by both participants. 
 The girl turned her eyes, deep and burning, full 
 upon him, half in anger, and said, 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Galbraith, we will see if you 
 can act a part as well as Barbara. Lay your 
 hand in mine so." 
 
 The young man smiled, and did as he was bid, 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. IQI 
 
 with a courteous bow, as if deprecating the 
 power in which he did not believe ; and for a 
 space of time they stood looking each other full 
 in the face. Then Millicent s slight form seemed 
 to vibrate, and from her eyes a light flashed into 
 the man s dark orbs, her cheek flushed, and from 
 every nerve in her body an electric flash seemed 
 to emanate, concentrating into a broad current 
 at the shoulder, and slipping through the round 
 white arm to the very finger-tips. Galbraith s 
 face paled as hers flushed ; a stinging sensation 
 half painful, half agreeable, made him wince ; and 
 when in a few moments Millicent withdrew her 
 hand, he remained standing motionless, white 
 to the lips, with dim, dreaming eyes, and slow- 
 beating heart. 
 
 " Speak," said the magnetizer, " tell me what 
 is in your mind ? " 
 
 " There is nothing," answered the man, in a 
 low, monotonous voice. 
 
 " Now speak, and tell me what you see." 
 
 " I see a man on horseback ; the horse is 
 running away. Now he gallops, and the rider 
 loses control of him ; they disappear in a cloud 
 of dust, and I see nothing. Now they return ; 
 the horse is going quietly, and the rider looks 
 towards a carriage in which sits a lady ; it is 
 Millicent. He enters the carriage ; she is weep 
 ing, and he touches " he paused. 
 
IQ2 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 Millicent s cheek had grown crimson. She said 
 in a low tone, 
 
 " Why do you not continue ? " 
 
 " Because you will not let me." 
 
 At this moment a light step sounded on the 
 piazza. Millicent turned her head and saw 
 Graham approaching her. She stepped quickly 
 towards him, forgetting Galbraith, the company, 
 everything and everybody, save that her lover 
 had come to her. As she turned from him, Gal 
 braith reeled suddenly, and would have fallen 
 had not Hal steadied him to a seat. 
 
 " I fear I am interrupting you," said the artist, 
 in a cool voice, betraying some annoyance. 
 
 " Indeed, no," cried the girl, " we were only 
 trying the stupid old game of willing people ; I 
 have succeeded in magnetizing Mr. Galbraith 
 here." 
 
 By this time the young lawyer had recovered 
 himself, though he looked strangely pale and 
 agitated. He was somewhat overcome by what 
 had gone before, and was not a little troubled by 
 the power which the tall, straight girl had exer 
 cised over him. He rebelled against it, and yet 
 the sensation of giving up his volition, and liv 
 ing for the time only by her will and her thought 
 had not been unmixed with a keen pleasure. If 
 no one had witnessed the affair, above all, if 
 Graham had not seen it, he would not have 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 193 
 
 greatly cared ; but though he had no recollection 
 of what he had seen and described in Millicent s 
 mind, that evening s experience deepened the 
 vague antipathy he had always felt towards the 
 artist, into a positive dislike. 
 
 Later, as they walked together alone, Graham 
 asked Millicent if she would magnetize him, to 
 which she replied in the negative. 
 
 "Do you think that you could succeed ?" 
 
 "I cannot tell ; but if I could, I should not be 
 willing to do so." 
 
 " And yet you threw a spell over that fellow 
 Galbraith ? " 
 
 " Dear, there is a difference ; cannot you see ? " 
 
 " No ; upon my soul I can t." 
 
 " I do not want to command even your thought 
 for an instant ; you must think of me to please 
 yourself, not because I will it." 
 
 "What a strange girl you are, Millicent ! Do 
 you really love me so very much ? " 
 
 " I love you better than my own soul." 
 
 " A dangerous thing, child ; do not ever say 
 that to me again." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " It shocks me ; I cannot tell you why." 
 
 For answer, she gave him a rose from her 
 breast with a childish gesture, as if asking for 
 giveness. There was an awkwardness, born of 
 an unwonted shyness, in the movement which 
 13 
 
IQ4 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 was more attractive to the artist than the most 
 graceful attitude he had ever seen her assume. 
 He caught the hand with the rose and crushed 
 them both in his two strong palms, as if to hurt 
 her. She smiled, though her wrist reddened 
 from the sudden pressure. It is more sweet to 
 bear pain from those we love, than to receive 
 kindness from a hand which is not dear. 
 
 As Graham was taking his leave, he asked 
 Millicent for two books which she had prom 
 ised to lend him. Barbara had joined them, and 
 offered to fetch them for him. 
 
 "Thank you, Barbara, but I know just where 
 they are." 
 
 " Is it not the Petrarch and your manuscript 
 translation of Dante that Mr. Graham wants ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You left them on your table. I saw them 
 when I went up to shut the blinds. You had 
 better let me go, you are so tired." 
 
 " Yes, let Miss Deering get them for you ; 
 you are quite worn out with your magnetizing." 
 He wanted to say one last good-night to her. 
 
 His lightest wish was her law; she nodded 
 gratefully to Barbara, who disappeared, while 
 Graham told her once more how lovely she was 
 that night. When Miss Deering came back, 
 Graham had already mounted his horse and 
 Millicent was feeding the animal with sugar. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 195 
 
 " You are sure you have the right books, 
 Barbara ? " 
 
 " Quite sure ; I know them perfectly." 
 " Many thanks to you both, and good-night." 
 Millicent was in a wakeful mood that night. 
 She went to the piano and played for an hour or 
 two, as she only played when alone. Her hands 
 drifted dreamily over the key-board, drawing out 
 fantastic melodies, themes which were com 
 posed and forgotten within the hour. In an 
 obscure corner of the room stood a head of 
 Beethoven. Her eyes were fixed on the face of 
 the master while she played, and as the notes 
 grew strong and sweet she smiled ; when the 
 harmony changed to a tender minor strain, the 
 smile faded from her face. The music ex 
 pressed the thoughts which drifted through her 
 mind. At first she played the quick movement 
 of a march, through which rang out the meas 
 ured beat of a horse s hoofs ; then the strain 
 changed to a pensive nocturne suggestive of the 
 forest at night. A tender slumber-song fol 
 lowed, in which her voice took up the melody, 
 chanting loving words in the language of Tus 
 cany. The light, delicate thread of harmony 
 now broadened into a full consonance of sound, 
 the chords following each other tumultuously, as 
 if in translating one supreme moment of leave- 
 taking. As she was striking the closing strains 
 
1^6 SAN ROSARLO RANCH. 
 
 of this emotional improvisation, her powerful 
 voice trembling with a passionate addio, the 
 sweet symphony of sounds was interrupted by 
 a crashing discord. She sprang from the piano 
 startled and trembling, to find that a heavy vase 
 of flowers had fallen on the key-board from the 
 shelf above the piano. The metal jar was unin 
 jured, but about her feet were scattered the 
 petals of a bunch of white roses which Graham 
 had plucked for her that night. So rudely 
 was her rhapsody interrupted ! She closed the 
 piano, and, after restlessly wandering through 
 the silent house, went to her own room, where 
 she sat looking out of her window at the moon 
 lit hills. She could not sleep, she was full of 
 unrest. 
 
 The gray morning light was filtering into Bar 
 bara Deering s room when she was awakened by 
 a light touch on the shoulder. Millicent stood 
 before her, gray as the twilight ; she held in her 
 hand a small parchment book. 
 
 " Barbara, what books did you give Mr. 
 Graham ? " 
 
 " The Petrarch and your Dante. What is the 
 matter, Millicent ? Have n t you been in bed ? " 
 
 "No, I could not sleep. Here is the little 
 Dante ; where did you find the book you mis 
 took for it ? " 
 
 Barbara sat up and rubbed her eyes confusedly. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 197 
 
 " Why, it was not where I had last see.n it. I 
 found it somewhere, in your jewel-box, I think. 
 I am so sorry I made a mistake ; t was just like 
 the Dante. Does it matter much ? " 
 
 " I only wanted to know, Barbara; go to sleep 
 again." 
 
 She spoke in a low, constrained voice, and 
 glided quietly from the room. Barbara, only 
 half awake, gave a sigh, and settling her flaxen 
 head among the pillows, again fell asleep and 
 dreamed that she had stabbed Millicent with a 
 knife, and that Graham was trying to stanch 
 the wound with the leaves of a little parchment 
 book. 
 
 When Graham arrived at his lonely tower, 
 after making his horse comfortable for the night, 
 he looked into French John s cabin to see 
 whether all was well with the old fellow. The 
 door was fast, and looking through the small 
 window, the young man saw the wood-cutter 
 lying on his hard couch, his gun beside him, his 
 dog curled up at his feet. The creature growled 
 at the sound of Graham s footsteps, but catching 
 sight of a familiar face through the window, he 
 gave a comfortable yawp, wagged his tail, and 
 relapsed into slumber. The artist never slept 
 without paying this last visit to his humble friend. 
 He stumbled up the steep tower stairs, and 
 after fumbling with the clumsy lock, the door 
 
198 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 swung open and admitted him to his one room. 
 After groping about in the dark for a mo 
 ment he struck a light, and out of the embers 
 on the hearth blew a little flame. He looked 
 about the small room and laughed ; this was a 
 home, indeed, to which to bring a bride ! It 
 sufficed for him ; and he asked for nothing more 
 commodious or luxurious than this old tower 
 in the corner of the ruined church, with its 
 grand north light and easy chair, its open fire 
 and pallet-bed. 
 
 If he married, when he married, he cor 
 rected himself, for he surely intended to marry 
 Millicent, there would have to be great changes 
 in his life. He would be obliged to abandon 
 his old tower, and live in a smug new house 
 somewhere, with fuss and worry about servants, 
 who would not please him half so well as did the 
 old wood-cutter John. His work, ah, how that 
 would suffer ! no more of the pleasant consci 
 entious labor, the slow painting and study of 
 that one supreme moment of the day when the 
 golden copse was made tender by the light of 
 the setting sun. He must hie him to the city 
 and pass his life in painting fat, over-fed ma 
 trons in lace and diamonds, or expressionless 
 minxes with costumes indicative of youth and 
 ignorance. He would, perhaps, relapse into a 
 mere mechanical portrait-painter, with as much 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. IQ9 
 
 imagination as a photographer ; and his pictures 
 would be ordered as theirs are, with the simple 
 difference that the artist produces but one copy, 
 while the photographer, with equal trouble, makes 
 a dozen or ten dozen, or a single picture. He 
 sighed aloud, and for consolation lit his pipe. 
 He caught sight of the flower which had bloomed 
 on a fair bosom and was now fastened to his 
 coat, somewhat crushed but still fragrant. He 
 carefully unpinned the rose and placed it in a 
 small vase of water, and then proceeded to ex 
 amine the books which Millicent had given 
 him. Graham liked old books, and was de 
 lighted with the yellowed parchment copy of 
 Petrarch. An inscription on the cover showed 
 that it had once belonged to a monastery. On 
 the fly-leaf was a slight sketch of a young monk s 
 head seen in profile. It was a beautiful, clear- 
 cut face, with delicate outlines and an earnest 
 expression ; beneath it was written, " Fra Anto 
 nio, Aetat 22." 
 
 " So this was brother Antonio, and he lived 
 and died probably in the peaceful quiet of a 
 Roman monastery. I wonder if he painted 
 too, or whether he wrote hymns to all the 
 pretty female saints in the calendar. Brother 
 Antonio must have lived and died without a 
 helpmeet. I fancy he did none the worse work 
 for that." 
 
200 SAN ROSATdO RANCH. 
 
 The thought struck him as ungrateful, and, as 
 if to make amends for it, he took up the other little 
 volume. It was a thin book bound in white vel 
 lum, with Millicent s name in illuminated text 
 upon its cover, The covers of this small tome 
 were closed with a gold clasp, which he finally 
 succeeded in opening. It proved to be a diary 
 in manuscript ; he recognized the clear, delicate 
 handwriting of the girl he loved. Yes, he loved 
 her tenderly ; why else should he press the sense 
 less pages close to his lips, kissing the fair paper 
 over which her fairer hand had passed ? He drew 
 his lamp nearer to him and prepared to read the 
 record. It was written in Italian, and the first 
 page bore a date five years back. He was some 
 what puzzled, but supposed he had misunder 
 stood what she had told him of the book. She 
 could have been but a child then ; she was now 
 only just past her majority. How pretty she 
 must have been at sixteen, before she had grown 
 to the perfect womanhood which now became 
 her so well ! He fancied her in all the shyness 
 and awkwardness of young maidenhood, with 
 childhood reluctantly slipping from her, and girl 
 hood anxiously leading her forward. Again he 
 kissed the book, but reverently this time, and 
 with a deep sigh as if it had been a holy one. 
 If he could have known her then, before he had 
 grown to feel so old, before she had learned that 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 2OI 
 
 she was fair and young, how much easier it 
 would have been for both of them. As he sat 
 with unseeing eyes fixed on the faintly traced 
 characters, beholding in fancy the little Millicent 
 of half-grown figure and cool, loveless eyes stoop 
 ing over the book, putting her white, childish 
 thoughts into these words, it seemed to him that 
 he heard a faint sound, a sound that was 
 deeper than the wind stirring the tops of the 
 redwoods ; a sound that made him shiver and 
 turn the bright flame of the lamp a little higher. 
 It was like a noise heard dimly in a dream, an 
 echo of a woman s sob ringing faint and muffled 
 through a space of years, was it, or of distance ? 
 It had grown quite cold ; and he heaped an arm 
 ful of brushwood on the dying fire, which soon 
 shot up the little chimney with a cheery roar, 
 and threw its bright light to the farthest corner 
 of the room, touching the picture on the easel, 
 bringing out the ugly little netshukes from their 
 shadowy corner, and shining on the polished 
 steel of the gun standing near the maulstick and 
 fishing-rod. 
 
 It must have been the wind, that faint sound 
 which had seemed to find an echo in the beating 
 of his heart. He drew aside the heavy window- 
 curtains. Outside in the cool moonlight he saw 
 the arms of the great trees swaying to and fro ; 
 below these the desolate ruins of the old church : 
 
202 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 all was quiet and deserted. There was the dis 
 mantled altar, it was surely a trick of the 
 moonlight and the trees, that shadowy semblance 
 of a woman kneeling out there in the night, with 
 wild hair, and arms cast about the broken cross, 
 overturned this half century ? Yes, it was a 
 shadow surely ; for a cloud passed before the 
 silver face of the half-moon, and when it had 
 floated by, the shadow of a female figure had 
 vanished. He dropped the curtain and turned 
 with a sigh of relief from the mysterious half- 
 light, with its revelations of deserted chapels and 
 uncared-for altars, its shattered cross and phan 
 tom penitent. Inside his small domicile was 
 warmth and light ; and to drive away the cold, 
 nervous feeling which had crept about him like 
 an invisible network, he again took up the little 
 parchment journal. Again he seated himself, 
 and turned the first leaf. As he read he smiled, 
 and occasionally turned over the sheets to see 
 how many more pages remained to be perused. 
 Presently the smile faded from his face ; and the 
 flames on the hearth burnt low and finally died, 
 choked by the gray ashes. And still Graham 
 turned the pages of the little journal with cold 
 fingers. The lamp grew dim, and the moon 
 paled and sank beneath the horizon ; the chill 
 morning twilight crept betwixt the hangings, 
 and showed him sitting cold and motionless to 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 203 
 
 the slow-coming dawn. The last page of the 
 journal had been turned long since ; but he still 
 held the book open, his eyes fixed on the final 
 words. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 " Dearer than woman s love 
 Is yonder sunset fading in the sky ! " 
 
 AFTER that night s vigil, Graham took his gun, 
 and packing a blanket and a few camping uten 
 sils in his saddle-bag, mounted his horse and 
 rode away toward a hunting-lodge some twenty 
 miles distant, where he sometimes passed the 
 night. His way led through the woods, where 
 the bracing air, the light footsteps of the invisi 
 ble animals, the fluttering of the birds in the 
 trees, served to turn his mind from the painful 
 thoughts of the past night. He had a part in 
 this woodland life, and owned a kinship to the 
 four-footed and feathered creatures who made 
 the forest their home. His spirit was lifted to 
 that close and intimate communion with Nature 
 which is only possible to man when unfettered 
 by human companionship. The cool, spicy air 
 was sweeter than the kiss of maiden ; the leafage 
 of the restless trees more tender than that of the 
 gold-bronze hair he had so often praised. It 
 seemed to him that the only real thing in all the 
 fair sunny earth was himself; that the people 
 
SAN EOSAEIO RANCH. 205 
 
 whom he had known were but pictures seen in 
 a dream. He lived, and breathed the scent of 
 the pine-trees ; he lived, and heard the cry of the 
 blue-jays in their branches ; he lived, and his 
 eyes were filled with the glorious beauty of his 
 world, all his, with nothing to come between 
 him and the fragrant Mother Earth. All that 
 day he rode and walked through the tangled 
 paths and trackless thickets, holding communion 
 with sky and earth, content to live without 
 retrospection or anticipation. Just before sun 
 set he shot a brace of quail for his supper ; and 
 when dark shadows had crept through the 
 wooded places he built a fire on the hearth 
 of the little cabin where he proposed spending 
 the night. It was a rude lodge, a trifle less 
 comfortable than French John s house, with 
 wooden bunks around the walls, and trunks of 
 trees roughly fashioned into seats. Under a 
 certain board in the floor, known to him, was a 
 hiding-place wherein were stored half a dozen 
 tallow candles, with a bottle to serve as candle 
 stick, a pack of cards, an iron pot and spoon, 
 a rusty jack-knife with a corkscrew, and, last 
 of all, a flask of brandy, which it was a matter of 
 honor always to leave half full. The shed had 
 been built by himself and Henry Deering, and 
 was occasionally used by them and their friends 
 when on hunting expeditions. As there were 
 
206 &AN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 no means of securely fastening so slight a 
 building, there was neither lock nor bar to door 
 or window. Over the fireplace was tacked a 
 notice written in Deering s bold hand, which 
 read as follows : 
 
 " Gentlemen are requested to put out the fire 
 and latch the door before leaving this shanty. 
 Water to be found three rods beyond this spot 
 to the north." 
 
 Graham found the candles, which he finally 
 succeeded in lighting ; and after making a meal 
 of hard-tack and roasted quail, he filled his pipe 
 and sat down on one of the bunks, tired out by 
 his long day s ride. The painful thoughts which 
 he had banished during the hours of daylight 
 now took possession of him ; and the brow, which 
 had been calm all day, showed the three deep 
 dints which trouble more than time had furrowed 
 upon its noble expanse. He was alone again ! 
 no more friendly sounds and sights to divert his 
 mind and fill his eyes with beauty. Only his 
 sad thoughts and the one great problem which 
 was set before him to solve. His changeful, mel 
 ancholy eyes were fixed vacantly on the floor. 
 They saw nothing but the shadowy vision of the 
 night, the figure of a woman amidst the broken 
 altars of the old Mission church. The words 
 which he had read in the little journal came 
 thronging back to him in riotous haste, those 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 207 
 
 pitiful words of passionate grief traced by the 
 slender white fingers, which so lately had lin 
 gered tremblingly in his own strong brown 
 hands. Could he forgive her ? Poor child, poor 
 child ! What was he, that he had a right to with 
 hold his forgiveness for an instant ? Let their 
 lives be laid side by side, with every act and 
 every thought bared to his view, and how did 
 his life s record compare with hers ? 
 
 Ah, if she had but told him the story, and 
 not left it to accident to reveal the secret ! She 
 had deceived him ! And the angry blood surged 
 from his heart to his brow and settled there dully 
 red. The stern lines of his face grew harder 
 than the mask of a stone statue, and the expres 
 sion of the chiselled mouth was terribly relentless. 
 He would never see her again, never, never ! 
 What he had felt for her was not that highest 
 passion which melts heart and soul and body in 
 one pure flame ; for, without a perfect faith, such 
 love is not. So he reasoned, pity and anger 
 sweepingacross his soul ; and then, forgetting both 
 in a great pain, he cried, stretching out his arms, 
 "Millicent, Millicent, come to me ! " At last the 
 wearied muscles and tired brain and heart slowly, 
 half-consciously yielded to a warm, close-fold 
 ing influence which straightened out the lines 
 on the brow, loosened the tight-drawn muscles, 
 stole the fire from the deep eyes and the anger 
 
208 SAN EOSAR10 EANCH. 
 
 from the curved mouth. The grand head, with 
 its thousand schemes and theories, fell back upon 
 the couch ; the skilful hand, with its nervous, deli 
 cate fingers, relaxed ; a long, shivering sigh shook 
 the body ; and, with the fire-light shining upon 
 his stern beauty, Graham slept. The fire burned 
 low upon the hearth and finally flickered out, 
 leaving a bed of glowing ashes. The quiet of 
 the night was broken by the long shrill wail of 
 the coyote, but Graham stirred not. A light foot 
 step sounded near the cabin, and a scratching 
 noise might have been heard as the head of a 
 great bear was raised to the level of the window. 
 The sleeper s breath never quickened ; and Bruin, 
 after a long look and a vain attempt to push the 
 door open, gave a growl and trotted off through 
 the underbrush toward his own cosey cave under 
 the rocky hillside near by. A young owlet, fly 
 ing aimlessly through the night, flapped itself 
 through an opening in the roof intended to let 
 out the smoke ; and finding it difficult to escape 
 by the place where it had entered, settled it 
 self comfortably near the sleeper, standing on 
 one foot, and meditatively regarding the strange 
 creature on the bed. To all these noises Gra 
 ham was deaf; but when the clatter of a horse s 
 hoofs broke the silence, that strange half-con 
 sciousness which gives warning of an unaccus 
 tomed sound called his slumbering senses to 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 2 OQ 
 
 awaken. In a moment he was perfectly con 
 scious, and, after feeling for his pistol, lay quietly 
 down again upon the hard couch. The rider 
 might not pause at the shanty, and as he was in 
 no mood for company, he would give no sign of 
 his presence there until it was necessary. The 
 hope was a vain one ; he heard the rider call to his 
 horse with an oath to stop. After a slight pause, 
 the door, which he had secured with a wooden 
 bar, was roughly shaken. The new-comer, find 
 ing the portal fast, now showed himself at the 
 little window and peered into the room. Seeing 
 a recumbent figure, he cried out, 
 
 " Who the is in this shanty ? " 
 
 " John Graham ; and who is outside ? " 
 After a pause the voice answered, 
 " A man as wants a night s rest bad, and has 
 got as good a right to it as anybody." 
 
 " Put up your shooting-irons, Horton, and I 
 will open the door." 
 
 First striking a match and lighting his candle, 
 Graham unfastened the bar, and the light door 
 swung wide. The figure out in the darkness 
 peered doubtfully into the room. 
 
 " Don t be afraid ; I am alone," said the artist 
 coolly, seating himself upon his bunk, and pro 
 ceeding to fill his pipe. The man came cau 
 tiously into the cabin, looking about him once 
 more to make sure that Graham had spoken the 
 
2io SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 truth. He was a rough-looking fellow, with a 
 sinister expression of countenance, in great part 
 owing to the deep scar which seamed his face 
 from temple to chin. 
 
 The stranger seemed a good deal disconcerted 
 at finding the artist ensconced in the lodge. 
 
 " Did n t expect to find anybody least of all 
 you in this shanty." 
 
 " I do not often occupy it ; though I built it 
 myself." 
 
 " Is that so ? You ain t got a mouthful of 
 bread as yer d let a man have as has fasted 
 since sunrise ? " 
 
 Graham s answer was to hand him a couple 
 of rounds of hard-tack, which he quickly de 
 voured ; and to pass his flask, filled with the 
 rough, strong wine from the vineyards of Los 
 Angeles. The fellow poured half its contents 
 down his throat at one draught, wiping his mouth 
 upon the sleeve of his rough jacket. Then, 
 with a nod of acknowledgment, he handed back 
 the flask with a regretful sigh, and seating him 
 self on the floor by the fireplace, warmed his 
 feet in the still hot ashes. 
 
 " You never came for those last sittings, Hor- 
 ton ; my picture is not finished yet." 
 
 " You see, I got another job more to my taste 
 than posturinV 
 
 " Are you working in the neighborhood ? " 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 2 ll 
 
 " No ; I am on my way to the Swindawl 
 mines. Do you live in these yer parts ? " 
 
 " Yes. You know the old church ? I live in 
 the tower. * 
 
 " Rum place, that ; passed it to-day." 
 
 " If you want to earn a little money to pay 
 your travelling expenses, I should like to finish 
 that picture." 
 
 The man did not answer, but stretched his 
 great limbs and yawned. 
 
 " It s blasted cold for the season." 
 
 Graham nodded assent, blowing a great cloud 
 of tobacco-smoke from his lips, and composing 
 in his mind, meanwhile, a picture in which this 
 wild-looking fellow, with his rough hair and 
 coarse, strong outlines, formed the central figure. 
 He was of a low type of humanity, with a nar 
 row forehead and large, heavy features ; his face 
 was tanned where the skin was visible, the heavy 
 beard growing high up on the cheeks, leaving 
 little uncovered surface. His clothes were some 
 what dilapidated, but his wide sombrero hat and 
 high boots were strong and whole. His figure 
 was superbly developed, and Herculean in type. 
 As he sat crouching on the floor, hugging his 
 knees, his back braced against the wall behind 
 him, he nodded wearily, and, after- various abor 
 tive attempts at conversation, finally fell into 
 a sound sleep, his head resting against the wall 
 
212 SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 
 
 behind him. Graham took a charred brand from 
 the hearth, and with this rough tool drew, on a 
 smooth board in the side of the cabin, a sketch 
 of the man before him. As he looked narrowly 
 at his model^ he perceived that his face was dis 
 figured by some recent scratches from which 
 the blood was still unwashed. They were got 
 while riding through a thorny thicket, the artist 
 fancied, and thought no more about them, touch 
 ing in the details of the desolate background. 
 The man s expression was hardly human in his 
 sleep, the fierce animal face was so stupid and 
 brutish. It is wonderful how character is ex 
 pressed in a sleeping countenance. The studied 
 or unconscious control which we hold over our 
 features when awake is overthrown in slumber, 
 and the real nature is seen with no polite re 
 straint or deceitful mask. A beautiful woman is 
 beautiful no longer while sleeping, if she have a 
 bad heart. It is a terrible thing to look upon 
 one who is dear to us in sleep. Even when the 
 countenance shadows forth holy dreams, it is 
 awful to watch its still composure, so like death, 
 and to feel that impassable distance between the 
 unfettered soul and our own earth-bound spirit, 
 that distance which, but for the briefest spaces, 
 is never bridged over in our whole lives, though 
 they flow quietly side by side through peaceful 
 days and happy nights. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 213 
 
 Though the man had closed his eyes in the 
 knowledge that it was entirely safe for him to 
 sleep in Graham s presence, his slumber was not 
 an easy one. He started often and groaned 
 more than once ; while his hand nervously made 
 the movement of striking with a weapon at some 
 unseen foe. The artist watched him for some 
 minutes. 
 
 " I should like to have another day s work on 
 that rascal s torso," he said at last ; " I suppose 
 if I paid him enough he would come to the 
 tower." 
 
 As he spoke he tore a leaf from his note 
 book, and writing a few lines upon it placed it 
 in the fellow s nerveless hands, lest he should 
 steal away before morning. Then he threw 
 himself back and slept again long and heavily. 
 When he awoke it was broad daylight in the 
 cabin of which he found himself the sole occu 
 pant. At first he wondered if he had dreamed 
 that his lodging had been shared by a rough 
 companion ; but no, there was the sketch upon 
 the wall of the sleeping figure crouching by the 
 fireplace. Besides, his visitor had left a trace 
 of his presence. Near the spot where he had 
 sat lay a handkerchief. The artist carelessly 
 picked up the square of white linen, somewhat 
 surprised to find that it was of the finest quality. 
 A red stain on one corner induced him to ex- 
 
214 
 
 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 amine it more carefully. It was neatly stitched 
 with an odd pattern which was not unfamiliar to 
 him, and in one corner was an embroidered 
 monogram of an intricate form. The letters 
 were cunningly twisted together, and it took him 
 several minutes to distinguish them. Two L s, 
 an I, a T, an E, an N, and a C, all enclosed in a 
 large M. Nobody in the world could have so 
 many initials, not even a Spanish grandee. It 
 must be a name, probably one beginning with 
 M, as that was the most prominent letter in the 
 chiffre. He studied it for an instant, and sud 
 denly cried aloud that name which had become 
 so dear to him, " Millicent ! " 
 
 What could it mean ? Millicent s handker 
 chief in the possession of that ruffianly fellow, 
 the dark crimson stain of blood marring its 
 whiteness? What could have befallen her? He 
 dared not even think of what this portended ; 
 and thrusting it into his breast, he ran to the 
 door and looked all about him. Silence every 
 where ; no movement in the copse before the 
 door; no .trace of his late visitor save the broken 
 branch of a buckeye near which his horse had 
 been tethered. 
 
 Graham was a brave man, with nerves at once 
 sensitive and strong ; but the picture which rose 
 before his eyes unmanned him for the moment 
 completely. He leaned against the door-post 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 21$ 
 
 quaking with terror, too much confused to know 
 what next to do. He could not think ; he only 
 saw that villanous face before him in its heavy 
 sleep, that clinching of the hand, that motion as 
 of stabbing with a knife. In the breast of 
 what victim had that weapon been buried ? At 
 the recollection of what crime had he groaned 
 aloud ? 
 
 The neighing of his horse in the thicket near 
 by roused him from the benumbing horror which 
 had bound him like a trance. He mounted the 
 fiery animal, and struck him fiercely with his 
 spur. The mustang darted forward at a break 
 neck speed, and with flying hoofs carried his 
 rider over the steep trail which led from the 
 cabin to the house of the San Rosario Ranch. 
 It was a rude road, sometimes merely indicated 
 by signs on the trees, at other places worn by 
 the feet of cattle ; it led through dry river- 
 courses and down precipitous planes, through 
 tangled brakes and over desolate, blackened 
 rpaces where fire had passed and blasted the 
 tiees, leaving them dead and gray, with naked 
 branches and bare roots. No vegetation was 
 here ; only black, dry soil. It was a dangerous 
 journey, none too safe at any time ; but neither 
 rider nor steed hesitated at sharp turns or steep 
 descents ; and the pace slackened not, though the 
 horse foamed at the mouth and the man s face 
 
2l6 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 and hands were cut to bleeding by the low- 
 hanging branches of the thorn-tree. Twenty- 
 five miles, at the lowest rating, lay between the 
 cabin and the house. How well Graham knew 
 the way ! How often he had passed over it with 
 Hal and O Neil ! a jolly trio of sportsmen. The 
 very day before he had loitered along the same 
 route, taking the whole day to accomplish the 
 distance, walking sometimes with his horse fol 
 lowing him, and never travelling at a greater 
 speed than an easy trot. How different his 
 thoughts had been then, when he had fancied 
 that he had found a closer companionship than 
 that of a loving woman s heart. Now he saw 
 not the trees nor the wood creatures, only 
 that one villanous face, with its freshly bleeding 
 wounds, with its old scar red and ugly. 
 
 Five miles accomplished : here is the great 
 oak-tree which the lightning had struck half a 
 century ago; but twenty miles now lie before him. 
 Another landmark is passed, the iron spring, 
 with its red mouth framed in green ferns, where 
 he had once journeyed to bring her a flask of 
 the strengthening water. On and on they fly, 
 startling the birds in the thickets and the foxes 
 in their coverts, racing with the lazy breeze which 
 puffs slowly along and is soon left behind by the 
 horse s speed. At the spring on the hillside, 
 where Millicent s hand had checked his shooting 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 
 
 of the deer, the rider draws rein and springs to 
 the ground ; while the gasping horse stands for 
 a brief breathing-space, drawing long, painful 
 breaths. Graham cools his heated brow in the 
 rocky basin, and gives his horse a mouthful of 
 the refreshing water. Then they start away 
 again towards the house where so many happy 
 hours of his life have been spent ; where he first 
 saw Millicent ! It is a terrible ride, and one 
 that the man never will forget to his dying day. 
 The anguish of doubt and fear, the awful pace at 
 which he rides, which makes every mile he ac 
 complishes seem like to be the last, will never 
 be forgotten by him in the quiet after-years. 
 Now but ten miles separate him from the vine- 
 clad house ; quickly are they accomplished ; and 
 in a space of time too short to be credited by 
 those towards whom he rides, he reaches the 
 high hill which looks down upon the valley. 
 The familiar look of the surroundings surprises 
 him. A blue feather of smoke curls about the 
 red chimney ; the trees in the orchard, the cattle 
 browsing on the hills, look just as he has seen 
 them a thousand times before ; nothing betokens 
 any unusual state of affairs within the quiet 
 house. The brave horse gathers himself to 
 gether for a last gallop ; and the stones of the 
 hillside fly from his hoofs as man and beast 
 thunder down the rocky path which loses itself 
 
218 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 in the wide farm-road at the edge of the orchard. 
 From this point he commands a view of Milli- 
 cent s window. He gives a low groan as he 
 looks up for some sign of life, the heavy blinds 
 are tightly closed. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
 The Lord s anointed temple, and stole thence 
 The life o the building." 
 
 THE breakfast table at the San Rosario Ranch 
 was usually a merry one ; but on the morning 
 after what Hal had called Millicent s " magnetic 
 exhibition," the usual good spirits were missing. 
 Millicent took her accustomed place at Deering s 
 side ; and Galbraith marked the extraordinary 
 change which she had suffered since she had 
 bade him good-night the evening before. Her 
 face had blanched to a whiteness which made 
 the ebon lines of eyebrows and lashes seem un 
 natural. Her mouth was pale and contracted, 
 and her expression of horrified anticipation re 
 minded him of the look in the eyes of a deer at 
 bay. What could have come to the girl ? he 
 asked himself in dismay; with a strange con 
 sciousness that whatever should befall her of 
 good or evil from that time forth would have to 
 him an interest beyond all else in the world. She 
 ate her breakfast mechanically, and answered 
 all that was said in which she could be supposed 
 
220 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 to have an interest. She laughed once, too, 
 at one of Hal s jokes ; but the sound was rough 
 and strained. Mrs. Deering and Barbara, occu 
 pied with some household complication, merely 
 noticed that Millicent seemed tired ; and Hal put 
 her odd look and manner down to the score of 
 her being in love, which in his eyes accounted for 
 every freak or unexplained symptom of hers. 
 
 It had been proposed that the day should be 
 spent out-of-doors, at a place which Millicent 
 had long wished to visit, the little island in the 
 river, below the deserted mill. Galbraith had re 
 mained to be of the party ; and his two friends 
 had promised to ride over from the camp and 
 join them at the appointed place. Just before 
 they started, old John arrived with a note to 
 Mrs. Deering from Graham, who wrote that he 
 should not be able to be of the party. Hal and 
 Millicent drove together, as they had done on 
 that day when Graham, in accordance with Cali 
 fornia etiquette, had stopped to kill the rattle 
 snakes. Old Sphinx was doing his best to keep 
 up with the mule team, when Millicent s sensi 
 tive ears detected the sound of horses hoofs be 
 hind them. Presently, through the thick cloud 
 of dust, she descried two horsemen riding at full 
 gallop towards them. The sunlight and the 
 veil of dust made it impossible to see what man 
 ner of men they were until Millicent observed 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 221 
 
 that each carried over his shoulder a long object, 
 which glittered in the sunlight. 
 
 " Have you brought your pistols ? " she asked. 
 
 "Yes, Princess, but they are in the wagon. 
 I expected till the last moment that Graham 
 would turn up to take you, and that I should 
 drive the team. Why do you ask ? There is no 
 danger of our being molested." 
 
 " Look at those men. Are not those gun bar 
 rels I see on their shoulders ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but they are probably peaceful hunters." 
 
 The young man spoke in a perfectly careless 
 tone, to reassure his companion ; but Millicent 
 noticed that he occasionally looked behind him 
 as the riders gained on them. Finally, as the 
 men drew near, Millicent saw the rider nearest 
 her shift the gun from his shoulder and rest it 
 across the saddle-bow, as if preparing to take aim. 
 Hal, who had seen the action, instantly called to 
 Millicent to catch the reins, and held up both his 
 hands. By this time the men were close upon 
 them, and the one who had shifted his weapon 
 called out in a rough voice, 
 
 " All right, boss ; we know you ain t got no 
 money, and we don t want your life to-day." 
 His companion laughed aloud, and striking 
 spurs to their horses, they galloped down the 
 high-road. Hal laughed as heartily as the sup 
 posed highwayman, saying, 
 
222 SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 " Well, that s a greaser s idea of a joke, I 
 suppose. Adventure number one has befallen 
 us with few bad consequences. I don t think 
 you were half as frightened as you were the 
 other day by the snakes." 
 
 " No, I fancy I was not. I should not much 
 mind being killed to-day." This with a little, 
 bitter laugh. 
 
 " And why ? Let us wait till after luncheon. 
 Barbara has put up a capital venison pasty, a 
 real English one, out of the Queen s own receipt 
 book." 
 
 " Well, we will wait for the pie, to please 
 you." 
 
 The drive was accomplished with the usual 
 desultory chit-chat, Hal doing rather more than 
 his share of the joking. As they passed the 
 little hovel, the wild children ran out, as they 
 had upon the day when they had visited the 
 camp in the woods ; and soon the gray bridge 
 and the little island were reached. The baskets 
 were unpacked and the luncheon spread upon the 
 grass by the time the guests arrived. Among 
 them were O Neil, Hartley, Ferrara, and Mrs. 
 Shallop, who had come over by the train ; with 
 a party of people from the village, in whom 
 Millicent had never taken much interest. Gal- 
 braith never left Millicent s side ; sparing her the 
 necessity of talking by keeping up an incessant 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 22$ 
 
 stream of conversation which she heard vaguely, 
 and of which she understood not one word. In 
 after days the import of all the young man said 
 came back to her ; and she remembered the 
 quaint Indian legends, the reminiscences of life 
 on the two edges of the continent, with which 
 Maurice Galbraith kept the others of the party 
 from her side. She realized what he was doing, 
 and knew that he only, in all the company, un 
 derstood and sympathized with her half-dazed 
 mood ; and for his efforts he received more than 
 one little smile, sadder than tears. 
 
 This is one of the stories which the lawyer 
 told her: 
 
 " In the old days, when Father Junipero and 
 his small band of priests and soldiers came into 
 the wilderness of California, with the cross up 
 lifted in one hand, the sword grasped in the 
 other, there lived on this island where we now 
 sit, a beautiful Indian maiden. Her name was a 
 very long one, and its meaning in our language 
 is the Smile of the Morning. She lived with 
 the old chief, her father, in a wigwam, where also 
 lived her sisters and brothers and various of her 
 cousins and distant relatives. The old chief had 
 many daughters, but the Smile of the Morning 
 was his favorite child ; and she it was who cooked 
 his food for him, when he did not eat it raw, and 
 brought him his bow and arrows when he started 
 
224 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 on a hunting party. The sisters of the favorite 
 daughter all found mates among the sons of the 
 tribe, but she lived alone with only the wild 
 bird in the madrone tree for her lover. Her sis 
 ters, each of whom carried a pappoose upon her 
 back, laughed at the Smile of the Morning, and 
 said that she would die without a husband ; but 
 the girl did not mind them. She was taller, by 
 a head, than any woman of the tribe ; she could 
 charm the wild birds, and draw the feathers from 
 their tails to make head-dresses for the old chief 
 and ornaments for herself; she could dance war- 
 dances like one of the braves, only with more 
 grace ; and when she told the stories which the 
 fishes in the river whispered to her, the old chief 
 tain nodded his head wisely and patted the girl 
 on the shoulder. She should find a husband in 
 good time ; but he must be as much taller and 
 stronger than the other men of the tribe, as she 
 was fairer and wiser than her sisters. 
 
 " When the missionary priests came, with 
 their white faces and strange garments fashioned 
 neither from the skin of any animal nor from 
 the feathers of any bird, and made friendly 
 overtures to the old chief, the Smile of the Morn 
 ing fell upon her face in terror. The Indians 
 would have worshipped the men with the white 
 faces and strange tongue ; but to prove to them 
 that they too were men and adored a God, the 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 22$ 
 
 priests held their services and kneeled to the 
 Great Spirit whom they reverenced. When the 
 new-comers had learned the language of the In 
 dian^ and had built themselves a house and a 
 greater house to their God, the daughter of the 
 chief grew to be no longer afraid of the black- 
 robed figures. She eagerly learned the simple 
 lessons which they set for the people ; and it 
 was because of the wonderful learning that they 
 gave her that she studied so industriously, and 
 not, like her brothers and sisters, to gain the 
 daily rations of corn. When the early bell 
 called the Indians to the church of the San Ro- 
 sario Mission, the Smile of the Morning was the 
 first to answer the summons ; and when the other 
 Indians were squabbling over their breakfast of 
 maize, she lingered in the sanctuary, trying to 
 fathom the strange rites which were so much 
 holier than those of her people, looking into the 
 painted faces in the pictures over the rude altar, 
 and feeling curiously behind them to ascertain 
 whether the backs also were painted. 
 
 " The soldiers who upheld the authority of the 
 priests were encouraged by large bounties and 
 grants of land to marry the converted squaws ; 
 and in the course of time several such unions 
 were solemnized at the Mission. Among the 
 stern old pioneer priests was one young man 
 dear to the Father Junipero, whose pupil he had 
 15 
 
226 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 been, and who had followed the famous man on 
 his great mission of converting the heathen In 
 dians. His name was Fra Antonio. His voice 
 was soft and low, and his eyes open and sad, 
 with shadows in them, which the Indian maiden 
 had never seen in other eyes, shadows like 
 those cast by the white clouds floating before the 
 sun s face on hot summer afternoons. Fra Anto 
 nio was very kind to the tall beauty of the tribe, 
 and with a never-failing patience strove to make 
 the doctrines of his religion clear to her simple 
 understanding. Strange were the means by 
 which the fathers learned to expound their re 
 ligion to the savages. To express the great hope 
 of the resurrection, they put a number of insects 
 in a vessel of water, leaving them there till they 
 were apparently quite dead. Then the crea 
 tures were placed in a bank of hot ashes, which 
 warmed their frozen, half-dead bodies back to 
 life. When the gauzy wings were spread, carry 
 ing the insects up into the sunshine again, the 
 fathers marked the words ejaculated by the 
 Indians, and by that term they called the resur 
 rection. 
 
 "New and beautiful were the thoughts which 
 now possessed the mind of the Indian girl. She 
 learned that to forgive was nobler than to avenge, 
 strangest of all doctrines taught by the priests 
 to the red men. She learned that the stars, pale 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 22/ 
 
 and fiery, were great worlds like the one in 
 which she lived, and not the hearts of the brave 
 chiefs placed in the heavens after death as she 
 had always been taught. Only the simplest of 
 the great truths which lie like jewels in the 
 tawdry setting of the Mother Church, did Fra 
 Antonio instil into her childish mind, which with 
 an unquestioning faith accepted all the young 
 priest taught. Few among the tribe per 
 haps, indeed, no one of the Indians beside the 
 Smile of the Morning understood or believed 
 the new doctrines taught by the priests. These 
 were satisfied that the rites of baptism and of 
 extreme unction were administered, and that 
 the daily services were attended, quite conscious 
 that their most potent weapon of conversion was 
 the ration of atole, or prepared corn, which they 
 served out to the lazy braves. As soon as he 
 became a member of the church, every redskin 
 was cared for, and a gentle slavery was the 
 result, in which the priests exacted a certain 
 amount of labor from the Indian, in turn feed 
 ing him and caring for his wants. The art of 
 weaving was taught, together with civilized agri 
 culture ; and the fruit of the vines was fer 
 mented into strong, rough wine, this being re 
 served for the service of the altar and the table 
 of the priests. In the eyes of the zealous mis 
 sionaries the Indian was the rightful owner of 
 
228 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 the soil ; and there was no thought of disputing 
 his claim to it. It was that he might better and 
 more wisely enjoy the fruits of his own land, 
 and in the next life enter the happier home pre 
 pared for all true followers of the Church of 
 Rome, that the Father Junipero and his band 
 of soldiers and priests lived and died in the 
 wilderness of California. How their treatment 
 of the original inhabitants of the soil differed 
 from that adopted by the enlightened race which 
 now claims the country, you have seen enough, or 
 at any rate heard enough, of our Indian policy 
 to appreciate. Instead of improving the land 
 for its owners, as did the brave missionary 
 priests, we have wrested it from them, driving 
 the children of those who for centuries have 
 owned the Pacific coast away from the choicest 
 spots to rocky, desolate lands which have again 
 been taken from them by the greedy gold- 
 hunters. But all this has happened since the 
 time when the Smile -of the Morning lived upon 
 this pretty island, and decked her glossy hair 
 with a coronet of blue-jays feathers, that she 
 might be fair in the eyes of one whom she 
 loved. But a year had passed since the arrival 
 of Fra Antonio, when the old chieftain noticed 
 that his daughter s step had grown heavy and 
 slow; that her great eyes danced no more ; that 
 her countenance no longer merited the name of 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 22Q 
 
 the morning s smile. He was a wise old man for 
 an Indian ; and after thinking the matter over 
 for a week, during which time he smoked an 
 unusual number of pipes of tobacco, he came to 
 the conclusion that the girl had been bewitched 
 by one of the strange priests. Calling her to 
 him, he questioned her as to the cause of her 
 altered behavior ; and from her downcast face 
 and embarrassed replies he quickly surmised her 
 secret. The Smile of the Morning loved the 
 fair young priest, and it was for his sake that 
 her tears flowed. The old chief at first scoffed 
 at her infatuation, and bade her take up with 
 one of her dusky suitors. But the girl was ob 
 stinate ; and finally yielding to her whim, the old 
 chief himself offered his daughter s hand to Fra 
 Antonio. The young priest, in holy horror, took 
 counsel with his superiors ; and it was explained 
 to the chieftain that though the white soldiers 
 were free to mate with the maidens of the tribe, 
 the priests were vowed to celibacy. If the pious 
 young priest had unwittingly mingled an unwise 
 fervor in his exhortations to the Indian girl, he 
 bitterly regretted his fault. As day by day he saw 
 her elastic figure grow more feeble, and marked 
 her hollow cheeks and her sad eyes fixed reproach 
 fully on him whilst he served the mass or taught 
 the new converts, a tenderness for her, which 
 her savage health and perfections had failed to 
 
230 SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 
 
 arouse, awoke in his breast. When he saw the 
 young braves, each with his dusky partner, and 
 the sisters of the Smile of the Morning with 
 their children in their arms, he sometimes 
 cursed the priestly habit which proclaimed him 
 a thing apart from all other of God s creatures, 
 doomed to live unmated and alone. Long 
 vigils and heavy penances failed to ease the 
 grief in his heart, or to set at rest its yearn 
 ing toward the child who had been redeemed 
 from barbarism, through his teaching, to live 
 a Christian life and die in the hope of his 
 faith. 
 
 " At last the battle between the spirit and the 
 heart grew too terrible for him to bear ; he was 
 not strong enough ; and he begged the fathers 
 to send him to another Mission far to the north 
 ward. When the Smile of the Morning learned 
 that Fra Antonio was to leave the Mission on 
 the morrow, she decked herself in all her jewels, 
 hung her long shell necklaces about her throat, 
 wound her bead bracelets about her arms, and 
 placed her coronet of blue-jays feathers upon 
 her brow. She was not to be found that night 
 when the old chief lay down to rest ; and when 
 the sun rose on the day which should see Fra 
 Antonio far on his long journey, her sisters 
 found the maiden lying in the cool waters of the 
 river which washes this island, with the little 
 
SAN- ROSAR20 RANCH. 231 
 
 rosary the priest had given her locked in her 
 cold fingers, and the smile upon her face that 
 had been missing for so many weeks. They 
 called the fathers to come and look upon her ; 
 and Fra Antonio prayed long beside her, with 
 streaming eyes and broken voice. The kiss 
 which his sad lips laid reverently on her brow 
 was felt perhaps, for all those who stood near 
 heard the sigh which came rustling through the 
 trees near by. As she had wilfully taken her 
 own life, the poor girl could not be buried with 
 the ceremonies of the church to which she had 
 been admitted ; so she was interred by her people 
 near the spot where they had found her, on this 
 little island where we now sit. When the good 
 fathers sat together of an evening and discussed 
 questions spiritual and temporal touching the 
 welfare of their little flock, Fra Antonio was 
 often missing from their midst. Sometimes the 
 faint sound was heard of the church bell softly 
 struck by a tender hand, and the priests crossed 
 themselves silently, knowing for whose soul it 
 was that Fra Antonio solemnized the mass for 
 the dead." 
 
 A silence followed Galbraith s story, which 
 was broken by Millicent, who said, 
 
 " I have a sketch in an old Italian book of a 
 beautiful young monk, Fra Antonio by name. 
 Could it be the same, I wonder?" 
 
232 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 " Who knows ? Some of the priests were Ital 
 ians. Would the dates agree ? " 
 
 " The portrait was dated some time in the 
 latter part of the last century." 
 
 " It could not have been far from that time 
 that the Smile of the Morning met her sad 
 fate." 
 
 "Sad, do you call her fate sad ?" queried 
 Millicent 
 
 " Who could think it otherwise ?" 
 
 " I surely do. Was it sad to die for the man 
 she loved ? " 
 
 " It would have been happier if she could have 
 lived for him." 
 
 " Happiness ! Who spoke of happiness ? Why 
 talk about a thing so mythical ? I think her lot 
 was an enviable one. To her simple mind the 
 thought that suicide is sinful could never have 
 occurred. She might not follow the man she 
 loved ; she believed that the soul now prisoned 
 in her breast might always be near him ; so she 
 opened the cage and let the bird fly." 
 
 " You speak as seriously as if you had known 
 the Smile of the Morning and sympathized with 
 her." 
 
 " It is the privilege of those who have greatly 
 suffered, that the grief of others can be felt and 
 understood by them." Millicent spoke absently, 
 dreamily, checking her speech at the pained 
 
SAN EOSAEIO RANCH. 
 
 233 
 
 expression which her words brought to Gal- 
 braith s face. 
 
 Later in the afternoon the party left the island 
 and wandered about the old bridge. Some of 
 them climbed the high hill ; others struck into 
 the woods. By some chance Millicent found her 
 self left alone near the mill with no one of the 
 party near her save Ah Lam. Calling the faith 
 ful creature to her side, she made him prepare 
 her a comfortable seat, and leaning back against 
 the wall, she entered into a desultory conver 
 sation with her pupil. Ah Lam often told her 
 stories in his broken English, descriptive of the 
 power and character of the most august person 
 ages of the Chinese mythology. To-day he found 
 an inattentive listener in his kind friend and 
 teacher ; but he had been bidden to speak, and so 
 he talked on patiently, describing rites of death 
 and feasts of marriages, recalling the great river 
 fete which he had witnessed shortly before sail 
 ing from his native city. As the Chinaman 
 paused after this last tale, Millicent heard a step 
 approaching the door of the old mill. She looked 
 up carelessly, expecting to see one of the gentle 
 men. The man who stood before her was a 
 stranger. His face was somewhat flushed, and 
 he looked as if he had travelled some distance. 
 
 " Second time, my lady, I Ve see d yer purty 
 face to-day." 
 
234 SAN ROSARI RANCH. 
 
 Millicent bowed her head and turned away, 
 looking anxiously toward the wood, where she 
 had seen Hal disappear a few moments before. 
 
 " Sha n t let yer off ser aisy this time. I Ve 
 took a fancy to see the color of yer eyes." 
 
 The look of angry indignation with which the 
 gray orbs were turned upon the man was enough 
 to have abashed any sensitive person, but to 
 this class the stranger did not belong. He was 
 a rough-looking fellow of large stature, with a 
 heavy animal face, crossed by a deep scar run 
 ning from the chin to the forehead on the right 
 side. In his belt he wore a pair of pistols, at 
 which the Chinaman looked uneasily. 
 
 " Say, do yer belong in these parts ? " 
 
 " Yes, " answered the girl in a low voice. 
 
 " Well, I am leavin em for good ; we re not 
 likely to meet again. I m a gentleman, and I 
 don t want to trouble you for them rings o 
 yourn, but a kiss won t cost you nothin ." 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, the man threw 
 an arm about the girl s slender waist, and quick as 
 a thought began to drag her toward the spot where 
 a couple of horses were tethered. With a sud 
 den wrench, she shook herself free from his rude 
 clasp, and sped down the path calling for help. 
 Help was nearer to her than she had thought, 
 and a humble friend sprang to her aid. As the 
 insolent creature started in pursuit of the swift- 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 235 
 
 footed girl, Ah Lam adroitly tripped him up, 
 bringing him to the ground with a heavy fall. 
 The man was somewhat bruised by his tumble, 
 a sharp stone having struck his arm. He arose 
 with difficulty, pouring out a volley of oaths the 
 like of which had never before desecrated Milli- 
 cent s ears. The Chinaman, knowing full well 
 the danger which his temerity had brought upon 
 him, ran quickly after his young mistress. The 
 path brought them to the border of the stream, 
 and their flight was stopped by this obstacle. 
 By this time, the man, blind with rage, had 
 caught up with the two fugitives ; he seemed in 
 doubt which of them to molest first. Millicent 
 stood with flashing eyes and curling lip, her 
 head thrown back, her arms folded across her 
 breast, looking at him with an expression of scorn 
 that seemed to awe him for a moment. He 
 drew back, as if afraid to touch so beautiful and 
 wrathful a creature, and in his rage clutched the 
 Chinaman by the throat. In the scuffle which en 
 sued, Ah Lam s hat was thrown off, and the long 
 cue coiled about his head fell down. Quick as 
 thought, the ruffian seized the braid, and drawing 
 a sharp knife from his boot, cut it from the head 
 of the Chinaman. With a shriek which had the 
 despair of a double death, the Chinaman turned 
 and implanted his finger-nails in the face of his 
 adversary, inflicting ten long scratches on the 
 
236 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 cheeks. The crushed worm will turn at last; 
 and the poor soul, damned for eternity by the 
 cutting of his hair, had turned upon the ruffian. 
 Quick as the fast-drawn breath of the terrified 
 girl, the villain lifted his long knife and, with a 
 horrible oath, plunged it into the side of the 
 Chinaman. The shrieks of the victim, the hor 
 ror-stricken screams of the girl, the sight of the 
 blood, seemed to madden the wretch ; for he tore 
 the quivering knife from the wound and stabbed 
 him again and again. At last the rage for 
 blood seemed satiated ; he threw the mutilated 
 body, still breathing, to ebb out its life on 
 the soil, and turned with bloody hands and seared 
 eyes toward Millicent, who had sunk upon her 
 knees, lifting the head of the dying Chinaman 
 to her young breast. 
 
 The closed lids fluttered open, the dimmed 
 eyes looked gratefully for the last time into the 
 face of the girl who had been kinder to him 
 than any other creature in this strange land 
 where he had worked so faithfully, where he 
 had been so cruelly oppressed in life, and so 
 foully murdered ; hope of Heaven being closed 
 to him before his miserable breath had been 
 taken The horror of his crime must have over 
 come the ruffian for a moment, for he paused 
 and silently watched the death-agonies of his 
 victim. To that moment s feeling of horror or 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 237 
 
 remorse, what might not Millicent owe ? For 
 soon, to her it seemed an eternity, the men, 
 whose answering shouts she had not heard, ap 
 peared close at hand. The murderer saw them 
 none too quickly for his safety, and springing 
 upon his horse, which stood near by, clapped 
 spurs to the flank and rode off at a hand gallop 
 in the opposite direction. 
 
 Galbraith rushed to Millicent s side and lifted 
 the dying creature from her breast. They 
 placed him gently upon the bank, and Hal put 
 his flask to his lips ; but it was too late. With 
 one last struggle Ah Lam yielded up his mis 
 erable life ; and Millicent s cry of pity sounded 
 his death-knell. Then she lifted her hands to 
 Heaven and prayed for the soul of the poor 
 creature who had so bravely defended her. An 
 hour ago she had smiled at Fra Antonio s 
 masses for the repose of the Smile of the Morn 
 ing. In moments like these the strong instincts 
 of men and women overcome the reasons and 
 doctrines of education ; Millicent prayed, believ 
 ing that she should be heard. 
 
 When it became evident to the little group 
 which had silently assembled about the spot, 
 that poor Ah Lam was beyond human help, 
 Maurice Galbraith and Henry Deering lifted the 
 lifeless body and laid it in the great wagon. 
 Millicent followed and drew over the dead face 
 
238 SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 the white cloak which she had worn all that 
 day. Pedro, climbing to his seat, touched the 
 mules into motion ; and the wagon, which had 
 carried so merry a freight to the gray bridge 
 that morning, returned at sunset over the same 
 path with its ghastly burden, a very funeral 
 car. 
 
 Maurice Galbraith gently placed Millicent be 
 side Barbara and her mother in the smaller 
 carriage, which was driven back to the Ranch 
 under the escort of Ferrara, O Neil, and Hart 
 ley. Then the young lawyer, with Henry Deer- 
 ing to bear him company, started in pursuit 
 of the murderer. He had sworn a silent oath, 
 as he stood by the dying man, and learned that 
 his life had been given to protect Millicent, 
 that Ah Lam should be avenged. If there 
 were law and justice in the broad land of Cali 
 fornia, the murderer should suffer the extreme 
 penalty for wilful and wicked shedding of inno 
 cent blood. In pursuit rode the two young men, 
 with stern faces ; and it was well for the fugitive 
 that he had a long start of them, for they rode 
 as men do when time must be gained at all costs. 
 Along the narrow bridle-path, over which the 
 murderer had passed, they took their way, and 
 were soon lost to the view of the three women 
 sitting close together in troubled silence. Bar 
 bara s strong hands held the reins and plied the 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 239 
 
 whip, while streams of tears coursed down her 
 cheeks. Mrs. Deering patted her daughter s 
 shoulder ; but it was on Millicent her attention 
 was most firmly fixed. The girl had not moved 
 since Galbraith had placed her in the carriage. 
 Her eyes were strained wide open, and the ex 
 pression in their depths was one which the 
 gentle woman never forgot, a look as of an 
 endless despair and horror. Back to the happy 
 valley they drove silently, no joyous young voices 
 carolling out ballads of love, songs of battle, as 
 was their wont ; in silence and grief they passed 
 over the familiar road through the gap between 
 the guardian hills, back to the quiet house, to 
 herald the advent of the humble dead to those 
 who had been his fellow-servants. 
 
 No one told Millicent that standing near the 
 spot where the ruffian s horse had been tethered 
 was a second steed. A strong mustang saddled 
 and bridled was found there. A heavy leading- 
 rein passed through the bit, and a stout rope 
 lying over the saddle, gave a sinister significance 
 to the fact. For whom had that horse been 
 brought ? 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " Abroad it rushed, 
 My frolic soul, for it had sight 
 Of something half-way, which was known 
 As mine at once, yet not mine own." 
 
 IT was early in the morning for Millicent, usually 
 a late sleeper, to be in the garden among the 
 flowers. There Graham found her, white as the 
 gown she wore, standing with her arms filled 
 with dark-red roses, standing with the sun 
 light touching her pretty hair, and shining in her 
 cool gray eyes. He stared at her, as at one 
 risen from the dead ; he touched her hand be 
 fore he spoke to her, to make sure that it was 
 really she, alive, with softly heaving breast and 
 warm, clinging fingers. Alive, and not as he 
 had pictured her a thousand times during that 
 terrible ride, cold and dead, with the stain 
 which had dyed her kerchief, on brow and 
 bosom. For a long time they stood silently 
 looking into each other s faces ; and then the 
 man laid her hand gently on his arm, and to 
 gether they passed down the orchard road, across 
 a space of sunburnt meadow, to a spot they 
 
SAN EOSAR10 RANCH. 241 
 
 both knew, Millicent s boudoir, hanging over 
 the narrow stream, walled by six tall redwoods 
 grown from the seeds of some giant predeces 
 sor, carpeted with thick green moss, furnished 
 with two rough seats. Here they rested silently 
 for a time, Graham drawing long breaths of the 
 morning air to relax his tired lungs ; Millicent 
 resting her wearied heart with looking at him, all 
 her soul shining through her eyes. Graham first 
 broke the silence with questions of all that had 
 happened since they had parted. She told him 
 of her danger, and of the murder of the China 
 man, in a low voice, full of awe. It had been 
 her first knowledge of death ; and the chill reality, 
 the only certain thing which men look forward 
 to, had first been known by her now that she was 
 a woman grown, and could fully understand its 
 dreadful significance. Hitherto, death had been 
 a phrase only ; a thing which must come to 
 all creatures, as a matter of course. That she 
 should sometime die she knew, but only by tra 
 dition ; it had meant nothing to her. Now she 
 understood it all, and the terrible knowledge had 
 chilled her life-blood. Could she ever again think 
 of anything but that dead face ? One stronger 
 than the King of Terrors was driving it from her 
 thoughts : love was swiftly painting out the grim 
 picture from her memory. 
 
 Step by step they went over the ground of 
 16 
 
242 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 their mutual experiences since the time when 
 they had parted : the picnic, and its tragic end 
 ing ; the night which Graham had passed in the 
 cabin with Ah Lam s murderer, for there could 
 be no doubt it was he who had dropped Milli- 
 cent s handkerchief in the hut. Of the little jour 
 nal Graham spoke sadly, gently, without anger, 
 as if it were a thing which concerned neither of 
 them. Then Millicent brokenly told the story 
 which the written words had simply indicated. 
 She told it with a sense of thankfulness that the 
 weight of the secret rested no longer on her 
 heart alone ; that its pain was shared, and that 
 at last her lover understood and saw her abso 
 lutely as she was. No reservation did she make, 
 but bared to him the inmost chambers of her 
 heart, sure of no misunderstanding, and upheld 
 by a sympathy she had never before known. 
 Then her confidence was returned, and Graham 
 spoke to her of many things of which he had 
 never spoken before ; of the hopes and aspira 
 tions which had sometimes made his life glori 
 ous ; of the quicksands and hidden rocks which 
 had often made his way dangerous. 
 
 A wonderful confession, solemn as those 
 first confessions made by men and women who 
 at maturity join the Roman Catholic Church, and 
 unflinchingly reveal to the confessor every temp 
 tation to which they have yielded in the course 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 243 
 
 of their lives. To no mumbling, inattentive 
 priest, with store of penances and absolutions 
 in his pocket, was the confession made ; in no 
 stifling confessional, with throng of penitents 
 outside, grudging every moment of delay. Each 
 spoke to a tender human heart, that filled out 
 the broken sentences, and echoed the deep sighs. 
 The roof of their temple swayed in the light 
 breeze, and the wild birds chanted the hymn 
 of praise which consecrated it. 
 
 As Millicent at last sat silent, not knowing 
 whether her lover still spoke to her in words, 
 or if that finer language of the spirit made his 
 thoughts clear to her, came at once a strange 
 consciousness that she was no longer a creature 
 of this earth, with material senses and shape. 
 The last words which she had spoken she re 
 membered as one dimly recalls what has hap 
 pened in another life. They were these : 
 
 " Are you sorry for me ? " 
 
 There had been no answer in words or in 
 looks ; for the power of sight had been left be 
 hind with the outer case, now shaken off for the 
 first time since life upon the earth had begun. 
 She was a thing apart no longer ; her existence 
 had become merged in that of a stronger soul, 
 to which she was an all-important part. Folded 
 in this spirit-embrace time was not, nor past nor 
 future ; nothing but the perfect ecstasy of a 
 
244 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 union which eternity should consecrate. Float 
 ing on a celestial ether, the double soul mounted 
 ever higher and higher. Was it toward eternal 
 bliss that it was wafted ? Was the long waiting 
 at an end ? 
 
 Again she saw the sunlight ; again she heard 
 the ripple of the water ; again she felt the earthly 
 tenement closing about the divine spirit. Before 
 her, framed in the green leaves, was a face dear 
 indeed, the face of her lover. With solemn eyes 
 they looked at each other ; and a broken voice 
 whispered to her, 
 
 " Dear, what is it ? " 
 
 She answered softly, 
 
 " I have never been so near to you before." 
 
 Then a flood of feeling swept over her, and 
 she would have knelt to him, her other self ; but 
 he was already at her feet, moved by that same 
 instinct to do homage to the human form which 
 held his counter soul, and on her white feet he 
 laid a reverent embrace. 
 
 Strengthened and uplifted by that mystic 
 union whose memory should never leave her, 
 whose bonds should ever bind her, was Millicent. 
 In every existence comes one supreme, all-im 
 portant moment, which thenceforth is the land 
 mark by which life is measured ; the climacteric 
 point to which the past merely served to lead, the 
 future availing only to enshrine its memory. To 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 24$ 
 
 some men and women the significance of that 
 moment is known only when it has long passed ; 
 to Millicent, the knowledge that her whole after 
 life should be controlled by that hour was not 
 wanting. And her lover, would he be faithful 
 to that unspoken vow? The thought never 
 crossed her mind ; she was irrevocably bound to 
 him ; priest and rite could but make a poor, 
 earthy contract between what was mortal in 
 them both : the spiritual union was not for this 
 world, and might not be broken by either. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 "Dust and ashes, dead and done with, Venice spent what 
 
 Venice earned. 
 The soul, doubtless, is immortal where a soul can be 
 
 discerned." 
 
 IT was a pitiful story which the little journal had 
 made known to John Graham, the story of a 
 woman grievously wronged, cruelly deceived. 
 
 Millicent Almsford s life had not been a 
 happy one. Her childhood had been lonely, 
 and she had none of those early recollections 
 which are so comforting in after years to people 
 more fortunately bred. Her father -was an 
 invalid and a bookworm, and looked upon his 
 only daughter as a creature to be fed, clothed, 
 educated, and kept quiet. Her feeding he in 
 trusted to her faithful nurse, who had promised 
 her dying mother never to leave the child till 
 she should be grown to womanhood. Her ward 
 robe was ordered by a relative who lived in Paris, 
 and who twice a year overlooked the making and 
 packing of her clothes, from her first baby wrap 
 pings to the ball dress in which she was pre 
 sented at the court of St. James. Her education 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 247 
 
 he left very much to chance and her own taste, 
 simply locking up the livres defendus of his 
 library, and telling her English governess to order 
 any necessary volumes from Mudie s. The young 
 woman in whose charge Millicent was placed, 
 was more eager to learn Italian than to teach 
 English ; to explore the literature of Dante than 
 to familiarize her pupil with the British authors. 
 When Millicent was sixteen years old, the feeble 
 protection of this governess was taken from her ; 
 the woman returning to England to keep a long 
 protracted marriage engagement with her own 
 cousin. The same year old Nina died ; and 
 then it was that the lonely girl fell under the 
 influence which was to darken her destiny and 
 turn aside the natural current of her life. Milli 
 cent Almsford, at that age, was .a very peculiar 
 and interesting study. Her mind had eagerly 
 grasped much more material than it could mas 
 ter. Her vivid imagination and great talent for 
 music were, with a love of beauty, the most 
 strongly developed traits in her nature, whose 
 intellectual growth was destined to be slow and 
 late ; whose spiritual existence had not yet 
 begun. An exquisite native refinement and a 
 perfect taste were among her most interesting 
 qualities. Singularly attractive and strangely 
 incomplete, she had formed few relations ; and 
 her friendship with Edward Holworthy, the man 
 
248 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 whose influence so marred her life, was the first 
 strong feeling which she had known. He was 
 her opposite in character, and knew life only 
 through people, while she had lived purely in 
 ideas. Her complex nature, unfathomable to 
 herself, was to him a novel and engrossing study, 
 and it was through him that she learned to un 
 derstand one side of it. The man found a great 
 heart which had never loved ; a strong power for 
 working good or evil ; a bold mind, that feared 
 not to grapple with the deepest problems of life ; 
 and a possibility of absolute devotion to a reso 
 lution once formed, which is rarely found among 
 young women. He became her mental guide, 
 and directed her readings ; with a certain clever 
 intuition bringing her under the influence of 
 minds as sophistical and frivolous as his own. 
 Sympathetic to an extreme degree, her nature 
 quickly took from his the color of an exagger 
 ated cynicism, which was sometimes strongly 
 shaken by the inner spirit which still slept 
 under the untouched heart. Platonics, where 
 the man is of the world wise, and the woman 
 foolish with the innocence of childhood, are 
 dangerous things, as he knew full well, and she 
 did not. In pointing out the forces which mould 
 the lives of men and women, what theme is so 
 often upon the lips of two life students of oppo 
 site sexes as that of love ? To the girl it seemed 
 
SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 249 
 
 a strange, rather interesting force, whose power 
 it would not be unpleasant to test; and when 
 one day her mentor confessed to her that she 
 had bound him irrevocably by those bonds which 
 he had taught her were but ropes of sand, she 
 smiled half sadly, but in her heart laughed with 
 childish merriment She now should see the 
 actual workings of that strange hallucination ; 
 she should learn something of what love was. 
 She was as unfeeling as a young lioness, and 
 learned the lesson of making him turn pale and 
 red by turns, as quickly as she had learned the 
 knack of touching the chords of her mandolin. 
 She looked upon her quondam friend in the light 
 of an invalid, suffering from a dangerous but non- 
 contagious malady. And so things went on ; 
 the man gaining every day a firmer hold over 
 the girl, intoxicated by the new power in herself 
 and a growing consciousness of her beauty and 
 charms. During the long mornings at the Pa 
 lazzo Fortunio, the two friends read and talked 
 together, while the Italian governess, understand 
 ing no word of their intercourse, sat sewing 
 patiently beside them. In the cool afternoons, 
 when they were rowed by the strong-armed 
 gondolier, Girolomo, out into the glory of the 
 sunset, the same stolid companion always accom 
 panied them. One day, Mr. Almsford, selfish 
 old epicurean, perceived for the first time that 
 
250 SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 
 
 his daughter had grown to a tall and fair woman 
 hood. His attention had, perhaps, been first 
 called to the fact by the increasing size of the 
 half-yearly coffer which found its way from Fash 
 ion s capital to the Fortunio Palace, and by the 
 proportionate lengthening of the account which 
 accompanied it. Yes, Millicent was certainly 
 grown to be a young lady. They were begin 
 ning to send her little, demure bonnets, and 
 close-fitting, simple woollen dresses, made with 
 more of an idea of displaying her graceful figure 
 than heretofore. The girl was heiress to her 
 mother s fortune ; and it behooved him to see 
 about finding a suitable husband for her. Whom 
 should he consult in this matter, but their most 
 intimate friend ; the man who seemed at once 
 his contemporary and hers ; the handsome, clever 
 fellow-countryman, who had been on the most 
 intimate footing in his house for the last ten 
 years ? Edward Holworthy had started unac 
 countably when, in the midst of one of the solemn 
 pauses of their game of chess, Mr. Almsford had 
 propounded the unexpected question to him : 
 "How shall I find Millicent a husband ?" 
 The elder gentleman, for the first time in 
 many months, checkmated his adversary in two 
 moves, and won the game in an unprecedentedly 
 short space of time. 
 
 Holworthy s advice was given after a week s 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 251 
 
 deliberation. It was in favor of sending Miss 
 Almsford to her father s sister, who lived in 
 London, in order that she might be presented 
 at court and introduced to English society. Mr. 
 Almsford thought over the advice, which ap 
 peared to him wise. He consulted Millicent, 
 who eagerly accepted the chance to see some 
 thing of the world ; and finally, after six months 
 exchange of letters upon the subject, the girl 
 was taken to London by her father, and com 
 fortably established, with her aunt, in a pretty 
 Kensington villa, for which her poorly circum 
 stanced relative gladly forsook a small house in 
 an unfashionable quarter of the town. Having- 
 married a younger son of a great house, with 
 no portion but debts on his part and beauty on 
 hers, Millicent s aunt, with the matchless tact of 
 our countrywomen, had secured herself a promi 
 nent and agreeable position in London society. 
 In mere worldly advantages the young girl could 
 have had no better chaperone than the pretty 
 young woman, still occupied with bets, beaux, 
 and bon-bons. She took her niece to all the 
 best houses; and soon Millicent s extreme beauty, 
 and the widely noised, somewhat exag-gerated ac 
 counts of her worldly goods, brought her scores 
 of invitations and admirers on her own account. 
 Six months after her departure, Millicent Alms- 
 ford returned to the Palazzo Fortunio, where the 
 
252 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 report of her great social success had preceded 
 her and tickled the ears of her parent, proud of 
 the child for whose sake he had never sacrificed 
 a whim of his own. Edward Holworthy, who 
 had accompanied the father and daughter to 
 London, and remained there during the period 
 of the latter s stay, did not return to Venice, but 
 sailed for Australia, from whence he never re 
 turned either to his native or to his adopted coun 
 try. The change which her half year s absence 
 had wrought in Millicent, her father attributed 
 to her social experience. She had left him half a 
 child, with a thousand absurd, whimsical ways, 
 which had amused him, and endeared her to him 
 more than any other trait in her character. Few 
 things diverted him ; and he counted every laugh 
 which Millicent provoked from him as a positive 
 good, which he set down to her credit in their 
 joint account. Her stay in London had given 
 Millicent a certain poise and manner which 
 suited her marvellously well ; but all the sparkle 
 and freshness seemed to have left her. She was 
 like a fresh, white lily which has been broken and 
 wilted by a violent storm of wind and rain. For 
 months she never smiled. Her life seemed to 
 have come to a standstill ; she suffered dumbly, 
 hopelessly, with sad, deep eyes, made more beau 
 tiful by the trouble in them. A sceptic and a 
 materialist, she found nothing in this world 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 253 
 
 worth suffering for, and smiled incredulously 
 when the old cure, her Latin teacher, tried to 
 help her from the slough of earthly despair by 
 promises of a glorious future, for whose attain 
 ment the life-battle should be bravely fought. 
 She was conscious of no ethereal essence which 
 should outlive the graceful body, whose beauty 
 she sometimes cursed. Did it not reduce her 
 to the level of all hunted creatures ? Was she 
 not a thing to be pursued by men, like a tall 
 deer or a fleet, timid hare ? 
 
 " Something had come to the Signorina," said 
 Girolomo, the gondolier ; " and the Signer Hoi- 
 worthy, where was he ? " And he shook his head 
 gravely, the wise old creature, guessing, as did no 
 other soul, that Edward Holworthy was in some 
 way connected with Millicent s changed face and 
 listless demeanor. 
 
 Something had come to her ; but she never con 
 fided to priest or friend the trouble which robbed 
 her young face of its childish curves, which 
 killed the youth in her, and made her a woman 
 in grief, while she was still a child in years. 
 Only one confidant had she, the little jour 
 nal ; the gold-clasped tome which all those years 
 after had fallen into John Graham s hands. The 
 story of the first passion she had ever roused, 
 read by the only man she had ever loved. 
 
 It was the pitiful story of a grievous wrong 
 
254 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 which had darkened more than one life. The mis 
 erable consequences of a wicked act are infinite ; 
 its influence spreads wider and wider every 
 day, like the broadening rings which circle on 
 the surface of a still pool disturbed by a stone 
 which a careless hand has tossed. The black 
 deed may be hidden from the sight of men, but 
 its baleful effects are felt afar off in the lives of 
 those who have known nought of its perpetration. 
 Let not the sinner comfort himself in that his 
 soul alone is damned for his crime. It darkens 
 innocent lives with its evil ; and in sinning 
 against himself he sins against mankind. 
 
 In the strange country whither Millicent had 
 gone, Holworthy was the only link which bound 
 her to her home, the one being who understood 
 and cared for her. The dominion which he 
 had always held over her was now strength 
 ened into a powerful magnetic force. The little 
 journal told how that influence had been ex 
 erted in compelling her to a secret marriage 
 against her own will and judgment. She had 
 been tricked into an elopement, it might bet 
 ter be called an abduction, and all unwillingly 
 became his wife. Then all too soon, ere a week 
 had passed, came the terrible discovery that the 
 marriage was no marriage. For then came to 
 her the mother of the man whom she was striv 
 ing to love with wifely duty, an old woman, 
 
SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 2$$ 
 
 bowed with grief and years. She had come very 
 far, across half a continent, to break to the girl 
 whose name she had heard linked with that of 
 her only son, the news that he was not free to 
 marry, that she must give him up. When the 
 tall girl with the childish, flower face fell stricken 
 to the earth like a broken lily, at the feet of the 
 older woman, she had made no cry ; in the hours 
 that followed, she said no word. When the man 
 who had wrecked her life came and knelt beside 
 her, prayed her to be patient and her wrongs 
 should be righted, spoke of his remorse, told 
 her of his terrible mad wife from whom the law 
 would set him free, and make him really hers v 
 prayed, besought, and worshipped at her feet, 
 she answered him with one terrible word only. 
 She rose and stood before him white and cruel 
 in her agony, relentless as Fate. 
 
 " Go ! " was the one syllable which her frozen 
 lips uttered ; and with a gesture of command, 
 majestic and beautiful, she had banished him 
 from her presence. The secret was kept, even 
 from the old woman, grown more sorrowful at the 
 sight of the girl s dumb agony and of her son s 
 grief, which she could not soothe. The secret 
 was kept ; and that very night Millicent s face, 
 pale and clouded, shone out amidst a group of 
 fair women who sat languidly chatting through 
 the music of Faust at the opera. He kept her 
 
256 SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 secret, poor wretch, and shielded her as best he 
 might, forcing her to speak to him and see 
 him before others, that no sudden breaking of 
 their relations might be remarked. Save in the 
 world, she never saw him again. That one 
 word of command was the last syllable which he 
 ever heard her speak to him directly. Not with 
 out a struggle did he give her up, but she was 
 implacable. She yielded to him, and played 
 her part in the little comedy which the world 
 thought it understood. The beautiful Miss 
 Almsford had found Holworthy a pleasant ad 
 mirer, but her delicate American beauty and 
 her solid American fortune would certainly win 
 her a higher place in the world than that of the 
 wife of Mr. Edward Holworthy, her countryman 
 and old friend. 
 
 Youth and health are great physicians ; and as 
 the years passed, Millicent recovered something 
 of her old spring and elasticity. She was in 
 finitely more interesting, if something colder and 
 harder, than she had been in the old days. Her 
 unquenchable vigor of temperament came to her 
 help, and gave her a keen pleasure in her studies 
 and in the work and thought of the people about 
 her. Always self-reliant, she grew to live en 
 tirely without support from man or woman. She 
 was a friend to many people, but was herself 
 friendless. The Palazzo Fortunio, under her 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 reign, grew to be the centre of a charming social 
 circle. Musicians and painters were made wel 
 come by the young hostess. At once an artist 
 and a patron of the arts, she stood in a peculiar 
 relation to the men who frequented her salon. 
 If she had been without fortune she would have 
 made music her profession. As it was, she 
 studied it as faithfully as if self-support had 
 been her aim ; and she claimed that sympathy 
 from her artistic friends which a mere con 
 noisseur, be he ever so enthusiastic, can never 
 arouse. To her small world she was all-impor 
 tant. Her sympathy helped many a timid debu 
 tante, and her counsel cheered the black days 
 of more than one disheartened artist. Always 
 gracious and kind, she had drawn about her 
 a group of people, to all of whom she was a 
 sort of exalted fellow-worker, who knew but the 
 poetry of art, and helped them to forget its 
 prose. Her heart was quite empty, but her 
 mind was keenly interested and fully occupied 
 by the men and women among whom she lived. 
 Happiness she had forgotten to look for, but in 
 enjoyment her days were not wanting. It was a 
 terrible blow to her when this pleasant, quiet life 
 was suddenly broken up by her father s marriage. 
 To her imperious nature the presence of the in 
 ferior woman whom Mr. Almsford had brought 
 home to the Palazzo was intolerable. Where 
 17 
 
258 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 could she go ? For the first time in her life she 
 felt the power which her fortune gave her. She 
 could establish herself wherever she liked. Her 
 father s sister proposed a repetition of their joint 
 establishment in London, but at the very men 
 tion of her returning to England Millicent s 
 face blanched. She would never again set foot 
 in that country. It was while she was in a state 
 of doubt concerning her future movements that 
 her half-brother wrote her a long and affection 
 ate letter, urging her to come and dwell for a 
 time among his people, to visit her mother s 
 country before she decided the important ques 
 tion of where she should establish herself for 
 life. The idea seemed a just one to her; and 
 acting on a tender impulse roused by the loving 
 words of her unknown brother, she had tele 
 graphed her departure, and forthwith started on 
 her long journey accompanied by her capable 
 French maid. The Abigail discharged her trust 
 faithfully, as far as San Francisco, from which 
 city she turned her face on the very day of her 
 arrival, unwilling to remain longer in what she 
 called " le phis triste pays du monde" If the 
 truth could have been known, Millicent would 
 have signed away ten years of her life to have 
 gone back with the woman to the Old World, 
 the only home she had ever known. 
 
 Graham had not been mistaken when he pre- 
 
SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 259 
 
 dieted to Millicent that she would grow more in 
 sympathy with the 4 race from which she drew 
 her inheritance of character and temperament 
 than at first seemed possible. Nature is stronger 
 than habit, well called second nature ; and as the 
 surface roughness became familiar to her, she 
 began to feel the strong life ana vigor of the 
 young Western land quickening her pulses and 
 stimulating her whole being. The poverty of 
 intellectual intercourse was more than compen 
 sated by the tremendous power of work, the 
 electrical force which accomplishes so rapidly in 
 this new land what in other countries has been 
 the slow growth of centuries. 
 
 An answering glow of enthusiasm flushed her 
 with hope, with a keener, fuller, more intense 
 life than she had ever known before. She had 
 clung at first to her traditions, and fought 
 against the tide which seemed to be sweeping 
 this people on and on and ever on. But nature 
 was too strong for habit ; her upright, fearless 
 mind acknowledged kinship with these hard 
 working men and women, to whom pleasure is 
 not save in toil, whose whole life is one long 
 unconscious sacrifice to their country. On the 
 eastern margins of our land the austere simplicity 
 and purity have become infested with plague- 
 spots brought ay, imported with care and ex 
 pense from the Old World, and fostered like 
 
260 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 exotics on the clean soil. But from the great 
 Western prairie comes a fresh, strong breeze 
 which sweetens all the foulness of the Atlantic 
 cities, and makes the breath of Columbia still 
 pure and fragrant. 
 
 With this new sentiment for her new-found 
 country came the first passionate love to the 
 heart of the beautiful and unhappy young woman. 
 She had breathed the spicy air of the Californian 
 forests, bracing and sweet, and her cheek had 
 grown fuller and fairer in the perfect climate. 
 Her empty, hollow heart was filled by a great 
 love and strength, all-sustaining and soothing. 
 
 When Graham had first seen her lying in the 
 fire-light, with cool, deep eyes, before the light 
 of love had dawned in her flower face, she had 
 seemed to him like a perfect white rose. Then 
 the rose flushed palely, as the love-light trem 
 bled to a flame; and he brought her flowers 
 of the color of the sea-shells, arid she wore 
 them in her hair. Last of all, he laid at her 
 feet deep-red damask rosebuds ; and these she 
 placed on her white breast, where they bloomed 
 and died in a single night. He had painted 
 her by the waves, as he had once seen her 
 on that strange day when death had seemed 
 so near and life so beautiful. He had painted 
 her standing at the sea edge with pallid roses in 
 her little hands, her graceful head set about with 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 261 
 
 the same soft-hued flowers, and a single crimson 
 rose lying lightly over her heart. He had hung 
 the sketch against the wall where the sunlight 
 fell upon it early in the morning ; and Millicent 
 had bade him remember, while he slept or waked, 
 that she was near him. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " It cannot be that love so deep as mine 
 Could fail to stay you like ethereal wine." 
 
 WHEN he first understood the full import of the 
 dreadful story, John Graham had been dazed 
 with grief. He had sought distraction from his 
 torturing thoughts in action, and had spent that 
 first day in wandering through the forest. When 
 he lay down to sleep that night in the lodge, his 
 heart was burdened with the double weight of 
 Millicent s secret and Millicent s deceit. He 
 said to himself that they had put an insuperable 
 bar between her and himself. He could have 
 pardoned the disgrace which had befallen her, 
 and was not her fault, but he could never forgive 
 her deceit toward him. The finding of her ker 
 chief the next morning, and the terrible appre 
 hension which the blood-stain had aroused in 
 him, swept away the anger and sorrow from his 
 heart, leaving nothing there but an agonizing 
 fear. This had been, in turn, banished by the 
 joy of finding her alive and unharmed, waiting 
 for him amidst the roses. The great fear had 
 
SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 263 
 
 softened the anger in his heart ; the sudden hap 
 piness exalted his soul from the hell of anguish 
 in which it had dwelt, into a perfect and pure 
 peace. Pride, anger, and resentment were swept 
 away, and love swayed him with its mastery. 
 He knew her now, faulty as she was ; and his 
 higher nature forgave her, because of her great 
 love, because of her great wrong. But in his 
 stormy breast the tide of feeling flowed and 
 ebbed ; pride had reigned there so long that 
 love could not all at once claim undisputed sway. 
 He could not learn in an instant that pride is 
 born of hell, while love is breathed from heaven. 
 In that strange moment when their two beings 
 had seemed etherealized, he had forgiven her all ; 
 but in the days that followed, pride, doubt, and 
 prejudice came forward one by one to do combat 
 with victorious love. It might be that they would 
 conquer in the struggle ; it might even be that 
 pride, being selfish, should make him doubt and 
 finally even forget love, which is unselfish. But 
 he had pardoned her, and loved her with all her 
 sins ; he had acknowledged that bond of spirit 
 which made them one ; he had knelt before her 
 and kissed her feet in a passionless embrace full 
 of reverence. No matter what griefs should fall 
 upon her, no matter what deed or word of his 
 might put them apart in this world, she should 
 carry through her life, and beyond it, the knowl- 
 
264 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 edge that what was highest in him had leapt to 
 meet her love, and acknowledged that they be 
 longed each to other for eternity. 
 
 John Graham awoke one morning to find him 
 self possessed of a picture. He had seen it be 
 tween waking and sleeping, in the early hours of 
 the night, and it had haunted his dreams till 
 sunrise. He heard the wondrous carolling of 
 the birds just before dawn, with a joy greater 
 than was his wont, for it heralded the day which 
 should bring light for his work. French John, 
 coming in with his breakfast, for the first time 
 in his life entered and left the tower without 
 word or look of greeting from the artist, who, 
 with bent brow and serious face, was sketching 
 in the first lines of his picture with a bit of 
 white chalk. The half-finished portrait of Mrs. 
 Patrick Shallop looked at him with one reproach 
 ful eye from the easel ; but Graham paid no 
 heed to the neglected portrait ; he was deeply 
 engrossed in pursuing his thought and preserv 
 ing it in a tangible shape. It is a rare thing, 
 in this age of the worship of the golden calf, for 
 the artist even to be absorbed in the love of his 
 profession. Of old, it seems that the sages and 
 the sculptors wrought and thought for the sake 
 of art and learning, the spur of ambition being 
 all that was necessary to urge them forward. 
 To-day the goal toward which such men strive 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 265 
 
 is a golden one, and the worship of money is 
 more in vogue than the pursuit of glory. 
 
 When artists sell their souls, brains, and tal 
 ents to dealers, engaging to deliver so many 
 works of art in so many months, on such and 
 such a class of subjects, bargaining by the whole 
 sale for the work which they shall produce dur 
 ing the coming twelve-month, what wonder that 
 the cry of the connoisseur is, Too much tech 
 nique, too little sentiment ! " What is senti 
 ment ? " one would ask such a babbler ; is it a 
 thing to be measured off by the yard, or sold in 
 canvases to suit traders, who feel the pulse of the 
 public, and if it is feverish give more stimulant, 
 or if it is fainting prescribe an anodyne ? To such 
 prostitution do these men strive to degrade the 
 arts, but in vain. Apollo s voice is still stronger 
 than the chink of doubloons ; and there are those 
 whose ears are ever strained to catch his mystic 
 music. The art trade, the literary trade, may 
 flourish luxuriantly, growing like weeds, with a 
 rank prodigality ; but the flowers of art and liter 
 ature, for all that, stand serenely strong in the 
 garden of our fair young world, growing day by 
 day in beauty and strength. Their blossoming 
 may be rare in this day and generation, but the 
 plants are sound and full of a mighty sap. 
 
 Though John Graham was a man of the world, 
 there was no taint of worldliness about him ; 
 
266 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 he knew the world, because he had lived some 
 what in it, but more, perhaps, because he had 
 studied the lives of the world s people. The 
 painting of a picture was to him of more im 
 portance than its sale ; the conception of a work 
 more than its accomplishment. His enthusiasm 
 was apt to wane as his picture neared com 
 pletion. The great glow with which the idea 
 came to him kept him warm and interested 
 through all the stages of the crystallization of 
 his thought ; but when the work was finished he 
 ceased to prize it, and either threw himself into 
 a new composition, or patiently labored at unin 
 teresting mechanical work until he was again 
 inspired. It was with difficulty that he could be 
 induced to sell his pictures ; he would sometimes 
 keep them before him for years, waiting to alter 
 some detail or to remedy some defect. His 
 friends, knowing his reluctance to part with 
 them, were wont to wait till they knew the artist 
 to be in absolute need of funds, and then quietly 
 to walk away with the coveted picture, forcing 
 him to accept its price. A few people only in 
 California understood or cared for his landscapes, 
 or the rare works of imagination which he pro 
 duced ; and it was through his portraits that he 
 was chiefly known. He felt in himself an unfit- 
 ness for this line of work ; and had it not been 
 for the sake of his beloved mother, partially 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 267 
 
 dependent on him, it is not likely that he would 
 ever have followed it. The reason was not far 
 to seek why. Graham did not succeed in that im 
 portant branch of art : the individual had little 
 interest for him ; men and women absorbed 
 him less than nature. Every tree and brooklet, 
 dead forest leaf or purpled thunder-cloud, held 
 for him a lesson. Men and women seen from 
 a distance were more likely to interest him than 
 those with whom he was thrown in close contact. 
 When their lives and actions were viewed in 
 an impersonal perspective, he understood them 
 better, and often theorized about them. His 
 thoughts were oftener occupied with people of 
 whom he knew little than with his friends and 
 intimates. To seek truth first and beauty second, 
 was his creed ; but his life was not always guided 
 by that high rule ; and the jack-o -lantern beauty 
 sometimes tempted him from the pursuit of truth, 
 leading him on long rambles over smiling meads 
 and into flower-hedged swamp lands. There 
 would he lie undone, angry and smarting from 
 the thorns through which beauty had led him ; 
 and then, turning his back upon her, would 
 trudge earnestly along the road which leads truth- 
 ward. Millicent had once whispered to him that 
 he mistook two loving sisters for dread rivals, 
 and that truth and beauty, when truly seen, are 
 found together ; whereat Graham had looked full 
 
268 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 into her eyes, long and steadily, and kissing her 
 hand, with a sigh, had spoken of other things. 
 
 Lying beside him on the floor, as he worked 
 upon his newly imagined picture, was a painting 
 nearly finished, on which he had been working 
 the previous day. A wooden panel, on which 
 was represented the ever-new subject, fairest of 
 themes to artist and poet, two lovers, stand 
 ing together in the rosy dawn of love, ere the 
 scorching sun of passion has deepened their cool 
 morning into a fervid midday. The man s figure 
 was strong and graceful, his attitude one of pro 
 tection ; the girl s rounded and delicate body 
 swayed toward her lover, whose arm enfolded 
 her. His face was turned away, the eyes look 
 ing far, as if into the future ; while her delicate 
 features were turned toward him, her glance 
 trustfully fastened on his face. The color of 
 the warm woodland background was mellow and 
 rich, bringing out the deeper tones of the figures. 
 The resemblance of the girl to Millicent Alms- 
 ford could hardly have been unintentional, one 
 who knew her well would have said ; and yet 
 Graham was only half-conscious that the face 
 and figure recalled her chief traits. He had 
 thought of her as he worked ; and beneath his 
 brush her bronze hair and luminous face had 
 been shadowed out more distinctly every day. 
 A rare picture, full of beauty and sentiment; 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 269 
 
 but thrown aside to-day for the new inspiration 
 which had seized upon the artist. The subject 
 to be treated was the entrance of the Poet to 
 the abode of the Muses. He sketched the Poet, 
 mounted on his winged horse, just crossing the 
 narrow defile which led to the sacred spot. 
 With knit brows and earnest face, Graham 
 worked at the sketch all day ; only leaving his 
 tower when the daylight failed him. As he 
 wandered through the dim forest aisles, he 
 thought of Millicent for the first time, remem 
 bering that he had agreed to ride with her in 
 the afternoon at three o clock ; it was now past 
 six. Without the slightest feeling of remorse 
 at his failure to keep the engagement, he deter 
 mined to ride over to the house and see her. 
 Millicent received him rather coolly, having spent 
 the afternoon crying with worry and disappoint 
 ment at his non-appearance ; and he, only half 
 noticing her mood, failed to understand it. He 
 was dimly aware that her society was not as 
 agreeable as usual, and consequently he devoted 
 himself to Mrs. Deering during the evening. 
 At first Miss Almsford kept aloof from the 
 conversation ; but later, when her lover began to 
 talk brilliantly, she drew near to where he sat 
 and listened to his words with downcast eyes. 
 Graham was in wonderful vein that night ; his 
 every gesture spoke of a strong under-current 
 
2/0 SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 
 
 of excitement. His eyes shone, and his deep 
 voice had a thrill of enthusiasm which stirred 
 the pulses of the calm-browed girl, sitting 
 near by with softly folded hands and parted, 
 breathless lips. But it was neither for Milli- 
 cent, nor because of Millicent, that the young 
 man talked so brilliantly. A more stimulating 
 influence than hers had touched him, and he 
 was beyond the reach of her sympathy ; exalted 
 by the wings of his genius to that clear, cool, 
 lonely communion with the immortals which only 
 such as he experience. Dismayed, and yet full 
 of reverence for this new phase of his nature, 
 Millicent was filled with a great pain. She was 
 left behind ; she could follow but not accom 
 pany the flight of his fancy ; and a sense of 
 lonely desolation chilled the hot heart-blood with 
 a depression the like of which she had never 
 before known. The ethereal quality of her being 
 recognized and did honor to his bold up-wing 
 ing ; but the personal, selfish side rebelled at the 
 neglect to which she was subjected. The strug 
 gle in her breast was at that time unintelligible 
 to herself ; in after days, when the baser nature 
 had been overcome, she realized it all, and knew 
 that the long death-struggle of self began that 
 night when Graham s eyes looked beyond her 
 for inspiration, up to the blue-starred empyrean 
 over both their heads. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 2/1 
 
 More from habit than because he needed her 
 society, her lover asked her to step for a moment 
 upon the piazza before he left. As they stood 
 side by side, he absently took her firm, small 
 hand in his and kissed the pink fingers one by 
 one, as if she had been a child. All at once he 
 perceived that she was weeping, her slender form 
 shaken by a storm of sobs. 
 
 " Millicent, my child, what is it? Are you 
 ill?" he asked, tenderly stroking her hair. 
 
 " No, only unhappy. Graham, why did you 
 not come for me to-day ? I waited for you all 
 the afternoon." 
 
 " Did I not tell you, dear, that I was very 
 busy? I have begun a new picture. I quite 
 forgot my engagement with you, I am very 
 sorry," he answered, puzzled at her emotion. 
 
 " Then it is your picture that is my rival I 
 hate it, I hate it ! I never want to see it ! 
 
 " Millicent, what do you mean ? " 
 
 Her only answer was to lay her aching head 
 upon his breast, to twine her arms about him, 
 and to sob out incoherent words of love and 
 grief, all of which puzzled and wearied him. 
 He soothed her tenderly ; and when they parted 
 there was a smile upon her lips, though her 
 breast still trembled with the slow after-waves 
 of a grief which shook her whole being. Graham, 
 unnerved by the tempest which he had all unwit- 
 
272 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 tingly aroused, reached his tower in an excited 
 and irritable frame of mind. The first thing that 
 met his eyes was the picture of the lovers lying 
 at the foot of the easel. He picked it up, placed 
 it on the table before him, and long and criti 
 cally surveyed his work. 
 
 " I painted better than I knew," he sighed. 
 "Yes, thus it is that we stand toward each other, 
 man and woman, and ever shall stand, the 
 man looking out beyond, above, the woman, and 
 she finding her utmost limit of self-projection in 
 him. Alas and alas ! " He placed the painting 
 with its face toward the wall, and with a moody 
 brow turned to his new sketch. 
 
 " Bah, I can do nothing, see nothing in that 
 picture ; I have been too rudely summoned back 
 to earth, to the little griefs of humanity, by a 
 woman s tears. I was never meant for it, I can 
 not bear it." So ran his thoughts impatiently. 
 He had been living in the passionless perfec 
 tion of art, and had been suddenly recalled by 
 a little creature, full of small human feelings, 
 to this narrow world. Nettled and unstrung, 
 he threw himself upon his hard bed, to dream 
 of Millicent, a happy dream, in which she 
 knelt before him, acknowledging her fault, 
 pleading his forgiveness ; a dream of sweet rec 
 onciliation, wherein was memory of that hour 
 among the redwoods, of that mystic soul-embrace 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 273 
 
 but once known to him his whole life through. 
 He awoke refreshed and strengthened, with a 
 love-song on his lips tender as that of the mourn 
 ing dove. Sundown showed him again at his 
 easel after a long day s work ; but that evening 
 Millicent listened in vain for the patter of Tasso s 
 hoofs among the softly rustling autumn leaves. 
 
 In the week which followed Graham did not 
 venture to see Millicent again, fearing her dis 
 turbing influence on his work. He sent her 
 every day by his faithful henchman some little 
 memento. One morning it was a quick sketch 
 of the sunset of the previous night. Another 
 day it was a bunch of pretty brown quails, the 
 result of an hour s shooting. Once she found 
 hung upon her window-ledge a garland of dewy 
 red roses ; and easily guessed what strong, light 
 figure had swung itself up the piazza post, and 
 over the trellis-work, to lay this offering before 
 her curtained window. 
 
 Henry Deering, passing by the piazza on the 
 night the lovers had parted, heard the sound of 
 weeping. In the days that followed, he noticed 
 Millicent s reddened eyes and restless mood. 
 He felt sure that some misunderstanding had 
 arisen between them ; and as the days passed, 
 and Graham failed to appear, he began to be 
 lieve that the breach was a serious one. In the 
 old days he had loved Graham as a brother ; but 
 18 
 
274 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 in the last months his affection had grown cold, 
 and held a weak place in his heart, from whence 
 jealousy was fast banishing it. Now that he 
 believed his old friend to have grieved the 
 woman they both loved, a feeling of antipathy 
 and an undefined distrust possessed him. 
 
 After the long day s work it was his custom 
 to sit for an hour or so upon the piazza beneath 
 Millicent s window, watching the beam of light 
 which shone through her closed blinds until it 
 was extinguished. One night, as he sat alone, 
 the drowsy humming of the insects soothed him 
 into a light sleep. When he awoke with a start. 
 the moon, which had not before been visible, 
 was high in the heavens. As he was about to 
 go in-doors he heard a footstep on the path out 
 side the house. He remained motionless in his 
 chair, resolved to see who was abroad so late. 
 The footsteps were uncertain and stealthy. 
 The person first approached the house, and 
 then retreated to the turf, where the steps 
 were hardly audible. Deering stepped lightly 
 to the edge of the piazza and peered through the 
 honeysuckle screen. At a distance of twenty 
 feet from him stood a man looking up at the 
 house, at Millicent s window. His face was 
 hidden by a mufrler and a broad hat pulled low 
 over the brows. Deering drew his revolver and 
 cocked it. The click of the lock evidently 
 
SAN ROSARIO EANCH. 275 
 
 reached the intruder s ears, for he turned and 
 fled toward the orchard. Deering sprang from 
 the piazza, and shouting, " Who are you ? 
 Stop, or I 11 fire ! " ran down the path. The 
 fugitive neither answered nor slackened his 
 pace. Deering fired, aiming low down ; but the 
 ball whistled by the man and buried itself in the 
 heart of a peach-tree. In the close shrubbery 
 which surrounded the orchard Deering missed his 
 man; and three minutes later he heard the swift 
 tramp of a pair of horses on the path which led to 
 the high-road. He ran to the stable. Nothing 
 there but the mules and old Sphinx; his own 
 fleet mare and Millicent s thorough-bred were 
 grazing in the pasture. He slipped a bridle 
 over the old mustang s head, and sprang on his 
 back without waiting for a saddle. By the time 
 he reached the highway the riders were out of 
 sight, and the echo of the distant hoof-beats 
 reached his ears. Pursuit was useless ; they 
 were well mounted ; and Sphinx had gone dead 
 lame the day before. The young man listened 
 to the faint sound of the hoofs until it died in 
 the silent night. Then he dismounted and ex 
 amined the road. There were the traces of two 
 horses. As he looked closely at the impressions 
 left on the thick dust, he saw that only one of 
 the horses had carried a rider ; the other had 
 been led. 
 
276 SAN ROSARIO EANCH. 
 
 When he returned to the house he found the 
 family aroused. Barbara met him on the piazza, 
 asking anxiously what had happened. The re 
 port of the revolver had awakened her. 
 
 " It was a bear, Barbara," said her brother. 
 " It is a shame to have roused you all, and for 
 nothing, too. I thought I had a sure shot, and 
 that we should have bear-steak for dinner to 
 morrow." 
 
 " A bear, Hal ? How strange ! Why, this is 
 the first time one ever came so near the house, 
 is n t it ? " 
 
 " No ; Ralph killed two long ago, before you 
 can remember. Go to bed now, and get the 
 house quiet, for heaven s sake!" 
 
 The young man kept his own counsel, and the 
 next morning made a careful examination of 
 the grounds near the house. On the farther 
 side of the orchard there were traces of a pair 
 of horses having been tethered. 
 
 Two more days went by, and still Graham 
 did not come. Millicent was distressed and 
 puzzled at his long absence ; and finally, after 
 thoughtful deliberation, she decided to write to 
 him, telling him how grieved she was at her 
 own unreasonable behavior. 
 
 Graham found a letter early one morning 
 folded in an embroidered kerchief, and laid 
 before the door of his tower. That heavy un- 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 277 
 
 painted barrier could have told a tale like that 
 of Tennyson s talking oak, had it been given the 
 power of speech. Trembling lips had pressed 
 timid kisses upon its weather-beaten panels. 
 Strange old door of the tower, roughly fash 
 ioned by the Mission priests a century ago, what 
 secrets have you not shut in ; what hopes have 
 you not seen pass out between your time-rusted 
 lintels ! 
 
 It was the first letter Millicent had ever 
 written him ; he had but once before seen her 
 handwriting. The girlish, weak hand which 
 had traced the words in the little journal was 
 greatly altered. It was now a graceful, flowing 
 chirography, full of that individuality which 
 stamped everything appertaining to her. Gra 
 ham studied the superscription carefully be 
 fore he broke the golden seal, with its device 
 of Psyche with new-found wings. It ran as 
 follows : 
 
 BELOVED, Forgive me ! forgive me if you will, for 
 I cannot forgive myself. I was wrong to grudge you 
 the time passed with your work. It was weak and 
 selfish of me ; but now that I know my fault, be not 
 afraid. Believe that I am strong enough to overcome 
 it. For the red roses at my window I thank you ; 
 and for the fair picture and the graceful couplet, for 
 all the tender thoughts which prompted you to send 
 me these tokens, bless you a hundred times. But 
 oh ! my lover, come to me ; and let me read in your 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 strange eyes, that are now bright and cold as ocean 
 deeps, and again burning with Promethean fire, that 
 I am forgiven. Not rose nor picture, not poem nor 
 sweet garland, can tell me as can they that you 
 
 10VG ^ MILLICENT. 
 
 Graham read the letter through twice, and 
 folded it away, with a sigh. " Do I love her ? 
 Does she love me?" he queried ; and all that day 
 the doubt tormented him. While he worked, 
 while he took his afternoon ramble through the 
 woods, while he sat at his solitary supper, it 
 rankled in his mind. He could not solve it ; 
 could she ? It were best at least to ask her. 
 It was only right that she should know of his 
 doubts of her and of himself. He found her 
 flushed with pleasure at the sight of him. She 
 had anticipated his coming, and was dressed in 
 soft colors which he approved, and fair with 
 a hundred little efforts of coquetry to please 
 him. Her bronze hair seemed to the man but 
 a mesh to snare him. He turned his eyes im 
 patiently from the pretty, bare arms, and the 
 cool, snowy shoulders shining through trans 
 parent draperies. His judgment should not be 
 turned aside by her loveliness. He greeted her 
 coolly, barely touching her outstretched hand ; 
 and then stood looking gloomily into the dis 
 tance, not knowing what to say, uncertain of 
 the truth, doubting her. The woman, quick to 
 
SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 279 
 
 see his trouble, spoke to him tenderly, with a 
 low, soothing voice, thanking him for coming 
 to her, telling him how long the time had 
 seemed since they had met. 
 
 " And tell me all about your new picture." 
 
 " I cannot, Millicent ; your letter spoiled my 
 day s work. I have done nothing since I read 
 it." 
 
 " Dear, what can you mean ? " 
 
 " This, Millicent, that my work must always 
 be first to me. I had thought that you would 
 help me in it, but it is not so." After a pause, 
 " Millicent, I think we have made a mistake, you 
 and I. We cannot help each other, and there 
 fore we hinder one another. You dazzle me 
 with your beauty, and send me back to my work 
 unfitted for it ; while I only make you unhappy, 
 and fear I can never do anything else." 
 
 " Graham, you kill me." She looked indeed 
 as if a blow had been planted in her breast, as 
 she reeled, all white and trembling, to a seat. 
 Her words seemed to deepen the nervous agi 
 tation which possessed him, for he said im 
 patiently, 
 
 " What can I do ? It is not my fault that 
 you have neither the best love to give me, nor 
 the power to arouse it in me. I tell you, child, 
 that we have been mistaken, and that it is time 
 for this thing to end." 
 
280 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 " No, no, Graham ; you are angry, you know 
 not what you say. In mercy speak no more." 
 She had sunk upon her knees, her clasped 
 hands stretched toward him in an agony of 
 fear. 
 
 " Do not kneel to me, but listen ; for I am 
 right. If things had been different, it might 
 have been ; but as they are, we have been mad 
 to think of it. There is no help for it, my girl ; 
 we must kiss and part. You never loved me 
 as you should, Millicent, because you could 
 not. A woman can love but once, and that is 
 the first time." 
 
 " It is not true. You, who are a man, say it. 
 What woman ever said it ? It is a lie, a lie ! 
 You shall not say it, you must not think it. 
 You would make us creatures without souls 
 indeed. Are they right, then, the Easterns ? 
 If when we women are sold, or stolen, or en 
 trapped, we must love, and only then, you deny 
 us other life than that of the earth. Of what 
 man would you hold this doctrine to be true ? 
 It is utterly false ! it is wicked ! it is unworthy 
 of you ! " She moaned where she had fallen on 
 the ground, and tried to speak again ; but the 
 man continued with a pitiless stream of words, 
 sincere, earnest, spoken for her good as well as 
 his own. 
 
 "We have been loitering together for a time, 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 281 
 
 child, on life s way, and have chased the golden 
 butterfly of pleasure which men oft mistake for 
 love. Before we are too deeply entangled in the 
 briers, we must turn from the chase, we must 
 forget each other. We can be of no good, one 
 to the other ; and I will be no more harm to 
 you than I have been." 
 
 He could not see her face now ; it was hidden 
 on her arm as she crouched where his words 
 had thrown her. The pathos of the attitude 
 touched him ; he gently lifted one of the tightly 
 clinched hands, and loosened the fingers which 
 so fiercely bit the delicate palm. He was in a 
 strange mood, when heart and soul seemed ab 
 sent from him, and only the clear, strong brain 
 prompted his words. Her passionate grief hard 
 ened rather than softened the look in his eyes. 
 This girl, who had been as wax in his fingers, 
 glad when he smiled, weeping when he sighed, 
 swayed invariably by the mood which possessed 
 him, now denied by piteous word and gesture 
 the words which he was speaking. Her hand, 
 unlocked by him, would have clasped his stronger 
 palm ; but at the caress he dropped her arm and 
 turned his eyes from her. 
 
 " I cannot give you up," she murmured ; " you 
 must not leave me so. Oh, my love, you wrong 
 me, you wrong yourself! I love you, Graham, 
 with all my soul ; I love you as I never thought 
 
282 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 to love before! Cruel cruel! It is not with 
 lips and eyes that I have loved you, for you 
 could lose that, and yet miss nothing from your 
 life. Turn not from me, if you would not leave 
 that which is best worth having by the roadside, 
 and press on to find that goal towards which 
 your ambition spurs you, empty and void without 
 me at your side ! It is your worse nature which 
 doubts mine. Graham, Graham ! what matters 
 it if hand and eyes have been another s? My 
 soul is only yours, wakened first when your 
 strong spirit called it from the sleep - begun 
 before it was vested in this body, ere it was 
 divided from your own." 
 
 The last words, faintly whispered, hardly 
 reached his ears. To-day their import could 
 not have been felt by him. In other times he 
 understood, and sufferingly admitted the truth 
 of those incoherent words, which died on the air 
 as soon as they were breathed, and yet whose 
 memory abode with him his life through. He 
 had come to Millicent not knowing what he 
 should say, and the words seemed to have spoken 
 themselves. He was sorry, as is the surgeon for 
 the pain which he inflicts ; but, like the physi 
 cian, he felt that mercy lay in mercilessness. As 
 she lay weeping at his feet, a strong tide of emo 
 tion swept over him, leaving him pale and trem 
 bling. He lifted her with eager hands, and on 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 283 
 
 shoulder, brow, and pallid mouth he pressed 
 cruel, parting kisses, which carried no balm to 
 her broken heart, and brought no ease to his 
 fevered spirit. Then he broke from her with a 
 mighty effort, passion and pride wasting him 
 with a terrible warring, and fleeing through the 
 night left her there cold and nerveless, like a 
 broken lily amidst the dews and damps. 
 
 In the days which followed, Barbara watched 
 with tender solicitude Millicent s changed face 
 and nerveless step. Only through her sympa 
 thetic perceptions did she know of the girl s 
 trouble ; of what nature it was she surmised, not 
 incorrectly. Lovers quarrels are usually looked 
 upon with a tolerant amusement by intimate 
 friends and relatives ; and when they are of short 
 duration, it is usually considered advisable to ig 
 nore them altogether. But as weeks passed, and 
 Barbara learned that Graham was in San Fran 
 cisco, she redoubled her little attentions, and 
 shielded Millicent as best she could from her 
 mother s anxious questions. 
 
 Angry and rebellious was Millicent in these 
 days, with that terrible under-feeling of anguish 
 which must outlive anger and rebellion ; that 
 fainting of the soul, when all that has supported 
 it seems to have sunk away, and it is left abso 
 lutely without power to resist an all-devouring 
 despair. Her happiness had been so short-lived ; 
 
284 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 her misery was so terrible, so unending! Her 
 young life, which had been balked of its natural 
 joyousness and youth, had suddenly been illu 
 mined with the pure and perfect light of the 
 love which passeth all understanding, and now 
 she was in darkness blacker than she had ever 
 known. The anguish of that great love was not 
 wanting, and she suffered with a new sense of 
 her capacity for pain. In her dumb grief she 
 knew that the agony was not undeserved ; this 
 was the bitterest drop in the cup of tears. She 
 had not told him her sad secret; she had de 
 ceived him ! She had meant to tell him of 
 the blot upon her name, before their lives had 
 become irrevocably joined ; but she had put off 
 the dreaded moment until it was too late: he 
 knew all now, and not by her confession. Would 
 she ever have had the courage to tell him ? She 
 almost doubted herself. Was she deceitful by 
 nature ? she asked herself a hundred times, ques 
 tioning her deep eyes in the mirror s depth. No, 
 she knew that her frank, sincere character had 
 been warped and distorted by the evil influence 
 of the man whose name she would have cursed, 
 had not the grave closed over him, burying his 
 sins and her reproaches in the cold earth. Poor 
 child, poor women all, the weaker creatures in 
 this remorseless world ! When they are bruised 
 and broken by the force of their masters, is 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 285 
 
 it strange, is it unpardonable, that the weapon 
 of the weak tempts them? Who forged that 
 weapon for them, who forced them to use it? If 
 there were no unjust oppression among men, no 
 brutal abuse of a superior force, would women 
 be driven to deceit, that refuge of the weak ? 
 
 In this sophistry she wrapped herself, but was 
 not satisfied. She had been tried and found 
 wanting. This it was that had lost to her the 
 lover for whom she had faced death. He might 
 not know it ; he had never said it ; but she recog 
 nized what had driven him from her side, the 
 fault was hers. Was it unpardonable ? Could he 
 never forgive her ? Must their lives be sepa 
 rated, now that spirit had kissed soul ? Must 
 the long waiting last until time should be ended 
 for them both, and Eternity begun ? 
 
 Of all cruel gifts, is not that which lingered in 
 Pandora s box the one through which men surfer 
 most fiercely ? O Hope ! if thou hadst escaped 
 along with the rest of the heathen god s bless 
 ings, how many tortured souls would now be at 
 rest in a fixed and accepted grief which struggles 
 not, neither rebels at the decrees of destiny ! 
 Unquenchable art thou, robbing sad mortals of 
 all repose ; even in death shall they not find 
 rest ; thou troublest the dying with thy visions 
 of a future ! With resolute hands sorrowing 
 women seize upon thee, and would stifle thee 
 
286 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 in their breasts ; but though thou dost some 
 times simulate death, when the watchful hands 
 loosen their hold thou springest up stronger and 
 more cruel than before, and tormentest the suf 
 ferer with thy struggles ! 
 
 " If it would only die if it would only die !" 
 moaned Millicent, as she paced her room, her 
 hands crossed heavily upon her breast, as if to 
 stifle some tangible spark with their weight. A 
 thousand times she submitted to the rest of a 
 despair which was all too quickly routed by the 
 fever of a hope which could not die. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " If we should part and pass to separate ways 
 With stifled sigh, averted head, 
 
 Within a land where centuries are as days 
 Our love shall live though flesh and wrong lie dead." 
 
 AND her lover, where was he? In the heart of 
 the city, working in a garret on his great pic 
 ture, for the sake of which he had forsaken the 
 woman he loved. Intolerant of opposition was 
 Graham ; and when once an idea had been ac 
 cepted by him, it was next to an impossibility 
 for him to give it up. He had become con 
 vinced that his love for Millicent would make 
 him faithless to his work ; that the love of wo 
 man was not compatible with the highest devo 
 tion to art. Her fond dependence on him would 
 drain his strength. Without his work he could 
 neither be satisfied nor satisfy her. The closer 
 she clung to him the more did he recoil from 
 her. In the strength of his genius, he laughed 
 at the idea that a loving companionship was 
 necessary to him ; and yet hours came, at the 
 end of a long day s work, in the quiet watches 
 of the night when the city slept about him, in 
 
288 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 which all his theories were overset, in a terrible 
 longing for the girl whose sad eyes haunted him. 
 To see her and to touch her ; to hear her low, 
 deep voice ; to forget all the grievous striving 
 of his life, in the restful warmth of hers ! He 
 thought of her always as he had first seen her, 
 lying before-the fire, her slender figure robed in 
 white, her head supported in the hands which 
 he had so often caressed. Waiting for him, she 
 seemed to have been then. Waiting for him, 
 he loved to fancy her always. These tender 
 thoughts drifted through his mind in the soft 
 twilight, or before the dawn. In the fervid day 
 light he only remembered her as she had been 
 on that lasj: evening, rebellious and close-cling 
 ing, desperate, beautiful, and full of unrest. 
 
 The city tired him with its everlasting sounds 
 of traffic. The tread of dray horses and the 
 rumbling of carts sounded in his ears from ear 
 liest dawn till late night. There was no peace 
 here amongst his fellow-men. He longed for 
 the solitude of his tower, for his forest neigh 
 bors, for the sound of the woods, the wide arch 
 of blue sky, seen now through one narrow slit 
 between the opposing houses. 
 
 One morning he determined to take a day of 
 rest ; and, after making a light breakfast at a 
 coffee-house near by, he started for the San Ro- 
 sario Ranch, with a lighter heart than he had 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 289 
 
 carried in his bosom for many days. It was a 
 bright morning ; the air was crisped with a pre 
 diction of winter weather, genial enough in this 
 region at its worst. As he passed through the 
 familiar country he traced some likeness to Mil- 
 licent Almsford in every object on which his 
 eyes lighted. Now it was the golden-brown of 
 her hair seen in the shiny coat of a sleek filly 
 frolicking in a pasture ; now it was her graceful 
 movements traced in the trembling branches of 
 a straight young sapling ; again, her gray eyes 
 smiled in his face from under the brows of a fair 
 child playing by the roadside. The harsh voice 
 of the wheels thundering over the steel rails 
 seemed to be repeating her name ; and his heart 
 kept time with the refrain, beating out the sylla 
 bles rhythmically, Millicent, Millicent, Milli- 
 cent! He was weary of reasoning with himself. 
 For six days in the week his work was all-suffi 
 cing, and he needed no other companionship ; 
 but on the seventh day he longed for rest ; he 
 needed beauty, he needed love. He knew that 
 it was weak in him to waver in his resolution 
 not to see Millicent again; he knew that it was 
 a wrong to her, and that he would bitterly re 
 gret it in after days. And yet he yielded to 
 that exquisite golden haze which seemed to have 
 dropped about him, flooding his life with a pas 
 sionate delight, an ecstasy of expectation. 
 
290 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 He alighted at the station, and stood watch 
 ing the receding train with strained eyes. He 
 wished now that he had not come. He walked 
 up and down the narrow platform, flushed and 
 unnerved with the tumult in his breast. On 
 his right lay the dusty carriage-road which led 
 to the house; on his left a narrow bridle-path 
 pierced the woods, over which he must pass to 
 reach his tower. Which should it be, a day 
 passed with the creatures of the forest, under 
 the blue sky and murmuring trees ; or an hour 
 of the soft delight which Millicent s voice, Mil- 
 licent s eyes, Millicent s lightest finger-touch, 
 wrapped about him? He realized now how he 
 had cheated himself. He had said that it was 
 the wood-birds whose voices wooed him from the 
 city ! He knew now that beneath that longing 
 for the free air of his forest home lay the deeper 
 desire which had tempted him to leave his pic 
 ture half finished, his palette half set. 
 
 Which road should he take? Not more un 
 stable was the blue ring of smoke which the 
 breeze carried from his lips, tossing it hither and 
 thither in a cloudy wreath upon the white air, 
 than was this man between the opposing in 
 fluences which divided his nature. At last he 
 tossed his cigarette upon the platform, carefully 
 quenching its spark with his foot, and with a 
 light, fleet step ran down the wide carriage-road 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 291 
 
 which led to the house which would bring him 
 to Millicent He had known all along, with that 
 inner consciousness which decides with lightning 
 rapidity a question which the intellect debates 
 long and seriously, that his feet would follow 
 that pleasant, open road rather than the dark 
 wood-trail ; and yet the train had sped twenty 
 miles further on its journey before he turned 
 his face toward the happy valley. So clumsy is 
 reason compared to instinct ; so tedious are the 
 modes of thought to the working of the feel 
 ings ; so useless is the grave gate of wisdom to 
 check the tumultuous torrent of feeling. 
 
 He found the wide piazza deserted, the front 
 door fast closed, the blinds of the library and 
 dining-room tightly drawn. The hospitable 
 house was silent and deserted. His impera 
 tive summons was finally answered by a domes 
 tic, the successor of poor Ah Lam, who in his 
 ridiculous vernacular informed the visitor that 
 " Alley folk go waly." Which, being translated 
 into English, signified that no one was at home. 
 
 Graham felt as if a flood of cold water had 
 been dashed into his face. He shivered, as he 
 turned from the door and descended the steps ; 
 and yet before he had walked two miles in 
 the familiar road which led to his tower, he 
 gave a profound sigh of relief. It was better 
 so ! The exercise had cooled his fevered blood ; 
 
292 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 the crisp forest air had brought reason back 
 to his passion-tossed breast. It was better 
 that he had not seen her. Something of 
 the fatalist was there about this strong-brained 
 rationalist. He half fancied that it was not 
 chance alone which had decreed that Millicent 
 should be absent from the Ranch that day. 
 But he sang no more as he had done on his 
 way to the house; and his serious face lost 
 that smile of hope which had lighted the eyes 
 and touched the mouth into an unaccustomed 
 softness. If he was silent, the wild birds 
 were melodious, and he walked between choirs 
 of invisible songsters ; while the whirring of 
 a partridge, the fleet step of a wild fox in the 
 thicket, gave him the assurance that he was 
 not alone in the mysterious wood. At last the 
 distance was accomplished ; and at high noon, 
 when the shadows had all shrunk back into 
 the tall trees before the ardent heat of the 
 sun, he reached the ruin of the old church. 
 He leaned against the fragment of a pillar 
 which stood at the foot of the staircase, and 
 looked up at the square gray tower with its 
 close-clinging pall of moss and yellow lichens. 
 From a rift in the wall burst a blaze of color, 
 a clump of wallflowers stretching its flame 
 of blossoms upward toward his window. He 
 noticed that the casement was open ; and as he 
 
SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 293 
 
 looked he saw the fluttering of a bit of drapery 
 over the edge of the sill. It must have been 
 the curtain, of course ; but the sight of it gave 
 him a strange sensation, not unlike one that he 
 had experienced before on that spot, when he 
 had been tricked by the moonlight into fancying 
 that there was a woman straying in the aisles 
 of the old church. He remembered that night 
 and what it had revealed to him ; and at the 
 black thought the sky seemed to have darkened 
 over his head. He had stood dreaming at the 
 tower foot for fifteen minutes, and in that time 
 the sky had become overcast, a cold wind had 
 sprung up and now blew into his face, carrying 
 a host of big drops with it. The rain had come 
 at last ! After the long spring and summer un- 
 marred by clouded skies or rude gusts, the first 
 rain had come. With a rough tenderness it 
 dashed itself against the parched land and shook 
 the tall trees till they murmured a delighted 
 welcome. The dusty ferns growing low down 
 about the knees of the great trees caught the 
 happy news, and uncurled their tender fernlings 
 that they might feel the welcome touch of the 
 rain-drops, as they filtered through the greedy 
 leaves and raced down the straight stems to 
 reach the myriads of thirsty mouths yearning 
 for their balm. The rain had come; and the 
 languid stream, which had pined and shrunk to 
 
2Q4 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 a pitiful thread of water, leaped joyously down 
 its rocky bed. It would grow strong and young 
 and beautiful again; its banks would bloom 
 with flowers; its course would no longer run 
 painfully over heated stones, between seared 
 brown edges, the rain had come ! 
 
 On the narrow stairway Graham paused, near 
 the top. Something shining lay on the step 
 before him. The object proved to be a small 
 silver arrow, tipped with a feather of brilliants. 
 He picked up the jewelled toy, which he had 
 once before held in his hand, one evening 
 when he had withdrawn it from the soft tresses 
 which it caught together behind a small white 
 ear. His hand trembled as he remembered the 
 soft rushing of silken curls over his arm, the 
 fragrance which had floated about him, the look 
 of loving reproach which had punished his au 
 dacity. Wondering how the arrow had found 
 its way to the threshold of his tower, Graham 
 tried to open the heavy door with his key. To 
 his surprise it refused to yield ; the bolt was 
 drawn on the inside. Some one was in his 
 tower. Thinking that the Frenchman, in whose 
 care his room had been left, might be at work, 
 he lifted the heavy brass dolphin which served 
 for a knocker, and rapped loudly. There was 
 no answer. The rain by this time was falling in 
 torrents. He was entirely without shelter ; and 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 295 
 
 he knocked a second time, calling out to know 
 who was inside the room. He heard a light step 
 approach the door, and a hand was laid upon 
 the lock. The old wood-cutter could never have 
 walked with that musical footstep ; the soft rustle 
 of garments could not have been made by him. 
 Graham s heart leaped from its quiet beating 
 into a very tumult of pulsations, as the bolt was 
 gradually drawn and the heavy door swung 
 slowly open. On the threshold of his lonely 
 tower stood Millicent, with downcast eyes and 
 pale face. For a moment he was silent, looking 
 at her, doubting his own vision ; fearing to move 
 lest she should vanish from before his eager eyes 
 as she did in his dreams. Could this beautiful, 
 colorless creature, with marble cheeks and fallen 
 lids, with sombre garments and nerveless, pallid 
 hands crossed upon the breast, be Millicent 
 Almsford? He stepped nearer with outstretched 
 hands to touch her, to feel that it was in verity 
 the woman who had lain weeping at his feet 
 that night among the roses. He would have 
 folded her to his breast, but the white lids flashed 
 open, the sad, tear-worn eyes looked into his 
 own with an expression which made him draw 
 back ; and the girl, without a word, passed out 
 of the doorway and stood unprotected in the 
 driving storm. 
 
 Before her mute grief, his passionate longing 
 
296 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 was turned to a great and holy pity. He stood 
 beside her and said gently, 
 
 " Millicent, you will not leave me without a 
 word? You must not go out into the storm; 
 I will leave you here alone, if you wish, until the 
 rain is over. Do not be so cruel as to doubt 
 me, dear one." 
 
 He stopped, for his words had made her 
 tremble. She feared him no longer, and with a 
 little sigh laid her hand in his and suffered hirn 
 to lead her into the room. The artist placed 
 his visitor in a great chair, and busied himself 
 in making a fire on his cold hearth. 
 
 " Now this is more cheerful, fair lady, is it not? " 
 he cried, in a pleasant voice. " And pray tell me 
 what brought you to my lonely dwelling." 
 
 " I had always wanted to see your tower, 
 Graham ; and this morning they all went to San 
 Francisco for the day, and I thought I would 
 ride over and look at it from the outside. I 
 found old John airing the room, and accepted 
 his invitation to rest here for half an hour 
 before riding home. He came up just now to tell 
 me that it was going to rain, but as he thought it 
 would be only a shower he had put my horse 
 under shelter. This is how I came here; and 
 now tell me what brought you so unexpectedly 
 from town." 
 
 " I cannot tell, white one. Your will, perhaps." 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 297 
 
 " Nay, friend, that has never swayed thee one 
 hair s-breadth from thine appointed course." 
 
 He shook his head sadly, and looked out of 
 the window. She did not know it was better 
 for her perhaps that she never should know 
 how great an influence she had wielded over 
 his life. She did not know that for her, faith 
 and youth had bloomed in his heart when he 
 had thought them dead. Her untruth was kill 
 ing them, and their death-agony had shaken 
 and worn him cruelly. She thought him hard 
 and relentless. It might be easier for her to 
 dull the pain in her heart, with this conscious 
 ness of injury received. He would never tell 
 her of the irreparable wrong she had done him. 
 If he was not forgiving he was magnanimous. 
 No word of reproach should pass his lips. 
 
 Outside the rain was pouring down, but less 
 steadily ; the patter of the drops sounded more 
 and more lightly on the window-panes. The 
 shower would not long continue. Graham took 
 note of the clearing sky, and sighed heavily. 
 With all her faults he loved her; the tower 
 would be lonelier than ever when she had flitted 
 from it like a sprite of the rain-storm. The 
 great trees outside lifted up their branches 
 with a mighty wailing, echoing his sigh ; and 
 Millicent, as if conscious that love was pleading 
 against pride in that strong heart which had 
 
298 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 never learned the lesson of forgiveness, turned 
 her white, appealing face towards him. The 
 man s being had been swept that day with fiery 
 impulses from the first moment of conscious 
 ness. Passionate love, pity, scorn, and anger 
 had in turn written their impress on his mobile 
 face. He came close to her side, and taking 
 both her hands in his, knelt at her side : 
 
 "O Millicent, Millicent! could he not have 
 spared you? We could have loved each other 
 so truly ! Poor child, poor child ! What fiend 
 was he to have betrayed you ! But now it can 
 never be, never, never, never ! " The words rang 
 out drearily, the death-knell of all that had made 
 life beautiful to them both. The pale girl sat 
 motionless, speechless, her eyes dark with hor 
 ror, her hands nerveless in his passionate grasp. 
 Tears fell upon those white fingers which he had 
 so often kissed, cruel tears wrung from the 
 bruised heart of the man she loved ; tears that 
 she had no power to check, tears that had their 
 source in her own sin. In that hour of agony, 
 if remorse may in aught atone for error, Milli 
 cent must have been forgiven of the angels. 
 The proud man knew how to suffer, but he 
 could not forgive. He arose and dashed the 
 tears from his eyes ; they had cost him mortal 
 pain. 
 
 The rain was over, the gray sky had cleared ; 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 299 
 
 and Millicent, like a gray shadow, slipped from 
 the tower, leaving her lover alone, with the 
 mocking sunlight shining on his dark, tear- 
 stained face. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " Our bread was such as captives tears 
 Have moistened many a thousand years, 
 Since man first pent his brother men 
 Like brutes within an iron den." 
 
 IT was a long chase that brought Hal Deering 
 and Maurice Galbraith face to face with the ruf 
 fian, whom Hal readily identified. They found 
 him with a group of new-found friends in the 
 chief liquor saloon of a small, rather disrepu 
 table town, fifty miles from the Ranch. When 
 the two young men entered the place, the man 
 they were looking for asked them to join in the 
 " all-round drink " he was about to " stand treat 
 for," which invitation was promptly declined by 
 Hal Deering. After a whispered word, Galbraith 
 had left the shop ; and Hal, seating himself at a 
 table, awaited the return of his friend, quietly 
 enduring the insulting remarks which the of 
 fended Horton heaped upon him. The loafers 
 in the shop had a kindly feeling toward the 
 man who had treated them, and did not dis 
 courage him in his attempts to force the new 
 comer into a quarrel. But Hal was imperturb 
 able, and answered neither with look nor word. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 301 
 
 Stimulated by the whiskey he had imbibed, and 
 the admiring attention of his friends, the rowdy 
 finally called out in a brutal voice, 
 
 " If you think yerself too good to drink with 
 this yere crowd, p raps yer would n t mind amus 
 ing em by showing em the last style of dancing 
 down in Frisco. T would raley please us to see 
 you step out." 
 
 As he spoke he drew his pistol from his belt 
 and pointed it at Deering. The more sober 
 ones of the party here interfered ; and the burly 
 saloon-keeper stepped forward with the remark, 
 that he " did n t mean to low anything but fair 
 play in his shanty; and that if the genl m n had 
 a difference between them they must settle it 
 outside." 
 
 The man whom Deering was after seated him 
 self astride a hogshead of beer and cocked his 
 pistol, advising the " boss " to keep out of the 
 affair if he valued his " sweet life." 
 
 "Now, then, young man, if yer don t cut a 
 caper before I count three, I shall be obliged to 
 see how much of your right boot-heel I can 
 carry away with this bullet, without endangering 
 them handsome feet o yourn." 
 
 Hal, only afraid of losing his man, answered 
 coolly, 
 
 "You can shoot if you want to. I am a 
 stranger in this place, and I prefer to do my 
 dancing at home." 
 
302 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 The proprietor again interposed, and laying 
 his hand on the bully s shoulder, ordered him to 
 put up his shooting-irons. Horton threw him off, 
 and things were beginning to look rather seri 
 ous ; when Deering saw Galbraith crossing the 
 street with two men, one of whom he recognized 
 as the county sheriff. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " I have come a long 
 distance to find this man ; I am anxious to have 
 his company as far as the San Bernardino prison, 
 where he will find comfortable board provided 
 for him. If you are law-abiding citizens, you 
 will not interfere with the arrest of Daniel Hor 
 ton on an indictment of murder." 
 
 As he finished speaking, the three men en 
 tered, and the sheriff laid his hand on Horton s 
 shoulder. Murder is an ugly word, and a silence 
 followed Hal s speech. The crowd instinctively 
 drew back from the man who had been charged 
 with the foul crime ; and a silence ensued, which 
 was broken by the sheriff, a high-voiced little 
 man, who said in a loud tone, 
 
 " I arrest you, Dan Horton, for the murder of 
 Ah Lam, committed at Carey s Bridge, on the 
 afternoon of Wednesday last." 
 
 A revulsion of feeling was manifest in the 
 faces of the crowd. The horror for a person 
 who has committed the unatonable crime of 
 murder had been felt; but when it transpired 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 303 
 
 that the victim was a Chinaman, the case ap 
 peared to be very much altered. The man, quick 
 to see the favorable change in public sentiment, 
 cried, 
 
 " Wall, boys, you see I am spected of having 
 done the business for one of these Chinese ver 
 min. What sort of a town s this as will see a 
 man rested for that? " 
 
 Daniel Horton s experience of life in the 
 rough mining towns, where the last five years of 
 his life had been spent, gave him the hope that 
 the men in the saloon would help him to escape 
 from arrest. But though sympathy for him was 
 evinced by the group of idlers, there was no 
 attempt at resisting the officers ; and the sheriff", 
 assisted by Galbraith and Deering, finally suc 
 ceeded in placing the hand-cuffs on his wrists. 
 When he saw that there was no help for him, he 
 submitted to be led from the saloon, giving one 
 parting look of scorn at the friends whom he 
 had won by a glass of liquor and lost on the 
 appearance of an officer. 
 
 " Of all the derned mean skunks as I ever 
 met, this town numbers the most," he muttered, 
 as the screen door swung to behind him. 
 
 The examination of the prisoner was to be 
 held in the court-room of the county prison of 
 San Bernardino. Millicent was summoned to be 
 present. Escorted by Deering and Galbraith, 
 
304 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 she arrived before the entrance of the gloomy 
 building, one bright October morning. It was 
 a day when life seemed a pleasant thing, if only 
 because there were sunlight and color in the 
 odorous woods and pleasant highways. Just as 
 they reached the doorway, a line of people filed 
 out from the narrow portal. They were the 
 discharged prisoners, some of whom had been 
 in confinement for twenty-four hours only, while 
 others had not breathed the free air for many 
 weary months. A girl not older than Millicent 
 passed them with a slow, inelastic step and 
 downcast eyes. Her slender figure was poorly 
 but decently clad in a gown of rusty black, her 
 hair neatly arranged, her hands and face clean 
 and of a remarkable pallor. She alone among 
 the little group seemed loath to leave the prison, 
 where at least she had been among those who 
 could not look down on her. At the threshold 
 she paused and shuddered, as if the wide street, 
 with its row of young shade-trees and neat side 
 walk, were more forbidding than the narrow 
 prison-yard, with its spiked rails and dismal 
 barred windows. Those who were behind be 
 came impatient at her delay; and she was 
 pushed not ungently into the street by the man 
 next to her in the sad procession. As she 
 found herself alone outside the dreary stone 
 building, she gave a low groan, clasping her 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 305 
 
 poor thin hands together over her breast. Mil- 
 licent, moved by the pathetic gesture, spoke to 
 her gently, asking if she could in any way help 
 her ; but the girl shook her head as if annoyed 
 by the question, and walked quickly down the 
 street, taking the first turn which led her out o 
 sight of the prison. All those who followed were 
 men, most of whom wore a conscious expres 
 sion, as if they were more embarrassed at being 
 seen leaving the prison than mortified at hav 
 ing merited the punishment which they had 
 undergone. As the last of the queue filed out, 
 Galbraith entered the doorway, Millicent follow 
 ing him, and Deering bringing up the rear. In 
 the wide stone hall which they entered were 
 groups of men talking together or leaning idly 
 against the rails. A heavy grated door swung 
 open with a rusty, grinding sound, and two men 
 appeared, arm-in-arm. The taller of the two 
 was a handsome young fellow, with blond, curl 
 ing hair, blue eyes, and fresh rosy cheeks. His 
 expression was almost infantine in its beauty; 
 and this, with his jaunty air, contrasted strangely 
 with his companion s ugly, stooping figure and 
 downcast, shamed face. The latter was a mis 
 shapen creature, with a humped back and a large, 
 ugly head furnished with coarse hair and beard. 
 As the grate clanged behind the couple, 
 the handsome young fellow laughed cheerily, 
 
306 SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 stretched his limbs, and drew a long breath of 
 relief. 
 
 " Ta-ta, bully, hope I won t see you soon 
 again," he said, nodding impudently to the door 
 keeper. The smaller man was lame, as well as 
 deformed; and the under-warden, who had joined 
 Galbraith, asked him kindly how his leg was 
 doing. 
 
 " Better, sir, thank you," croaked the unfortu 
 nate in a harsh voice ; " it came hard on me not 
 havin George here to help me ; but it s all right 
 now. Good-morning to you, sir." 
 
 " Tell me about those men," said Millicent to 
 an official whom Galbraith had introduced to 
 her. 
 
 " They are brothers, George and Pete Marcy. 
 Which of them do you think paid a twenty- 
 dollar fine to get his brother out of prison 
 just now? Likely you 11 think it was the good- 
 looking chap ; but t was Pete the dwarf. He s 
 the tinker and general useful man of the town, 
 is Pete ; and George is one of the biggest ras 
 cals in the State of California. But he covers his 
 tracks well ; and though we know a good many 
 things about him, we can prove nothing more 
 against him than an occasional assault and 
 battery." 
 
 " And did the poor little creature pay the fine 
 out of his earnings?" 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 307 
 
 " Bless you, yes ; and pays for his clothes, - 
 nice ones, you remarked, mebbe? Pete gives 
 that rascal every dollar he earns ; and the only 
 thing George does toward supporting himself, 
 is to rob an occasional hen-roost when he wants 
 to give a supper party." 
 
 The outer door now closed with a grave 
 sound ; it had let out its day s quota of men and 
 women who had legally expiated their crimes ; 
 it had taken in its one breath of sun and air. 
 From a narrow window Millicent saw.the Marcy 
 brothers walking down the street, George with 
 head erect and swaggering gait, Pete shambling 
 awkwardly along at his side, vainly trying to 
 keep pace with his handsome brother s long 
 strides. 
 
 The warden now led the way to the court 
 room. The keeper of the gate, a stern-looking 
 man, with iron-gray hair and iron-rusted clothes, 
 stopped Millicent as she was about to pass 
 through the grated door, saying, 
 
 " Put up your veil, please." Three inches of 
 transparent red tulle masked her face from the 
 brow to the mouth. So slight a covering was 
 it that the superior officer had not noticed it; 
 but nothing escaped the lynx-eyed jailer, who 
 added curtly, " Must keep it up all through 
 the prison. No woman is allowed to enter or 
 leave this place veiled." 
 
308 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 Millicent looked a little puzzled as she un 
 fastened the bit of lace ; and the grim guardian 
 added, in a voice which was something softer 
 than the grating of his key in the lock, 
 
 " You need n t be ashamed to put up your 
 veil, with suck a face as yours/ 
 
 Millicent smiled an acknowledgment of the 
 compliment, and passed through the gate, hold 
 ing fast to the slip of yellow paper and the red 
 ticket which had been given to her, and which 
 were necessary to secure an exit from that pre 
 cinct which is so easily entered and so difficult 
 to leave. 
 
 "You have captivated that grim old fellow 
 with one glance, Miss Almsford. How do you 
 do it? " queried Galbraith. 
 
 "What do you mean? I don t," answered 
 Millicent rather inconsistently. 
 
 They had by this time reached the prison- 
 yard ; and Millicent, with a shiver, looked up 
 at the high, smooth stone walls, with their cruel 
 topping of iron spikes. In a certain angle she 
 stopped a moment, attracted by a little fern 
 which had found place for its slender roots in a 
 cranny of the masonry. She suddenly started, 
 and with a horrified expression ran back a few 
 paces, grown pale to the lips. The warden, 
 who had looked at her with an odd expression, 
 said, 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 309 
 
 " You were standing, just now, miss, on the 
 spot where the gallows is always erected." 
 
 " I knew it," said the girl, in a shaking voice. 
 " I saw it." 
 
 Maurice Galbraith quietly drew her arm under 
 his own, and said gently, but authoritatively, 
 
 " Come, my child, do not be nervous; you 
 have a great deal to go through with to-day." 
 
 He fixed his deep, serious eyes on her face 
 for a moment ; and the girl, sensitive to his quiet 
 influence, quickly recovered herself. 
 
 They passed up a narrow, dark stone stair 
 case, and along a corridor running outside the 
 cells. Most of the heavy wooden doors were 
 open, the outer grating of iron revealing the 
 interior of the cells. In one of these a young 
 mulatto, the Figaro of the village, stood leaning 
 against the bars talking to a respectable-looking 
 man of his own color, who proved to be the 
 pastor of a Methodist church. The young man 
 was a handsome fellow, carefully and neatly 
 dressed. He seemed somewhat excited, and 
 talked in a loud voice, which he lowered at the 
 approach of the party. Galbraith inquired 
 what crime he had been charged with, and 
 learned from the officer that he had wounded 
 his brother mortally in a quarrel ; " They both 
 was waitin on the same gal," the attendant 
 added in explanation. A man lying at full- 
 
310 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 length upon the floor sprang to his feet as they 
 passed his door, and walked furiously up and 
 down the narrow room, shaking his head from 
 side to side, reminding Millicent of a caged 
 panther she had once seen. Each dreary, 
 cramped apartment imprisoned some unfortu 
 nate, either suffering the penalty for, or awaiting 
 the judgment of, his crimes. Millicent felt the 
 chill air of the prison damp and fetid upon her 
 cheek, and yet she did not hurry down the cor 
 ridor, but walked slowly, apparently looking 
 neither to the right nor left, but with one quick, 
 sidelong glance, taking in the details of each of 
 the cells and the faces of the malefactors, im 
 pressions which never faded from her memory. 
 Some of the men laughed impudently as the 
 little group passed their cells ; and one fellow of 
 wild aspect buried his face in his hands, with a 
 sudden movement, as if ashamed of being seen 
 behind the disgraceful bars. A pair of youthful 
 criminals were engaged in playing moro, the 
 great Italian gambling game. One of the youths 
 was a native of Italy; and he had evidently 
 taught his companion in confinement the simple 
 but exciting game. No cards or dice, checkers 
 or other paraphernalia, are needed ; the game 
 is played with the fingers only. Those of the 
 left hand keep the account of the game. With 
 the right hand a quick movement is made by 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 both players simultaneously, showing a certain 
 number of ringers ; while at the same moment 
 each calls out his guess of the number which 
 his antagonist holds up, " due " - " cinque" 
 " tutti" The familiar words fell upon Millicent s 
 ears, and she stopped outside the door, her 
 cheeks dyed with a flush of pleasure, her eyes 
 sparkling at the sound of her native language. 
 She did not remember that she was in a prison; 
 she thought of nothing but the fact that here 
 was a compatriot; she spoke to him in a low 
 voice a few words of greeting. The fellow 
 stared at her at first ; and then, seeing that hers 
 was a friendly face, left his seat on the corner 
 of the narrow bed, came close to the grate and 
 poured out a torrent of words in the patois of the 
 Venetians. When he learned that the signorina 
 was not only of his country, but from his city, 
 the poor fellow, whose crime had been nothing 
 more than participation in a street-fight, was 
 moved to tears. Millicent forgot her compan 
 ions and the strange place of meeting, and lis 
 tened with sympathizing attention to the story 
 of the man with the dull red-gold hair and white, 
 delicate features, whose face recalled more than 
 one friend in the far-off city of her home. His 
 profession was that of a cobbler, his name Gio 
 vanni Brogli. He had drifted out to this strange 
 country through a love of wandering, and had 
 
312 SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 
 
 been drawn into a street-brawl by some chance 
 acquaintances, who had robbed him of all that 
 remained of his small fortune; and when he 
 would have fought his betrayers, they turned him 
 over to the police. True or false, the story was 
 a pitiful one. The creature could speak next to 
 no English; and Millicent s tender heart was 
 troubled by the recital of his griefs. She had 
 no money with her, and before either of her 
 companions was aware of her intention, she had 
 untwined a gold serpent of exquisite workman 
 ship from her throat and held it through the 
 bars to the man inside the cell. He looked at 
 her with wondering eyes, and taking the white 
 fingers in his own rough, blackened hand, kissed 
 them reverently, murmuring a blessing which 
 brought tears to her eyes. 
 
 " I say, Princess, you must n t do that sort 
 of thing;" said Hal, thoroughly scandalized, 
 pulling her by the sleeve. " Come on! you 
 can t stand talking to these rascals and giving 
 them your jewelry, it is n t sensible." 
 
 She answered impatiently, and then saying 
 a word of farewell to the prisoner, she submitted 
 to be led away from the grate by Galbraith, 
 followed by .a fervent parting blessing from 
 Giovanni of the reddish locks. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn t be so absurdly soft 
 hearted. What did you want to give that beg 
 gar your lovely necklace for? " said Hal. 
 
SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 313 
 
 " I had no money with me," half penitently. 
 
 " Well, I could have let you have some. But 
 it s against the rule. I should n t wonder if 
 you got into trouble for doing such a thing," 
 continued the young man, who was genuinely 
 shocked at Millicent s behavior. 
 
 " There was no harm done, was there, Mr. 
 Galbraith? I won t be scolded. It was my ser 
 pent; I will do what I choose with my own 
 things, and will not be dictated to by you." 
 Millicent was angry at Deering s very natural 
 interference; and Galbraith, anxious to spare 
 her all annoyance, gave Hal a warning kick, 
 and hurried her towards their destination, lest 
 she should feel moved to part with any more 
 of her personal property for the benefit of the 
 prisoners. 
 
 They now entered a small apartment; and 
 Millicent learned that before the opening of the 
 trial, she was called upon to identify the mur 
 derer of Ah Lam. The question was asked, 
 
 " Could you identify, on oath, the man you 
 saw at Carey s Bridge? You were under great 
 excitement at the time ; you could hardly be 
 expected to remember anything beyond the 
 fact of the killing." 
 
 " I am positive I can identify him." 
 
 " On oath ; are you sure? " 
 
 " Perfectly so." 
 
314 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 " How could you surely recognize a man you 
 have seen but once, under very painful circum 
 stances, six weeks ago? " 
 
 "I remember* his face distinctly; I should 
 know his voice among a thousand." 
 
 " Be careful ; what you say may be put to the 
 test. What you state in the court you must be 
 able to prove." 
 
 " I am ready to prove it." 
 
 When the moment came for the identification 
 of the prisoner, Millicent s eyes were bandaged ; 
 and twelve men filed into the room, among 
 whom she was told was the man arrested for the 
 crime. As she had made the assertion that his 
 voice alone would betray the murderer to her, 
 she was asked to listen to a sentence repeated 
 in turn by each of these men. Three of them 
 had said the stipulated words, and the fourth 
 was about to speak, when those who were near 
 est to Millicent noticed that she shuddered 
 violently. 
 
 " Let the next man speak." 
 
 The fellow looked at Millicent askance, and 
 then repeated the sentence in a low, unnatural 
 voice. He had said but three words when she 
 interrupted him. 
 
 " The person who is now speaking is the man 
 who assaulted me at Carey s Bridge." 
 
 The judge, who had taken a keen interest in 
 
SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 315 
 
 all Millicent had said, now motioned to the men 
 to change places. The bandage being removed, 
 she glanced at the row of men and said, 
 
 " He now stands at the end of the row near 
 est the window." 
 
 Her expression, as she turned her eyes and 
 looked in the face of Daniel Horton, was cold and 
 set as that of one of the younger Fates. Aversion 
 and horror were therein painted. As she spoke 
 she pointed at the guilty wretch, who moved 
 uneasily under her gaze, and dropped his bold 
 eyes before the light in her gray orbs, as if 
 their fire scorched him. 
 
 The preliminaries accomplished, all the par 
 ticipants adjourned to the court-room, which was 
 a bare apartment, very grimy, and sadly in need of 
 paint and soapsuds. At one end was a slightly 
 raised table, behind which the judge seated him 
 self. He was a singular-looking man, and wore 
 his hair long, in greasy ringlets falling as far as 
 the coat-collar. His stout person was adorned 
 with a large amount of rather flashy jewelry, and 
 a pink cravat was supplemented by a bunch 
 of fuchsias worn in the button-hole. The space 
 in front of the bench was railed in by an iron 
 balustrade painted green. At the long tables 
 sat groups of men busily engaged in writing or 
 in conversation. A policeman standing near 
 the judge s desk, when the clamor in the court- 
 
SAN EOSAEIO RANCH. 
 
 room became unusually loud, pounded on the 
 floor with his club, whereat the voices grew 
 lower for a brief space, and then the hubbub 
 began again. Somebody seemed to be address 
 ing the court, though Millicent thought that no 
 one paid much attention to him. The entrance 
 of the prosecuting council in the case of man 
 slaughter soon to be called, with two of the 
 chief witnesses, made some stir; and Millicent 
 was conscious, as she took her place, that the 
 eyes of all present were fixed upon her. She 
 looked wonderingly about the dismal apart 
 ment, with its dirty wooden settles and bare 
 floor, at the judge on the bench, and at the 
 crowd of poorly dressed people in the seats 
 behind her. Galbraith now entered the little 
 pen, and, seating himself at the table, proceeded 
 to look through some papers which his clerk 
 handed to him, while the man who was ha 
 ranguing the court continued his discourse, in 
 which nobody seemed to take any interest. 
 Millicent had never been in court before. Her 
 only experience of the abodes of justice had 
 been the long afternoons passed in the court 
 rooms of the Doge s palace, studying the fres 
 coes and beautiful carvings of those famous 
 apartments. She had always invested the pre 
 cincts of justice with a vague majesty and splen 
 dor. A judge, in her imagination, was a stately 
 
SAN EOSAEIO RANCH. 317 
 
 man clothed in crimson and ermine, with grave, 
 reverend features, majestic in mien, deliberate 
 in speech. When Hal pointed out Judge Croley, 
 as one of the most distinguished of American 
 jurists, she was greatly astonished. 
 " Will he try the case in that dress? " 
 " Oh, yes ; I heard Croley condemn a man to 
 death in very much the same costume as that 
 which he wears to-day. The cravat was a little 
 brighter pink, I think ; and I remember he wore 
 carnations in his button-hole. He said in a 
 pleasant, nonchalant voice, very much the tone 
 he would use in ordering his farmer to kill a 
 pair of chickens, You are condemned to be 
 taken to the San Bernardino prison, there to be 
 hanged by the neck until you are dead, on the 
 third day of May at twelve o clock; and may 
 God have mercy upon your soul ! ! 
 
 Millicent shuddered as she heard the case 
 called, and faltered for the first time in her desire 
 to see justice done to the murderer of Ah Lam. 
 It is such a terrible responsibility, the taking 
 of life; can man s law make it guiltless? The 
 great question which all of modern thought has 
 not yet solved, troubled the mind of the young 
 woman, who could accept no judgment or creed 
 on faith ; she painfully and laboriously solved 
 the problems of life by the force of her own 
 reasoning. 
 
3l8 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 " There is Pierson, the counsel for the de 
 fence," whispered Hal, as a little man strutted 
 up the aisle between the benches full of people, 
 and entered the green-railed enclosure. He was 
 perhaps the most grotesque-looking person Mil- 
 licent had ever seen. His height could not have 
 been above five feet; and this, with his small 
 hands and feet, gave him an exceedingly effemi 
 nate appearance. His small round head was 
 like a ball, on the surface of which little globular 
 eyes and a beak-like nose had been very casu 
 ally placed. These features did not seem at all 
 a necessary part of the head, which resembled 
 that of a parrot. Before he spoke he put his 
 head on one side, in a bird-like fashion ; and he 
 occasionally shook himself, very much as a 
 canary does when anything has ruffled its com 
 posure. Millicent had learned from Galbraith 
 that this man was the most prominent criminal 
 lawyer in California. As she looked at his high, 
 narrow forehead and mean, pinched smile she 
 thought that among all the malefactors in San 
 Bernardino prison she had seen no face as bad 
 as that of Pierson, the great criminal lawyer. The 
 prisoner was now brought into the court. After 
 stating his name, age, residence, and occupation, 
 he was asked the question, 
 
 " Are you guilty or not guilty of the wilful 
 murder of Ah Lam at Carey s Bridge, on the 
 afternoon of Wednesday, October 16?" 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 319 
 
 The noisy court-room had grown perfectly 
 still ; and the prisoner s low-spoken answer was 
 heard in the farthest corner with perfect dis 
 tinctness, 
 
 " Not guilty." 
 
 The counsel for the defence now stated that 
 the prisoner acknowledged having been at 
 Carey s Bridge on the day of the murder. He 
 had there seen and spoken to Miss Almsford, 
 but had fled at the approach of some gentle 
 men of the party. He admitted that he had 
 assaulted Miss Almsford, but pleaded that he 
 had no intention of injuring her. 
 
 "What were you doing at the mill?" 
 
 " I come there to meet a man as I had gaged 
 to." 
 
 " What man was it?" 
 
 The prisoner declined to answer this question, 
 and finally declared that he did not know the 
 man s name. 
 
 "For what purpose did you meet this man? " 
 " To do a job as we was hired for." 
 
 " And what were you hired to do? " 
 
 "To carry off the young lady." 
 
 At this astonishing statement a moment s 
 silence fell upon the court-room, which was 
 broken by Pierson s sharp voice : he asked his 
 client to name the person who had engaged 
 him to kidnap the young girl. 
 
320 SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 
 
 With clasped hands and startled eyes, Milli- 
 cent looked into the face of the ruffian, waiting 
 to hear the name of the man who had plotted 
 against her. John Graham, in the excitement 
 of the moment, stood up in his place to get a 
 better view of Horton ; while Maurice Galbraith 
 sat with an unmoved countenance, keenly watch 
 ing the features of the prisoner at the bar. The 
 question was twice put to him, "Who was the 
 man?" but he did not speak. A third time he 
 was asked. Finally, he looked at his lawyer, 
 who nodded slightly; and then, with a defiant 
 glance toward the artist, at whom he pointed an 
 unsteady finger, he said, 
 
 " The man as hired me to do the job stands 
 in this yer court-room. He calls himself John 
 Graham." 
 
 A moment of silence followed this astounding 
 statement, succeeded by an incredulous murmur 
 which ran from mouth to mouth. From the 
 confused sounds rang out a deep, clear voice 
 uttering these words : 
 
 " It is a shameful lie ! " Millicent it was who 
 had spoken, rising to her feet and stretching out 
 her arms toward Graham with a gesture of 
 womanly protection, as if to shield him from 
 the ruffian s slanderous breath. 
 
 Silence was at last enforced, and the examina 
 tion of Horton proceeded. He repeated his 
 
SAN P. OS A RIO RANCH. 321 
 
 statement that he had not killed the Chinaman, 
 and that the abduction of Millicent had been 
 .attempted at the instigation of John Graham. 
 The artist, after the first moment of surprise, said 
 nothing, but remained perfectly silent, his eyes 
 fixed intently on Daniel Horton s face. The 
 story told by the prisoner was one which bore 
 some semblance of truth. He had met his con 
 federate on the morning of the picnic as had 
 been previously arranged, and had attempted 
 to carry off Miss Almsford ; but hearing the 
 voices of the gentlemen had fled. He had 
 undertaken the affair some time beforehand, 
 and had twice visited Graham s studio, where 
 the artist had made a painting of him in order 
 to explain his presence there. A scrap of 
 paper, soiled and tumbled, was produced, on 
 which were traced these words in Graham s 
 handwriting: " Come to the place I told you 
 of, to-morrow at one ; you shall be well paid." 
 One o clock had been the hour of the picnic; 
 and this note, it was affirmed, had been sent to 
 Horton on the previous day as per agreement. 
 On being further examined, the fellow showed 
 a dogged persistence in his story; and Maurice 
 Galbraith s adroit cross-questioning failed to 
 make him contradict his original statement in 
 any particular. The day waned as the storm 
 of words raged ; and at dusk the trial was ad- 
 
 21 
 
322 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 journed until the following day. As the crowd 
 filed out of the court-room, Millicent found 
 Graham at her side. He was pale, and his dark 
 eyes flashed angrily. He was about to speak 
 to her; and she turned toward him with smiling 
 lips and eyes, when Henry Deering stepped 
 between them, and, bowing coolly to the artist, 
 drew her arm through his own, and, before she 
 was well aware of his intention, led her from 
 the room. The eyes of a dozen curious outsiders 
 were fixed upon her, and she submitted to be 
 placed in the wagon, which Hal drove off at a 
 sharp pace. The artist remained in the court 
 room, where he was presently joined by Maurice 
 Galbraith, who in a formal voice asked him to 
 accompany him to his apartment, in order that 
 they might discuss the new and unexpected 
 feature in the case. The two men walked to 
 gether down the street, both too much excited 
 to trust themselves to speak. As soon as they 
 found themselves alone in Galbraith s chamber 
 at the inn, Graham cried excitedly, 
 
 " Galbraith, no one can for a moment believe 
 that infamous lie, you can make the fellow 
 eat his words to-morrow?" 
 
 The lawyer folded his arms across his breast, 
 and looked into his companion s face with a 
 searching gaze, before he answered slowly and 
 ironically, 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 323 
 
 " Am I to understand, Mr. Graham, that you 
 deny all collusion in the attempt to carry off 
 Miss Almsford?" 
 
 " Great God ! of course I do. Can you for 
 a moment doubt me ? I to carry off Millicent ? 
 Are you mad to ask me such a question? Why, 
 don t you know, man, how much I have cared 
 for that girl?" 
 
 " It is not difficult for the most indifferent 
 observer to detect your admiration for Miss 
 Almsford." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, what does that prove? It is a point 
 against you that you are supposed to be in love 
 with the young lady, and gives color to Horton s 
 accusation." 
 
 Graham sank into a seat, and the lawyer 
 continued, 
 
 " Your great intimacy at the Ranch and your 
 marked attentions to Miss Almsford were ap 
 parently unaccountably discontinued by your 
 removal to San Francisco. This feature is 
 against you. You must have seen that in the 
 eyes of Henry Deering, Horton s statement 
 needed strong disproving." 
 
 " And you, Galbraith, can you for an instant 
 suspect me of so base, so vile an action? Is it 
 possible that a man can be so misjudged? " 
 
 " All I have to say, Mr. Graham, is that it is 
 
324 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 my hope to prove you innocent of the crime 
 in which Horton has implicated you. As the 
 friend and counsel of Miss Almsford, I prefer to 
 believe that she was menaced by a vulgar ruf 
 fian and not by a man who might have aspired 
 to the honor and privilege of guarding her from 
 every harm. If you will excuse me, I will see 
 you in the course of the evening." 
 
 With these words the lawyer left the apart 
 ment, his nervous face suffused by a deep flush. 
 John Graham stared after him for a moment, 
 and then passed down the corridor and out 
 into the quiet night, to seek counsel from the 
 stars in this strange hour of doubt. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 "... the passions of her mind, 
 As winds from all the compass shift and blow, 
 Made war upon each other for an hour." 
 
 " MILLICENT ! Millicent ! are you awake ? " 
 
 It was the evening of the first day of the trial ; 
 and Miss Almsford, sitting in her chamber warm 
 ing her pretty feet before the fire, recognized the 
 voice and answered, 
 
 " Yes, Bab, come in." 
 
 It was very late, past twelve o clock ; but Bar 
 bara brought news of a visitor, who would keep 
 them both from their sleep an hour longer. Mr. 
 Galbraith was downstairs and must speak with 
 her. Miss Almsford gave a little tired sigh, and, 
 folding her white wrapper about her shoulders, 
 caught the thick tangle of hair together with a 
 silver arrow, and, without glancing at the mirror, 
 left the room and joined the young lawyer in the 
 library. 
 
 " I am so sorry to disturb you, Miss Almsford ; 
 I know you must be tired, but I could not get 
 here sooner. Miss Barbara, do not be offended, 
 but I must ask you to let me see Miss Almsford 
 
326 SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 
 
 alone for a few minutes ; would you mind wait 
 ing in the next room ? " 
 
 When they were alone, the young man seemed 
 at a loss how to open the interview which he 
 had sought. Millicent, tired by the events of the 
 exciting day, did not seem inclined to help him. 
 After a long and rather awkward pause, she 
 turned wearily to her visitor and said, 
 
 " It is about the trial, of course ? " 
 
 Galbraith bowed an assent. 
 
 " About the statement made by that man " 
 She shuddered, as if unable to pronounce his 
 name. The young man silently assented again. 
 
 " Well, there is nothing to be said by me be 
 yond what I have already said : it is an infamous 
 lie ! It is so apparent a fabrication that I should 
 hardly have thought it necessary for you to give 
 yourself the trouble to come so far, merely to 
 hear me repeat what I asserted this afternoon." 
 
 "It is your honest opinion, then, that Mr. 
 Graham has been slandered ? " 
 
 " My honest opinion, Mr. Galbraith ? I do not 
 know how to give any other. Are you come to 
 make me angry ? You had better not, for we 
 Italians are more easily roused to anger than 
 soothed. I am so tired, too ; can you not spare 
 me ? " 
 
 Her voice dropped from the deep, indignant 
 tone, to a pleading note like that of a tired child. 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 327 
 
 Maurice Galbraith, leaning quietly against the 
 mantel-shelf, with downcast eyes and calm face, 
 seemed strangely moved by the words of the 
 woman who stood before him, so white and so 
 beautiful. He turned toward her ; and when he 
 next spoke, a tenderness had crept all unawares 
 into his face, which shone with a light whose 
 meaning she could not fail to understand. His 
 very voice seemed a caress addressed to her ear, 
 so low and gentle was it. 
 
 " My child, you do not understand me. / to 
 make you angry, to add one annoyance to your 
 life, which is so sad ? Ah ! you little know how 
 gladly " He stopped suddenly, warned, by the 
 rising flush on her cheek, that he was saying 
 other words than those which he had come to 
 speak, "you little know how gladly I would 
 have spared you the question which it was neces 
 sary for me to ask. I am now answered." 
 
 " But you do not believe me ? I see that " 
 
 " I would believe you if all the angels in heaven 
 should deny your truth." 
 
 She looked at him curiously ; she was infinitely 
 touched by his emotion. He cared for her ; he 
 loved her with a passion which she could under 
 stand. He would gladly oh, how gladly! have 
 folded her life about with a protecting care, 
 keeping the very winds of heaven from her face 
 if they should blow too roughly ; have taken her 
 
328 SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 
 
 in his strong arms, stood between her and all 
 the world, given her all and been content with 
 the giving, asking for nought but the right to 
 protect her. That she did not love him he 
 knew ; that she cared for another he more than 
 imagined ; and yet he would have been content 
 to try and win her regard by a life s devotion. 
 
 Of all this he spoke not one word, as he stood 
 looking into her face with burning, tender eyes. 
 He did not speak, and yet he knew that he was 
 understood. The woman gave a little weary 
 sigh ; it was in vain ! To her there was but 
 one man in all the world. He said no word, but 
 stepped toward her with outstretched, pleading 
 hands, with tender love and pity, asking noth 
 ing, giving all without questioning, without 
 doubt. She, who had befriended so many, and 
 was yet without a friend, who had been tempest- 
 tossed and shipwrecked before her life-journey 
 had fairly begun, knew what it was that lay in 
 Maurice Galbraith s outstretched hands, the 
 love of a life, a haven of peace and quiet. He 
 was about to speak, to let the love which was 
 troubling his heart pour itself out in a flood of 
 words at the portal of her ear ; but with a move 
 ment she checked him. The repellent gesture of 
 her hand, her averted head and downcast eyes, 
 answered him. He understood her as well, bet 
 ter perhaps than if he had spoken and she had 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 329 
 
 answered. It left him another chance, too , later, 
 when he had shown her how faithfully he could 
 wait, he might speak the words which she now 
 refused to hear. So both were glad that they 
 had spoken only with their eyes. She had been 
 spared the pain of putting into words that which 
 it would have been hard for him to hear ; and 
 he was glad that she had not spoken the cold 
 truth which he read in her face. When she 
 spoke again, it was to ignore that silent prayer 
 and its denial. She took up the thread of the 
 conversation where they had dropped it : 
 
 " I am glad that you are convinced of this 
 truth ; and I trust that you will bring the others, 
 Henry Deering most of all, to feel as you do." 
 
 The tender look of love died out from Maurice 
 Galbraith s face. He turned gloomily away from 
 the fair woman whose beauty was not for him. 
 
 " I cannot tell, I do not know ; what man can 
 judge another ? I said that I believed you ; did 
 I imply that I trusted him ? " 
 
 Of all cruel griefs endured by Millicent Alms- 
 ford, this was the most bitter, that her lover, 
 through her fault, should be misjudged ; that 
 in the eyes of others he should suffer. She 
 realized now in what a light he had appeared 
 to Galbraith, to Hal and Barbara, to all the 
 small circle who had seen their friendship flower 
 into love, and that flower tossed to the earth 
 
330 SAN EOSAEIO RANCH. 
 
 before it had ripened to its fruition. His sud 
 den disappearance, her own too obvious grief, 
 to what could they attribute it but to his faith 
 lessness ? And now that this base slander had 
 been cast upon him, they believed it. He was 
 compromised, dishonored in their eyes ; and the 
 fault was hers. As the full significance of all 
 this struck her, she groaned aloud, clasping her 
 hands together over her grieved heart as if in 
 mortal agony. How could she right him in 
 their eyes ? How could she dissipate the cloud 
 which darkened his stainless honor? 
 
 There was but one way, to tell them all the 
 sad truth. Her honor against his ! How could 
 she hesitate, loving him as she did ? And yet 
 there was a moment of awful suspense. Her 
 proud spirit, which had borne unaided and alone 
 the burden which would have crushed a feebler 
 soul, revolted at the thought of a new humilia 
 tion. A man s honor is writ on a strong shield 
 that can be easily cleansed. It may receive 
 many a hard blow, and show many a dint, 
 and yet be as good as those carried by his 
 mates. It can be burnished bright again, and 
 held up for all men to see, its very scars prov 
 ing through what battles it has been worn, and 
 adding, rather than detracting, from its present 
 lustre. If all else be lost, let him but give his 
 life to expiate his sin, and the blot is washed 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 331 
 
 out from the shield. But with a woman it is 
 not so. Her honor must be maintained by a 
 shield of crystal, on which the faintest breath of 
 slander leaves its foul impress ; which one blow 
 dealt by a man s hand shatters irrevocably. This 
 is man s code of honor ; and as man s voice is 
 strongest in the world, it is the world s code of 
 honor. Only the greatest men set it aside as un 
 just ; only the strongest refuse to recognize it. 
 
 All this Millicent knew. It was not wonderful 
 that she hesitated, that she was silent, or an 
 swered the searching questions put to her by the 
 young lawyer slowly and evasively. She was 
 putting off the moment in which she must decide 
 between his honor and her own. She remem 
 bered the indignant look Deering had cast upon 
 Graham in the court-room, the cool manner in 
 which Barbara had spoken of him, Mrs. Deer- 
 ing s grieved silence respecting the man who 
 had been so valued a friend to her, and, worst 
 of all, Galbraith s openly expressed doubt of his 
 innocence. A woman of a smaller nature who 
 had endured Millicent s cruel experience might, 
 too, have doubted Graham ; but she had fath 
 omed his nature more truly in a few months 
 than had his lifelong friends. She knew that 
 in it there was no room for one ignoble thought. 
 His faults she recognized more clearly than 
 if she had loved him less. She knew him 
 
332 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 to be selfish, with the selfishness of genius ; hard 
 of heart, with the indifference to human pain 
 common to those men who are capable of en 
 during the most terrible suffering ; intolerant of 
 those who differed from him, with the steadfast 
 knowledge that his thoughts and opinions had 
 been moulded from no contact with other minds, 
 but attained with pain and weariness of spirit, 
 built up from his inner consciousness, the re 
 sult of thought and experience, not of the study 
 of other men s minds and actions. 
 
 As Galbraith continued to question her, she 
 answered clearly all that he said, while her 
 mind, with a dual consciousness, carried on its 
 separate train of thought. She realized that if 
 Maurice Galbraith were not himself convinced of 
 Graham s innocence, his efforts to disprove Hor- 
 ton s accusation would be half-hearted, perfunc 
 tory, and without the moral weight of honest 
 conviction. If he were to learn the true reason 
 of the breach between Graham and herself, he 
 must know it immediately, that very night. 
 That her confession would clear the man she 
 loved from every suspicion she never doubted, 
 and yet she did not speak. It was so hard to 
 tell the story of her broken life ; she was not 
 strong enough. To any other it would have 
 been easier to bare her secret than to this 
 man who reverenced her, who had told her, 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 333 
 
 with look and deed and tender thought, that 
 he loved her. 
 
 Barbara, weary of waiting till the long con 
 versation should come to an end, had taken her 
 place at the piano in the adjoining room ; and 
 after playing for some time she struck the 
 chords of a song full of tender associations to 
 Millicent. A wild, passionate melody of Rubin 
 stein, full of love and hope and youth. Millicent 
 had Sung it on that night when Graham had 
 found her waiting for him in the firelight, with 
 his name upon her lips, though they were still 
 strangers. She had sung it then with an inten 
 sity which had brought the grave artist close to 
 her side, full of enthusiasm for the song, of ad 
 miration for the singer. She remembered how 
 he had thanked her silently with a look, while 
 the others, whose presence she had forgotten, 
 had been full of warm praises. A mist of tears 
 rose to her eyes and gathered itself into crys 
 tal drops of pain. Moved by the flood of memo 
 ries which rushed about her with the tumultuous 
 waves of sound, she rose, her pride swept away, 
 her love triumphant ; and, with a brow peace 
 ful with its victory, she spoke. She told them 
 all her sad story ; while Barbara, summoned to 
 her side, wept softly at the piteous tale, and 
 Galbraith, strong man that he was, trembled 
 with emotion at the words of passionate grief. 
 
334 SAN ROSAR10 EANCH. 
 
 Without reserve was the revelation made ; the 
 tragedy of her young life, her meeting with Gra 
 ham, her love for him, and the deceit to which 
 it led, all were told. No word of anger had 
 she for the false friend and dead lover, and no 
 thought of condemnation of Graham s action. 
 He was right ; he could not have acted other 
 wise ; he had been frank and true and honest 
 with her ; and she had deceived him ! He had 
 left the San Rosario Ranch to spare her the 
 pain of seeing him, and because it was best for 
 them both that he should go. The bar between 
 them was of her forging ; the breach was in 
 evitable; it was her fault, all her fault. His 
 thoughts of her had been white as the snow, 
 " and cold as ice," muttered Galbraith, to 
 whom this panegyric of his rival was anything 
 but gratifying. At last she was silent ; all her 
 story was finished. She had spoken standing, 
 her expressive gestures and changeful face hav 
 ing done more than half the telling. She had 
 begun quietly and with downcast eyes and pale 
 cheek ; now neck and brow were suffused. She 
 was pleading the cause of the man she loved with 
 all the .eloquence of youth and beauty. She 
 now stood silent, looking eagerly from Barbara s 
 tear-stained face to Galbraith s pale, set counte 
 nance, to read there the acquittal of the man they 
 had suspected of baseness and cruelty to her. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 335 
 
 Barbara put her arm about the tall girl, and 
 caressed her tenderly, holding the glorious head, 
 with its tangled crown of hair, close to her 
 womanly heart, weeping tears gentle as summer 
 dew. Maurice Galbraith reverently lifted to his 
 lips one long tress which flowed over her shoul 
 der ; and then, leading Millicent from the apart 
 ment, he turned to Barbara. 
 
 " You understood it all ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I ask you to think of that thing which is 
 most sacred to you in all the world. By that 
 holy thought, swear to me that no word of what 
 has been said here to-night shall ever pass your 
 lips ; that you will not dare to think of it even, 
 when you are not alone, lest your face betray 
 you." 
 
 He held out his hand to her ; and with wide 
 eyes and trembling voice, Barbara gave the prom 
 ise he asked, laying her cold palm in his hot grasp. 
 To guard the secret of the woman they both 
 loved, this loyal man and honest woman bound 
 themselves by a most solemn oath. To each, 
 the other was nothing but an ally in this cause. 
 Their own personalities were lost in the strong 
 affection for Millicent ; they would love her and 
 protect her always. As they stood thus, Milli 
 cent, passing up the stairway, saw them through 
 the open door. She saw and understood their 
 
336 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 compact. She saw, as they did not, into the 
 future ; and from her heart rose an unselfish 
 prayer, that the secret of her great misery 
 might be the first link in a chain that should 
 bind these two together for life. 
 
 Millicent Almsford had pleaded that night 
 for the man she loved ; she had cleared him in 
 the eyes of two persons whose opinions would 
 sway those of all who knew anything of his re 
 lation to her. She had done more: she had 
 made for herself a friend of a discouraged lover, 
 a champion who would fight her battles to the 
 death ; and she had bound a gentle, loving wo 
 man s heart to her own by an indissoluble tie. 
 She had striven only to exonerate John Graham ; 
 and she had made Maurice Galbraith glad that 
 he loved her, though hopelessly and passionately ; 
 she had filled Barbara Deering with the deepest 
 sentiment which woman can hold for sister 
 woman, a compassionate love. 
 
 Though wearied by his long ride and the ex 
 citing events of the day, Maurice Galbraith slept 
 little that night, and the morning found him 
 pale and restless. He had a hard day s work 
 before him, and perhaps the most trying part 
 of it was the first duty he had set himself to 
 perform. He felt that he owed John Graham 
 an apology for the suspicion which he had enter 
 tained against him, and which in that moment 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 337 
 
 of excitement he had made no effort to conceal. 
 Had not the young lawyer been deeply in love 
 with Millicent, and consequently extremely jeal 
 ous of Graham, it is hardly possible that he 
 could for an instant have believed the prepos 
 terous charge made against the artist. But as 
 Love is blind, and Jealousy is deaf to reason, it 
 is not strange that, unprepared as he was for 
 Horton s accusation, he should have believed that 
 it might have some truth. Millicent s revelation, 
 and the calmer reflection which had followed 
 the interview with her, proved to him how 
 greatly his judgment had been at fault. Fer 
 vently as he disliked Graham, he had always 
 respected him ; and to his generous mind, the 
 injustice he had done his rival was abhorrent. 
 He found the artist at the inn, where they had 
 parted the previous night. Graham received 
 the lawyer with a cold formality : the latter did 
 not fail to observe the nervous clinching of 
 the artist s hands as he entered the room. The 
 fierce natural instinct of redressing an insult 
 by a personal chastisement moved the refined 
 man. Poet-artist as he was, he would rather, 
 a thousand times, have grappled with Galbraith 
 in a fierce struggle, than have been forced to 
 receive and accept his apology. Maurice Gal 
 braith, had he yielded to the impulse which 
 shook his determination,, would have spoken 
 
338 SAN ROSARW RANCH. 
 
 words which might have justified such an action 
 on Graham s part. The men looked angrily at 
 each other for a moment. Maurice Galbraith s 
 words of apology would not utter themselves, 
 and seemed like to choke him. He saw that 
 clinching of the hand, and his brow reddened as 
 he stepped forward as if to strike the man who 
 had so easily won, and who so lightly valued, the 
 love of Millicent Almsford. 
 
 In a land where a lower code of ethics and 
 of honor exists, the insult each burned to cast 
 upon the other would have been uttered ; and 
 the result would have been a so-called " affair 
 of honor," in which both men would have run 
 the risk of bringing blood-guiltiness upon their 
 souls, and the stigma of murder upon their 
 honorable names. The struggle in Galbraith s 
 breast was short, and human intelligence tri 
 umphed over brute instinct. His few words 
 of apology were spoken with cold courtesy, and 
 accepted with quiet dignity. The men did not 
 shake hands ; each understood the position too 
 clearly for that. They could never be friends ; 
 ut, as they were honorable gentlemen, all enmity 
 was at end between them, for rivalry does not 
 necessarily entail hatred. Then they spoke of 
 the trial, and their conversation lasted until the 
 hour of the opening of the court. 
 
 Millicent, escorted by Henry Deering, arrived 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 339 
 
 at the court just as Graham and Galbraith 
 entered the room together. She saw Graham 
 whisper something to the lawyer, who bowed 
 courteously in answer. The significance of the 
 action was not lost upon her, her revelation 
 had not been made in vain. She now heard her 
 name called in a loud, harsh voice. She started 
 violently, but did not stir from her seat. 
 
 " Come," said Hal, " you must go up to that 
 little platform and answer all the questions they 
 ask you." 
 
 She walked quietly to the place indicated, 
 took the customary oath "to speak the truth, 
 the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," and 
 answered the preliminary questions in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 " Millicent Almsford." 
 
 " Where were you born ? " 
 
 " In Venice." 
 
 " What state ? " 
 
 " In Italy." 
 
 " How old are you ? " 
 
 " One and twenty." 
 
 " You were present at the killing of Ah Lam, 
 at Carey s Bridge ? " 
 
 " I was." 
 
 "Tell the court all that you saw on that occa 
 sion." Galbraith was the speaker. He knew 
 
340 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 that Millicent s natural eloquence would give 
 the story with more force if she were allowed 
 to tell it in her own way without the usual 
 questioning. 
 
 She began speaking in a low voice, her eyes 
 fixed on the ground before her. As the memory 
 of that dreadful day came back to her, she 
 seemed to see it all again, the peaceful wood 
 land scene, the quiet river, the forest road, and 
 at her side her humble friend and pupil. The 
 walls of the court-room faded from before her, 
 and judge and jury, lawyer and audience, were 
 forgotten ; she looked at Graham only, and 
 spoke to him alone ; his grave eyes met hers, 
 and the sympathy in them made the task of 
 telling her story an easy one. Aiding her re 
 cital with expressive gestures, she told of the 
 appearance of Daniel Horton on the peace 
 ful scene ; she repeated his insolent words, 
 unconsciously imitating the man s manner and 
 voice ; she described the affront offered to herself 
 with burning cheeks and flashing eyes ; her 
 voice grew tremulous and low when she spoke 
 of the dead servant s efforts to save her from 
 the insolent ruffian ; when with a deep, horrified 
 voice she told of the murder and death of Ah 
 Lam, it was as if she were describing a scene 
 still enacting itself before her eyes. A strong 
 impression was made by the girl s words on all 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 341 
 
 her hearers. The noisy court-room had grown 
 perfectly still ; the very recorders held their 
 pens useless in their hands ; and the eyes of 
 the judge with the pink cravat were riveted on 
 her face. As she ceased speaking, a sympa 
 thetic tremor ran through the crowd assem 
 bled in the court-room, and a low murmur was 
 heard. 
 
 Maurice Galbraith, usually the most quiet and 
 reserved of men, was evidently undergoing an un 
 usual excitement, those who knew him thought ; 
 and Pierson, the counsel for the defendant, 
 seemed rather disconcerted by the strong im 
 pression made by the witness. 
 
 When Graham came upon the stand and told 
 his story of the night passed in the shooting- 
 lodge, Millicent listened breathlessly. The young 
 painter gave his evidence with a certain pictur- 
 esqueness, describing the arrival at the cabin 
 of Dan Horton, his demand for food and shelter, 
 his troubled sleep, his wounded face, the peculiar 
 nature of the scratches, and finally, the finding 
 of Millicent s handkerchief after his departure 
 on the following morning. An effort was made 
 to disprove the evidence, and an alibi was sworn 
 to by two new-found friends of the prisoner, 
 who claimed to have passed that night in his 
 company. These witnesses, carefully prepared 
 by Pierson, gave their evidence with few blun- 
 
342 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 ders ; and Dan Horton, closely following every 
 word of the defence, gave a satisfied smile at 
 the new turn which the skilfully devised alibi 
 seemed likely to give to affairs. 
 
 Pierson s aim was to disprove Horton s iden 
 tity with the man who had killed Ah Lam and 
 had afterwards seen Graham. He endeavored 
 to show that there were two men engaged in the 
 affair, Horton, who had spoken to Miss Alms- 
 ford, and his confederate, who, it was argued, 
 must have committed the crime. When Milli- 
 cent had told of the wounds inflicted by the 
 Chinaman on the cheeks of his murderer, it 
 was shown that Horton s face bore no trace of 
 these scratches. It was argued, in reply to this, 
 that in a man of Horton s vigorous temperament 
 such wounds might easily be healed in as short 
 time as had elapsed between the murder and the 
 trial. At this point Galbraith had a trump card 
 to play, the existence of which neither prisoner 
 nor counsel had suspected. Neither had it been 
 learned by the omniscient reporter, through 
 whose instrumentality evidence is too often pre 
 maturely made public, cases are lost, and offend 
 ers are enabled to escape apprehension. 
 
 " I would inform your Honor that I have 
 other proof of the identity of the prisoner with 
 the man who passed the night following the 
 murder in the shdbting lodge." 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 343 
 
 A new witness, by name John Du Jardin, by 
 profession a wood-cutter, was called to the stand. 
 
 " Have you ever seen the prisoner before ? " 
 
 " Yes, before wonce," answered the old French 
 man. 
 
 "When was that?" 
 
 " The night after murder." 
 
 " Where did you see him ? " 
 
 " At the little unting ouse of M. Graham." 
 
 " What were you doing at the lodge ? " 
 
 Graham looked at his henchman with a per 
 plexed expression, and smiled slightly at the 
 answer. 
 
 " I were not in the cabin, I were by the win 
 dow, lookinV 
 
 " Oh, you were looking in at the window ; and 
 what did you see ? " 
 
 " I see monsieur, e sleepin*. I see dat man," 
 pointing to the prisoner ; " e come, and mon 
 sieur give im to drink and to eat." 
 
 " What else did you see ? " 
 
 " I see cet homme, dat man lay imself prh 
 side by the feu. Presentlee e sleep, monsieur 
 e mark im ; f e take faggot from fire, e make 
 point, e draw one picture of im." 
 
 Here Pierson asked the witness what he was 
 doing outside the lodge in the middle of the 
 night. 
 
 " I was watch monsieur." 
 
344 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 " That seems very strange. Why did you 
 want to watch him ? " 
 
 " E as not slept the night ; e as nothing eat 
 the day ; I fear im malade. I follow him." 
 
 Galbraith continued his examination, and elic 
 ited from the witness the admission that he had 
 remained outside the cabin that night, concealed 
 in the bushes, and had only left it after Horton 
 had taken his departure. He had then started 
 to return, but after he had gone a mile he re 
 traced his steps with the intention of cooking for 
 his master s breakfast a brace of quail he had 
 shot on the way. He found the cabin empty, 
 and on the wall the portrait which he had seen 
 sketched. It was where it would have been 
 easily effaced, and so he had loosened the board 
 on which the drawing was made, and carried it 
 to his house. 
 
 Graham was now recalled and questioned. 
 
 " Mr. Graham, you have told ,the court that 
 you are an artist by profession. Is it your habit 
 to make drawings of persons of a striking ap 
 pearance ? " 
 
 " I have the habit of sketching any remark 
 able-looking people whom I happen to meet." 
 
 "On the night in question, were you impressed 
 by anything uncommon in the appearance of the 
 man who slept by the fire in the lodge ?" 
 
 " I was." 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 345 
 
 " Did you make any notes of the impression 
 made on you by the man ? " 
 
 " I did. I sketched him as he crouched in the 
 ashes of the fire." 
 
 " What materials did you use ? " 
 
 " A charred piece of wood, and a smooth board 
 in the side of the cabin." 
 
 " Would you recognize your work if you 
 should see it ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly." 
 
 "By what means?" 
 
 " I should recognize it as you would your 
 own handwriting; besides " 
 
 " You have other means of knowing it ? " 
 
 " My initials will be found in the upper right- 
 hand corner of the sketch." 
 
 " Is this the sketch ? " 
 
 " It is." 
 
 There was a craning of necks, and a murmur 
 of recognition from those present who could 
 obtain a glimpse of the strong drawing held up 
 by Maurice Galbraith. Graham s words in 
 answer to the last question were hardly neces 
 sary to prove the resemblance. Horton, sitting 
 in his chair, his head thrown back, his hands 
 clasping his knees, had ail-unconsciously assumed 
 the pose in which Graham had sketched him. 
 The resemblance was indubitable, and the cheeks 
 bore the bloody testimony of Ah Lam s hands. 
 
346 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 This was evidence which there was no break 
 ing down ; and Horton, when the sketch was at 
 last turned so that he could see it, gave an oath 
 under his breath, which was not lost upon the 
 jury. The twelve men with whom lay the de 
 cision of Horton s guilt or innocence were for 
 the most part tradesmen and mechanics, the 
 only exception being in the person of Mr. Patrick 
 Shallop, the mining king, who by some strange 
 chance had been impanelled on this occasion. 
 The voice of such a man would carry great 
 weight in the decision. The pase was evidently 
 going against the prisoner. The evidence of the 
 prosecution was very damaging, and Horton s 
 friends in the crowd were greatly discouraged. 
 
 The trial occupied several hours, and ended in 
 the conviction of Daniel Horton. Maurice Gal- 
 braith made a speech which has already be 
 come famous. He had induced a Californian 
 jury to pronounce a man who had killed a China 
 man guilty of voluntary manslaughter. He had 
 obtained this almost unprecedented verdict, and 
 a full sentence from the court of ten years im 
 prisonment. The efforts of the defending coun 
 sel to turn the main interest in the case from 
 the chief feature, by endeavoring to implicate 
 Graham in the attempted abduction, were use 
 less. Horton s real confederate was found, and 
 the truth of the matter arrived at. Through 
 
SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 347 
 
 the newspaper accounts of Millicent, published 
 at the time of her rescue of Graham, these men 
 had learned that she was a rich heiress, and had 
 conceived the bold idea of carrying her off in 
 order to extort a large sum of money for her 
 ransom. 
 
 The flimsy tissue of lies which Pierson had 
 woven was quickly unravelled by Galbraith. 
 The fact that the jury had for a time been mis 
 led by the false evidence, made their verdict 
 more immediately unanimous than it might other 
 wise have been ; and the cloud which had for a 
 moment overhung John Graham was dispelled 
 as quickly as a noxious vapor is blown away by 
 a brisk westerly wind. He was cleared of every 
 suspicion. Galbraith had surpassed himself in 
 his management of the case, even in the eyes of 
 his warmest friends. Had he not been working 
 for the woman he loved ? In exonerating his 
 rival, he had done the only thing that in him lay 
 to win Millicent s gratitude. She had thanked 
 him, and blessed him for his eloquence with tears 
 and smiles. He had gained her friendship ; and 
 does not friendship soften into love more often 
 than love crystallizes into friendship ? 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Je me dis seulement ; a cette heure en ce lieu, 
 Un jour, je fus aime, j aimais, elle etait belle. 
 J enfouis ce tresor dans mon ame immortelle. 
 Et je 1 emporte a Dieu ! " 
 
 " A LETTER for you, Mr. Graham." 
 
 " Very well ; lay it down." 
 
 The burly landlady placed the missive on the 
 small, unpainted pine table which stood near 
 the artist s easel, and with a last glance at the 
 feminine superscription, and the device of the 
 golden Psyche which sealed it, left the room. 
 It was late in the afternoon, there would be 
 only an hour more of light in which he could 
 paint. Graham did not glance at the letter. 
 If it had been a telegram it would have waited 
 till the tender gray of the sky had been laid on 
 the canvas. At last it grew too dim for him to 
 distinguish the tints on his palette, and, throw 
 ing down his brushes, the young man rose and 
 stretched his cramped limbs. He had not moved 
 from his stool for four hours. As he paced up 
 and down his narrow room, the letter caught 
 his eye. He had quite forgotten its existence. 
 
SAN ROSARIO* EANCH. 349 
 
 It was from Millicent. He stepped close to 
 the window, and by the waning light perused 
 the words traced by a hand that surely had 
 trembled in the writing. Twice he read it 
 through, as if not understanding its import. 
 Then, with a groan, he cast the letter upon the 
 floor, and sank upon a low seat near by. His 
 head supported by his hands, his elbows upon 
 his knees, he sat, the picture of despair. With 
 a sudden movement he grasped the missive and 
 crushed it between his two hands, as if to avenge 
 upon the senseless paper the pain which it 
 brought to him. 
 
 He could not bear it in the cold, dark room ; 
 the streets would be full of people who might 
 divert him. He soon found himself in a crowded 
 thoroughfare. It was six o clock, and the city 
 was full of hurrying men, women, and children 
 returning homeward after the long day s work. 
 The girl from the millinery establishment under 
 his room, whose sweet, childish face he had 
 painted from memory the very day before, was 
 just leaving the shop as he stepped into the 
 street. She was very poorly dressed, with a 
 hat which would have disgraced anybody but 
 a milliner s apprentice. Her dress fitted neatly, 
 however, and she gave her close-cut jacket a 
 tug to make it smooth about the shoulders be 
 fore she reached the corner. A tall, pale, dys- 
 
350 SAN EOSAEIO RANCH. 
 
 peptic-looking youth joined her just outside the 
 druggist s. Graham recognized him as the 
 clerk in a dry-goods shop near by. Their 
 greeting he could not but overhear. 
 
 "I am late, George " 
 
 " Twenty minutes ; I almost gave you up," in 
 a surly tone. 
 
 " I am so sorry ; don t be angry." The man 
 hesitated a moment ; then her pleading voice 
 got the better of his ill-temper, and, taking her 
 by the arm after the fashion of his kind, he led 
 her across the street, and in a moment they 
 were lost to Graham s sight. He next stopped 
 at the cobbler s around the corner to call for a 
 pair of boots which had needed repairing. The 
 narrow stall was brightly lighted, and he saw 
 through the window a little child holding up 
 its face to be kissed. The cobbler s girl had 
 just brought her father his supper. As Gra 
 ham entered, the man pushed the little figure 
 gently into the street. "Tell mother I ll not 
 be late," he said ; and wiping his blackened 
 hands upon his dirty ticking apron, he greeted 
 the artist civilly, and proceeded to find his boots 
 for him. 
 
 "They need re-soling, Mr. Graham, but I did 
 not like to do the job without orders. The 
 patches are all right." 
 
 Graham paid the man for his work, and went 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 351 
 
 out. He had thought to find distraction in the 
 street, but what he saw there only made him 
 more desolate. He was alone, while all other 
 men had some loving soul to greet them after 
 their day s toil. The pair of lovers, the cobbler 
 and his child, made him feel his loneliness more 
 acutely, and emphasized painfully the news which 
 the letter had brought to him, Millicent was 
 gone ! 
 
 She had passed as suddenly and unexpectedly 
 out of his life as she had entered it. He had 
 not seen her since that day in the court-room. 
 And now she was gone, back to the Old World, 
 to Venice the mysterious, the silent, to the old 
 Palazzo Fortunio, with its lofty halls and marble 
 corridors, back to the old home, which he knew 
 could never be home to her again. All the 
 color seemed to have faded out of his life ; she 
 had taken it with her. He suffered deeply, im 
 patiently, angry at himself for suffering, yet 
 powerless to forget the pain which the letter 
 had given him. He picked it up again from 
 the floor when he came back to the lonely stu 
 dio, and marked that though the letter was 
 crushed and torn, the device of the golden 
 Psyche was still intact. 
 
 On the following day he found some conso 
 lation in his picture. He came back to it after 
 his vigil with an uncherished grief, with less 
 
352 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 enthusiasm than before ; but from that hour 
 until he had laid the last stroke of paint on the 
 canvas, his hand faltered not, if his imagination 
 sometimes flagged. He could not serve both 
 love and art. He had chosen his mistress, and 
 would be faithful to his choice. He dared not 
 think, while he painted, of the woman whose 
 influence had so warmed his frozen existence. 
 To do so seemed an infidelity to his Art, a 
 breach of faith which would not escape its 
 merited punishment. So he resolutely put her 
 from his mind, and labored day and night upon 
 his great picture. 
 
 Summer and autumn were past, and the first 
 month of winter was drawing to its close, when 
 Graham finished his picture. He had painted 
 it as he always did his best works, without in 
 terruption. From the morning on which he 
 had made the first rough chalk sketch, until the 
 day when he reluctantly drew the fine veil of 
 varnish over his work, he had hardly looked at 
 any other canvas. He was not satisfied with it, 
 what true artist ever is satisfied with his work ? 
 and yet he was convinced that it was the best 
 he had yet accomplished. He had sometimes 
 realized what he had sacrificed for this picture ; 
 and as he touched in the crimson line of sunset, 
 the fancy came to him, that the sky was stained 
 with heart s-blood. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 353 
 
 His few brother artists there was but a 
 handful of them in the city and his pupils re 
 quested him to set a day for them to see the 
 new picture, and Graham had consented. The 
 young sculptor, who had the next room, threw 
 open the door which separated the two studios, 
 and both rooms were in holiday trim. Northcote 
 had been in the country all the previous day, 
 gathering flowers and ferns with which to deck 
 the bare apartment. He placed a jar of roses 
 before the picture with a reverent face ; he loved 
 the artist whose light purse had for the last 
 two years kept a roof over his head and life in 
 his body. 
 
 Graham was greatly admired by the knot of 
 artists who lived, or starved, in San Francisco. 
 They were the pioneers of art in the new 
 Western land ; and their work, if crude and un 
 tutored, was not wanting in certain strong quali 
 ties. Several of them were men of promise ; and 
 they were all wise enough to feel that in Gra 
 ham s genius lay the brightest hope for a new 
 school of art which should combine the knowl 
 edge of the Old World with the fresh vigor and 
 hope of the New. They looked up to him as a 
 leader, and he earnestly wrought and thought 
 for their advancement. It was for this that he 
 had left Europe and his many agreeable associ 
 ates there, and returned to his own country, 
 23 
 
354 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 that whatever power for good there in him lay 
 should redound to her glory. His fellow artists 
 all revered him, and they would gladly have 
 loved him ; but the sensitive man shrank from 
 that familiarity which popularity entails. In 
 their work he was always interested ; and in 
 whatever touched the art they all served, he was 
 active and ready to labor endlessly without recom 
 pense or recognition. But in their lives and per 
 sonalities he felt no wish to mix ; and so it was 
 that he who labored most for them as an artist 
 was farthest removed from them as a man. 
 
 There was but one verdict rendered by the 
 men who stood grouped about the easel. It was 
 a masterly picture, they all said. For an hour 
 or more, one or another of them discussed cer 
 tain technical points with Graham, who with 
 kindled face listened and talked with his associ 
 ates, more himself than he had been since the 
 night when he had first dreamed of the pic 
 ture. The young sculptor was less loud in his 
 praise than were the others ; in his eyes the 
 classic subject was a trifle labored and cold. 
 After having praised, the men felt at liberty 
 to criticise ; and if Graham had followed one 
 half the advice offered to him, there would 
 have been little suggestion of the original pic 
 ture left. 
 
 Standing in a corner, with its face to the wall, 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 355 
 
 was a panel which, as the little circle was 
 about to break up, Northcote asked Graham s 
 permission to show. The new picture was taken 
 from the easel, and the neglected canvas put in 
 its place. Its surface was dusty, and the young 
 man wiped it with his silk handkerchief. There 
 was a minute s silence, broken by the oldest of 
 the party, a disappointed painter whose life had 
 been one long series of calamities. 
 
 " My boy, this is worth a dozen of the other. 
 It is the biggest thing you have done yet." 
 
 The younger men all chimed in, echoing the 
 opinion of their senior. Graham looked incredu 
 lously from one to the other ; there was no 
 doubting their sincerity. Like many another 
 before him, he knew not how to distinguish his 
 successes from his failures. The old artist, who 
 had all his life been on the eve of painting his 
 great picture, underrated the value of the new 
 picture, but he was not mistaken in placing 
 The Lovers far above it. Graham looked at 
 it for the first time in many weeks, with that 
 impersonal criticism of his own work which is 
 only possible to an artist when a certain period 
 has elapsed after its creation, and the mind has 
 been occupied with other interests, 
 
 It was late that night when the artist returned 
 to his room, after dining with his sculptor friend 
 at a restaurant near by. The moonlight flooded 
 
356 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 the studio, lighting its farthest corner. It 
 showed him the vases of rose-bloom and the 
 dark-browed Circe on the wall ; it showed him 
 the blackened hearth, where the embers still 
 smouldered. And what was that in the fire 
 place ? A charred wooden frame with a heap of 
 ashes lying twixt its sides. Graham sprang 
 forward with a cry of apprehension, and lifted - 
 the blistered frame. His fear had not been 
 groundless : this bit of wood and that handful 
 of cinders were all that remained of his great 
 new picture ! He gave a deep groan and stag 
 gered back against the wall. Before him, on the 
 easel, gleaming through the pure silver light, was 
 the picture of The Lovers. Millicent s dreamy 
 face, radiant with hope and love, smiled at him , 
 from the arms of the lover who now stood, 
 half crazed with grief, gazing at the ruin before 
 him. 
 
 The young sculptor stood beside him, full of 
 a sympathy he knew not how to express. At 
 last he spoke : 
 
 " Graham, look up, and do not grieve for what 
 is past help. I tell you, man, that your great 
 est picture stands before you. The Lovers has 
 the one quality which your work has heretofore 
 missed. It is human, it is full of natural senti 
 ment. It does not appeal to an aristocracy of 
 thought, but to all men and all women, learned and 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 357 
 
 untaught. I know not what influence swayed 
 you in this picture, but I know that it lifted you 
 to a higher plane than you had before attained. 
 I care not for the loss of your Poet ; it told me 
 nothing of you that I did not know before ; it 
 was a step backwards to the time when you 
 made that wondrous wicked Circe with her herd 
 of swine. Let it go, and submit to the influence 
 which inspired this picture, for which the world 
 is richer to-day than for a score of such works 
 as the other." 
 
 Graham looked at the speaker with doubting 
 eyes. The words seemed to rouse an echo in 
 his soul. They told him that he had served the 
 altar of Art with Moloch sacrifices. Instead of 
 the peaceful offerings of love, he had brought 
 the anguish of two strong hearts to desecrate 
 her temple. A dim perception of the truth 
 entered his mind, and his grief for the lost 
 picture was for a moment forgotten in a doubt 
 which rose before him, never to be dismissed 
 again until it was fully solved. A doubt of self, 
 of his own judgment, of his own inflexible will. 
 
 Millicent was gone ! The six straight red 
 woods whispered the news one to another, and 
 shook their tall tops sadly, while the sweet south 
 wind sighed through their branches. Millicent 
 was gone ! and the roses that clasped and clung 
 
358 SAN EOS A RIO RANCH. 
 
 about her lattice died on the night she left them, 
 and the vine bloomed no more, and bore for that 
 season nothing but leaves. Millicent was gone ! 
 She had set wide the door of the golden prison 
 where her love-birds had lived and sung so mer 
 rily through the long summer. But the little 
 white creatures, prison-born, prison-bred, were 
 too timid to venture out into the roomy forest, 
 and had clung to the only home they had ever 
 known ; and so Barbara, gentle, sweet-souled 
 Barbara, took them into her sunny room ; and 
 cared for them as Millicent had done. For a 
 day they were silent, and then they sang as 
 merrily as before. There was still sunshine ; and 
 crispy groundsel and clear cool water were given 
 them by hands as gentle, if not so fair, as those 
 which had tended them before. 
 
 The New Year was at hand, and the chate 
 laine of the San Rosario Ranch had summoned 
 a group of friends to her hospitable home to 
 pass the holiday time. So Barbara was full of 
 household cares, and Hal was busy with shoot 
 ing and riding expeditions. Ferrara was there, 
 just back from Alaska, with a tribute of rare 
 furs to lay at Barbara s pretty feet. Maurice 
 Galbraith and John Graham were missing, and 
 that other whose absence was still keenly felt. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Shallop, O Neil, and Hartley 
 were come, with a half dozen other old friends, 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 359 
 
 all bound together by the magnetic influence 
 which radiated from their hostess, in whom all 
 their various interests were concentrated. Each 
 was friend to other for her sake, whom they all 
 loved. In the existence of every one of the 
 group her pure and unselfish nature was a real 
 factor. When faith in human nature, in one s 
 self, is faint and wavering, then is the time 
 when the remembrance of such a spotless life, 
 so pure a heart, steadies the wavering belief in 
 truth, and strengthens us to fight the good 
 fight. By loving help and by high example, 
 Marianne Deering had succored and befriended 
 each of the friends who on that New Year s 
 eve assembled about her dining table. With a 
 face bright with that beauty of the soul which 
 knows not the marring of time, she presided 
 over the gay festivity. Three pretty cousins 
 from San Francisco added their bright faces to 
 the charming scene. The apartment and the 
 board were garlanded with flowers. Banks of 
 heavy ferns panelled the walls, and bunches 
 of white, heavy-scented magnolias were outlined 
 against their dark green. Through the open 
 windows were seen the gay lanterns hung about 
 the veranda, illuminating the festoons of fresh 
 creepers, and giving glimpses of the soft velvet 
 turf outside. The merriment was at its height 
 as Barbara lifted the loving-cup, filled with a 
 
360 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 sweet, strong wine, and, calling out the toast, 
 " To absent friends," set her rosy lips to the 
 brim, and drank from the cup in which each 
 of the joyful company was to pledge some dis 
 tant dear one. It was a custom at the San 
 Rosario Ranch which had become time-hon 
 ored. The girl smiled gayly as she passed the 
 crystal beaker to Juan Ferrara, who sat upon 
 her right ; but her eyes were dark with unshed 
 tears, and the man sighed as he drank, omit 
 ting to repeat the toast. What were absent 
 friends to him beside this woman who smiled 
 in his face, but whose tears fell for one who 
 was far from her ! Round went the cup from 
 hand to hand, and to every heart came a thrill 
 of joy or sorrow at the thought of the absent 
 one, toward whom it turned in this loving com 
 munion. O Neil, sitting by his hostess, was 
 the last to take the cup. The warm-blooded 
 Irishman was in high spirits. The glances of 
 the dark-eyed "girling" at his side, and the 
 general good-fellowship of the occasion, had 
 brought out in him the irrepressible good-humor 
 of his nation. The ceremony of passing the 
 loving-cup, and the invocation to absent friends, 
 had carried something a little serious with it, 
 which, to the jolly Irishman, was thoroughly 
 antagonistic. 
 
 " Dear hostess," said he, placing the cup be- 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. ^i 
 
 fore him on the table, "I do not like the sen 
 timent of your toast ; t is ungallant. How can I, 
 sitting between two such lovely ladies, find time 
 or power to salute an absent one, howsoever 
 fair ? May I give you my toast for the loving- 
 cup ? Have I your permission to sing a stave 
 from one of my national songs on the subject?" 
 
 He was answered by a general acclamation 
 of assent. Rising to his feet, the blond, burly 
 giant held up the cup with its low ebb of crim 
 son wine, and sang in a clear, strong voice the 
 following couplet : 
 
 " Oh ! t is sweet to think that where er we rove 
 
 We are sure to find something blissful and dear, 
 And that, when we re far from the lips that we love, 
 
 We ve but to make love to the lips that are near. 
 The heart, like a tendril accustomed to cling, 
 
 Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone, 
 But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing 
 
 It can twine with itself, and make closely its own. 
 Then oh ! what pleasure where er we rove 
 
 To be sure to find something still that is dear ; 
 And to know, when far from the lips that we love, 
 
 We have but to make love to the lips that are near." 
 
 Amidst the general laughter and applause 
 which followed O Neil s song, Madame Mari 
 anne s gentle word of disapproval was lost. 
 The song had restored the jollity which, for a 
 moment, seemed to have left the party. O Neil 
 now drained the cup to the last drop, turning 
 the crystal vessel upside down to show that it 
 
362 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 was empty, and whispered a saucy compliment 
 to the bright-eyed girl beside him. At that 
 moment, when the merriment was at its height, 
 when O Neil stood with the empty cup in his 
 hand, the door opened, and, as if in answer to 
 the toast, John Graham entered the room. He 
 was greeted by a dozen voices as he made his 
 way to Mrs. Deering s side. Taking her out 
 stretched hand in his own, he dropped upon 
 one knee, and kissed it respectfully. 
 
 " Dear my lady, I have come to wish you the 
 happiest New Year, and to join in your loving- 
 cup, in your toast to absent friends " 
 
 "Always welcome, dear Graham," said the 
 lady, laying her hand upon his head for an in 
 stant ; " there is always a place for you at our 
 table, but alas " 
 
 " You are too late too late ! " 
 
 It was Barbara who spoke, interrupting her 
 mother brusquely, her voice full of a reproach 
 inexplicable to all but Graham. He looked at 
 her fixedly for a moment, and then O Neil 
 clapped him on the back, and held up the empty 
 cup. 
 
 " Too late, old fellow, as Miss Barbara says. 
 Never mind," in a lower key, " I have prom 
 ised Deering to brew an Irish punch, after the 
 ladies withdraw." 
 
 The artist stared a moment at the goblet, and 
 
SAN ROSAPJO RANCH. 363 
 
 shivered as he took the place which had been 
 made for him beside his hostess. Soon the sig 
 nal was given for the ladies to leave the room ; 
 Graham s arrival having precipitated the break 
 ing up of the party. The new-comer did not 
 long remain in the dining-room, but presently 
 followed his hostess into the library, where he 
 found Barbara at the piano. Mrs. Deering sig 
 nalled him to take a place at her side. 
 
 " I fear I took too great a liberty in coming 
 unasked. O Neil says I stalked into the room 
 like a stage ghost, and cast a gloom over the 
 party." 
 
 " You know you are always welcome here. 
 You used to call the Ranch your home." 
 
 " Have I still a right to do so ? Things seem 
 so changed, my lady." 
 
 " You will never find me changed while I can 
 help you. I did not send for you, knowing that 
 you would come if it was best for you." 
 
 " And yet I came too late ! " 
 
 " Graham, there are no such words as too late 
 to those who know how to wait. That phrase is 
 only for the impatient, not for the steadfast. 
 But now tell me of yourself, of your work ; it 
 is so long since we have seen you." 
 
 " Of myself, no ! of my work, yes. I have 
 finished my picture ; it has gone to Paris. It 
 will now be judged by other men." He did not 
 
364 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 tell her of his loss, or that he had sent The Lovers 
 in the place of the burned picture. 
 
 " May they prove kindly critics." 
 
 " No, I do not want that ; I do not insist that 
 they shall praise my work ; I only question, can 
 they understand it ? " 
 
 " But that is the least of it all, you have some 
 times said." 
 
 "Ah! Madonna, I have been wrong. What 
 use is there for me to speak if there be no one to 
 hear ? If they do not understand, the fault must 
 lie in me. I must learn to speak the broad 
 language of humanity. I cannot ask men to 
 puzzle themselves with my small vernacular." 
 The man sighed deeply, and his friend noticed 
 that he was paler and thinner than she had last 
 seen him. 
 
 " You have been over-working, Graham ; you 
 lead an unnatural life when you are in town, 
 now that your people are away. Why not come 
 back to the tower again ? " 
 
 " I think I will, Madonna." 
 
 He had been over-working, and for what ? 
 That the picture for which he had sacrificed so 
 much, should be seen one brief hour by a dozen 
 men ! He now felt in what a strained condition 
 his nerves had been. The picture was gone, 
 and with it the strong excitement which had kept 
 him alive and alert. The tension was relaxed, 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 365 
 
 and an intense depression had followed, which 
 was in turn losing itself in a new feeling. A 
 lonely longing, a craving for a tender womanly 
 sympathy, for the only human being who had 
 never misunderstood his many moods, who was 
 always in sympathy with him in joy or sorrow. 
 She alone in all the world could have helped 
 him at this time ; to her he could have confided 
 all those delicate shades of thought which drifted 
 through his mind, too fragile ever to be prisoned 
 in words. She could have divined those half- 
 formed ideas and crystallized them into steadfast 
 utterances. He was cold, bitterly cold, and suf 
 fered for that loving human sympathy as the 
 parched hillsides had but now longed for the 
 refreshing rain which had made the earth green 
 and fair after the long summer drought. He 
 had chosen Art for his mistress, and she had 
 smiled upon him chastely and coolly ; and yet he 
 was not content. 
 
 Barbara left the piano, and Graham joined her. 
 The over-punctilious courtesy with which he had 
 always treated her was forgotten. He spoke 
 suddenly and sharply : 
 
 " What did you mean by what you said to me, 
 why am I too late ? " 
 
 " I meant too late for a draught from the lov 
 ing-cup." 
 
 " You meant more than that." 
 
366 SAN EOSAEIO EANCH. 
 
 " If you choose to fancy " 
 
 " I cannot but choose to know! 
 
 By this time the gay group from the dining- 
 room had flooded the library with their ringing 
 voices, their merry faces. Only these two were 
 pale and out of harmony with the scene. Bar 
 bara, with downcast eyes, stood by the piano, 
 tapping her fingers nervously on the polished 
 case. 
 
 " I have interrupted your festivity ; I have 
 been a very skeleton at the feast ; forgive me, 
 I could not help coming, forgive me and answer 
 me one question, and I will go and leave you in 
 peace." 
 
 " I say, Bab, we are going into the drawing- 
 room to tell ghost stories. O Neil has a splen 
 did one, a real Irish family banshee yarn. 
 Come on, you and Graham." 
 
 " In a moment, Hal, don t wait for us ; we will 
 join you before you are all settled and Mr. O Neil 
 has begun." 
 
 The library was again empty. The voices of 
 the holiday folk reached their ears across the 
 hall. 
 
 " Tell me what you have heard from her." 
 
 There was no need of speaking her name. 
 Her face looked at them from its place over the 
 mantel-shelf, a quick, strong sketch made by 
 Graham. From a leafy background white 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 367 
 
 shoulders, and a fair face with deep eyes, were 
 shadowed forth. The firelight, falling restlessly 
 upon the picture, touched into light now the full 
 red mouth, now the ivory throat. 
 
 " I have not heard for some time. She was 
 in Venice again, very ill from the long journey, 
 when she last wrote." 
 
 " You have not heard since ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Do you think she is well now, and and at 
 peace ? " 
 
 -No." 
 
 "What reason have you to doubt her well- 
 being?" 
 
 " I cannot tell you." 
 
 The man looked at her searchingly, as if he 
 would read her very soul, and then turned away 
 with a word of leave-taking, " Good-night." 
 
 " Stay a moment. I have something to tell 
 you. I do not know why I am forced to speak 
 to you of the last interview she had in this room, 
 but I must do so. Before she left, on the 
 night when she cried out in the court-room, 
 you remember ? " 
 
 Did he remember ? Ah, Heaven ! only too 
 well he remembered the last words she had 
 ever spoken to him, valiant words, full of 
 love and protection. 
 
 " That night Mr. Galbraith came to see her. 
 
368 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 It was very late, and they had a long conversa 
 tion. I could only hear their voices from the 
 next room ; and then she called me to her, and 
 told us both all her sad story, all that had 
 passed between you and her. She took all 
 blame upon herself, and would have made us 
 both acknowledge that you had been right and 
 just in acting as you did." 
 
 " And was I not just ? " 
 
 "Just, perhaps ; but how ungenerous ! What 
 have you to do with justice? You, who never 
 painted till you painted her ; you, who were so 
 cold and unfeeling till her smile made you hu 
 man for a little time. Then your own selfish 
 egotism froze you again." 
 
 " Thank you for what you have told me, and 
 good-by. I shall not see you soon again. You 
 were very good to her ; bless you for it ! Every 
 one was good to her, every one but me, it 
 seems." 
 
 " You speak as if she were dead." 
 
 He did not hear her last words. He was 
 already out of earshot, taking leave of his 
 hostess. 
 
 When he was alone with the stars he could 
 think better than in that heated room, with 
 that dear vine-crowned face before his eyes, 
 with Barbara s voice in his ears. He saw how 
 Barbara misjudged him. He knew that most 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 369 
 
 men and women would have held him as she 
 did ; and yet he had thought that he was right. 
 He had fought the good fight, and he had con 
 quered. What mattered it if all the world 
 saw in him a monster of selfishness ? He had 
 chosen poverty, hard work, and loneliness, when 
 wealth, worldly success, and a painless love 
 might have been his. Sybaris had been open 
 to him ; and he had turned his back upon the 
 perfumed island for an attic, a crust, and a 
 mistress who demanded all, and had yielded 
 nothing but hope. 
 
 But now things were altered. He felt angry 
 and outraged at the thought that others knew 
 her story, that she was pitied by them because 
 of her great love for him. He longed to pro 
 tect her, to suffer for her, to make her forget 
 in his love and care the cruel lot which had 
 been hers. He yearned for her sympathy, for 
 her love, for that sense of peace which had 
 come upon him as he sat by her side. The 
 tide of love, which not once in a million years 
 is at the full in two human hearts at once, 
 rushed over him, sweeping away pride, reason, 
 selfishness, ambition, all, all routed and o erset 
 by that warm, delicious flood of emotion. He 
 had fought against love so long, that at last 
 the overthrow of will brought him an ecstasy 
 of delight. He ran like one crazed through the 
 24 
 
370 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 cool, starry night, singing a love-song strange 
 and tender, a song of submission, of hope and 
 passionate love. Through the orchard he passed, 
 startling the birds with his wonderful song. The 
 prisoned love-mates heard it in their little nest, 
 and folded their snowy wings closer together ; 
 the white roses heard it, and trembled at the 
 sound ; the six tall redwoods listened and whis 
 pered gravely together as he came among them 
 and sank upon his knees at their feet, on the 
 very spot where she had sat that day. That 
 day ! How could he have forgotten it, and all 
 that it had meant to them both? What mist 
 had risen again between them and hidden its 
 memory from his sight ? Before, it had been 
 her want of faith in him, her fault, her only 
 fault. Her atonement for that sin against her 
 own soul, against him, had been bitter indeed. 
 And afterwards what veil had blinded him to 
 the great truth that they loved each other abso 
 lutely, that their two beings were each incom 
 plete without the other? His pride! It had 
 been his pride which had kept them so long 
 apart ! But now it was over. He would go to 
 her, and tell her all. 
 
 " Millicent, Millicent, I love you ! " he cried 
 aloud, his eager voice surging from his breast 
 as if to relieve its weight of love. His cry was 
 joyous, bounding, full of life and love and hope. 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 371 
 
 The night wind bore back to his ears a tender, 
 mournful cadence, "love you." 
 
 " Millicent, my love, I am coming ; wait 
 for me ! " 
 
 " Wait for me ! " sighed the echo. 
 
 And the young moon, pale and shrinking, 
 dropped behind the high tree-tops from his 
 sight ; while the redwoods swayed tremulously, 
 shaken by a sudden blast, and the echo again 
 sighed its faint response, 
 
 "Wait for me! " 
 
 And the tide on the Pacific was at the flood. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " Malheureux ! cet instant oft votre ame engourdie 
 
 A secoue les fers qu elle traine ici-bas, 
 Ce fugitif instant fut toute votre vie ; 
 Ne le regrettez pas." 
 
 IT was a wonderful morning which saw the 
 birth of the new year in Venice, one of those 
 clear, bright days on which Winter lays aside 
 all his severity and assumes the smiles of the 
 Spring still asleep in the bosom of the stiffened 
 earth. The piazza was filled with a motley 
 crowd of holiday folk, and the lagoons swarmed 
 with a fleet of gondolas and sandalos. 
 
 Before a mighty marble house which stands 
 where one of the smaller thoroughfares sweeps 
 its waters into the Grand Canal, a gondola has 
 paused. A young man, a foreigner evidently, 
 steps from the boat and passes under the fretted 
 archway, with an admiring glance at the beauti 
 ful carving. He is pressed for time, but he 
 stops for a moment to glance into the square 
 cortile, with its group of almond-trees and its 
 playing fountain. He is met at the wide door 
 way by a servant, of whom he asks, in the best 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 373 
 
 Italian he can muster, for the Signorina Alms- 
 ford. The black-browed menial politely replies 
 that it will be impossible for him to see the 
 signorina ; she is not at home to visitors. No 
 further answer can the stranger obtain to his 
 eager inquiries. A gold piece unlocks the tongue 
 of the menial at last, and he informs the young 
 man, in excellent English, that the signorina 
 has been ill ever since her return from America, 
 a month and more ago. 
 
 " She has been very ill ; Girolomo says that 
 she will die, and the Signor Almsford himself 
 fears the worst. She has not left her room 
 once. To-day being a festa, she has fancied to 
 go out with Girolomo in the gondola, and I am 
 to help him carry her downstairs." 
 
 As he finished speaking, the man noticed that 
 the visitor had grown very pale, and now stood 
 leaning against a marble pillar as if for support. 
 When he spoke again it was to send his card 
 to Mr. Almsford. On being admitted to an 
 outer reception room he sank upon a chair, his 
 face hidden in his hands. Soon he was bidden 
 to enter. The signorina had learned of his ar 
 rival, and it was her pleasure to see him. 
 
 The young man passed through a long suite 
 of stately rooms, scarcely noticing the rich fur 
 nishing and decorations. Before a curtained 
 doorway he hesitated for a moment, but the 
 
374 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 servant, pushing aside the heavy portiere, left 
 him no choice but to enter. Before him, re 
 clining in a great chair, lay a figure which he 
 had last seen full of health and strength. From 
 a pile of sea-green cushions smiled a face which 
 he had known when it was glorious with the 
 freshness of youth. The color which the red 
 rose of love had brought to her cheek had faded 
 now ; she was like a flower no longer, but a great 
 white pearl shimmering through pale waters. 
 She smiled, and held out her hand to her coun 
 tryman ; and Maurice Galbraith, bowing low over 
 the small fingers, strove to hide his face from 
 the great hollow eyes which looked inquiringly 
 into his own. 
 
 " I am so glad you have come. I do not 
 even ask what has brought you, it is so good to 
 see some one from home." 
 
 It had become "home" to her now, the coun 
 try which she had so long repudiated. " Home " 
 after a half year s residence; "home," though the 
 language spoken there was to her a foreign one. 
 The meeting is not without its tears, the pleas 
 ure not unmixed with pain. Eager questions 
 are asked, and faithfully answered. Millicent s 
 visitor brings her tidings and tender messages 
 from far-off friends. He is rewarded for his 
 pains by a faint smile which glimmers over the 
 pale features, rising in the deep eyes and losing 
 
SAN ROSA RIO RANCH. 375 
 
 itself in the tender curves of the mouth. Beside 
 the couch stands a delicate bronze table wrought 
 by no less cunning a hand than Benvenuto s. A 
 vase of flowers and a crystal bell are here placed. 
 The musical note of the bell now summons a 
 domestic, who bows at the order given, softly 
 disappears, and soon re-enters, bearing a salver 
 on which are a plate of fruits and a bluish de 
 canter, with glasses of the dainty Venetian fash 
 ion. From the delicately tendrilled flask Milli- 
 cent pours a clear golden wine whose perfume 
 permeates the apartment. She fills both glasses, 
 and, touching the edge of hers to the rim of his, 
 bids him drink to the health of the dear ones at 
 home. Galbraith stops the musical ring which 
 the contact has drawn from the tumbler by 
 touching the edge with his finger in a me 
 chanical manner. It was one of the supersti 
 tions which had waned to a habit with him. 
 
 " Why do you drown that sound of good 
 cheer ? " 
 
 "Because my grandmother told me when I 
 was a little child that if a glass rang itself out 
 to silence, the sound was sure to prove a death- 
 knell." 
 
 " Listen, you can still hear mine faintly. It 
 is a wonderful wine, connoisseurs say, this Lac- 
 rymse Christi of ours. How different, is it not, 
 from the strong red wine of California that you 
 
376 SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 
 
 gave us that day, do you remember? when 
 we feasted with you under the fig-tree." 
 
 " As different as you were to the rest of us 
 gathered about the board that day." 
 
 " And yet I would give all the wine that lies 
 mellowing in the cellars of the palace for one 
 cup of your good Los Angelos vintage." 
 
 The wine seemed to spread through her frame 
 like a flame. It brought a flush to the pale 
 cheeks and strength to the fragile body. She 
 arose and walked unsupported across the room 
 to a dusky mirror. She wrapped herself in a 
 garment of silvery fur, and together they left the 
 room fit for the boudoir of a princess. At the 
 doorway Girolomo awaited them. Waving aside 
 the domestic who stood ready to assist him, the 
 strong gondolier lifted the delicate figure and 
 bore it unaided down the marble stairs. He 
 laid her light weight gently among the cushions 
 of the gondola, and assuming his oar with the 
 incomparably graceful movement of his guild, 
 rowed the black-hooded craft down the Grand 
 Canal. To the young American, the awe and 
 mystery of the place are not yet familiar ; and 
 as the boat glides between the rows of mighty 
 palaces, he wonders if the strange scene is the 
 fabric of his own dream. 
 
 But no ; when he looks into the face of the 
 woman lying amid the cushions, he knows that 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 377 
 
 it is all true, and that this shadowy figure is 
 more real to him than all the men and women 
 he has ever known. Presently they emerge into 
 the broader waters of the lagoon, where lie the 
 fisher craft, with their many-colored sails spread 
 to dry in the afternoon breeze. The smooth 
 green water is marked here and there with the 
 black mooring-piles, which throw a shadowy 
 outline on the changeful tide. To the American, 
 bred in a land where Art is in its cradle, and 
 beauty exists in its more austere aspect alone, 
 the glory of the spectacle, the wondrous archi 
 tecture, the wealth of color, are intoxicating. 
 The western sky glows with the first pale tints 
 of the sunset, against which a score of spires 
 are darkly outlined. The air is musical with soft, 
 distant chimes, and the song of the gondoliers 
 is rhythmic to the motion of their oars. From 
 the shore come cheerful sounds of holiday folk ; 
 and now and then a sandalo sweeps past them 
 with a freight of joyous pleasure-seekers. In 
 one of these a group of masqueraders are sing 
 ing a gay love-ballad. Millicent hums the re 
 frain to herself, and answers pleasantly to the 
 noisy greeting with which one of the party hails 
 them. A young girl, with the red-gold hair of 
 her people, turns and looks long into Millicent s 
 face. She wears over her broad shoulders a 
 leopard-skin for warmth ; while her head, with 
 
378 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 its glorious crown of hair, has no other protec 
 tion than the doubtful one of a garland of roses. 
 As she looks at Millicent, she takes the fragrant 
 wreath from her brow, and, with a graceful salu 
 tation, tosses it into the gondola. In a moment 
 the strong strokes of the two rowers carry the 
 sandalo out of sight, and Galbraith lays the 
 flowers in Millicent s lap. 
 
 " May the saints bless the child ! T is the 
 tribute of happiness and beauty to grief and 
 pain." 
 
 The air has grown chill with the down-drop 
 ping of the sun, and Girolomo, unbidden, turns 
 the gondola homeward. As they float past the 
 familiar places, Millicent looks long and steadily 
 at the scenes which are so dear to her. She 
 shivers as the Bridge of Sighs looms dimly forth, 
 and smiles again at the familiar faces of the boat 
 men on the steps of the piazzetta. 
 
 " I am so glad that you have seen me in the 
 city of my birth ; you can understand me now 
 as you could never have understood me over 
 there. Dear, dreamy Venice, where great vices 
 and greater virtues have flourished more grandly 
 than anywhere else in the world ! And now it 
 is all past, her glory and her pain ; and knowing 
 this, we make the best of the pleasant things 
 left to us. We steep ourselves in her rich beauty, 
 content with its perfection ; we con over her 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 379 
 
 mysterious legends, and forget that other nations 
 are living, striving, working, and making their 
 histories, while we are dreaming and playing our 
 lives away. Your great Saxon virtue, Truth, 
 is meaningless to us ; we are content with 
 Beauty." 
 
 "And you are happy contented ; you are 
 willing to pass the rest of your life here ? " 
 
 "Yes, and no. I could never be satisfied to 
 drop back into the old easy life. I have drunk 
 too deeply of the strong, new wine of Los An- 
 gelos, to be content with the mellow vintage of 
 the Abruzzi." 
 
 " And yet there is fermentation of a strong, 
 new wine here, in your wondrous Italy. All do 
 not dream of the past ; there are men and women 
 who foretell a new existence to the land, now that 
 the old shackles of tyranny and superstition are 
 dropping from her cramped limbs." 
 
 " Yes ; but it is a volcanic soil. Everything 
 is so sudden and so shifting. There will be 
 changes, but it is the making over of an old gar 
 ment after all. Liberty may sponge and cleanse 
 herself a vesture, but the old stains and spots 
 have eaten deep into the tri-color." 
 
 " You will return then ; you will not pass your 
 life so far away from us ? " 
 
 She smiled a little wearily and said, " I think I 
 shall never see America again. But I am, oh, so 
 
380 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 thankful to have known my home ! I, who have 
 lived a Venetian, shall die an American." 
 
 "And yet ?" 
 
 "And yet I am glad to do not be shocked, 
 kind friend, if I say that I am glad to die in my 
 own Venice where I was born. I have two 
 selves. One was born and nurtured here under 
 the shadow of the silent palaces ; the other 
 sprang up full-grown among the madrone trees 
 of San Rosario. The two have warred and 
 struggled here; their battle-ground has been 
 my breast, and the new self conquered the old ; 
 but the victory will be short-lived." 
 
 Galbraith looked at her intently. She had 
 spoken a little wildly, as if her mind were 
 clouded. She saw his look, and with a sigh 
 smoothed the lines from her brow. 
 
 " I am a little mad, you think ? Yes, yes. But 
 I am so happy to see you. You understand me, 
 dear friend ; and you understand him, a little. 
 You will see him again, though perhaps I never 
 shall. You will tell him No, do not look so 
 grieved. It is very likely that I shall get well." 
 
 He lifted her pale hand and touched it to 
 his lips, as a Catholic might kiss the cross. 
 
 " You will be well and strong again, my child. 
 Do not speak so." 
 
 " It may be, and yet I do not wish it. Life 
 looks so hard and cold and lonely. I do not wish 
 
SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 to live, and yet I am so afraid to die." She 
 shivered, and Galbraith drew the gray cloak 
 closer about her. " If I could only fall quietly 
 asleep, and wake to find this poor weak body 
 left behind but you remember that poor 
 creature s death ? It was so terrible I can 
 never forget it." 
 
 "You must not think of it. What message 
 was it that you wanted to send home ? " 
 
 " It was to Graham. I can speak to you 
 about him and to no one else. You must tell 
 him how thankful I am that I left my old home, 
 my old life, and came to his country. Tell him 
 that he has nothing to reproach himself with ; 
 that the only thing that has made my life worth 
 living has been my love for him. Tell him to 
 remember me tenderly and without regret ; it 
 should be a sweet memory without a shadow of 
 bitterness. Tell him but what am I saying ? 
 You could never repeat it all even if you would. 
 Give him this ; it will tell him all ; it is a token 
 the trace of which he will find on my hand 
 when we meet again, if souls retain aught of 
 their old vesture in the twilight world." 
 
 She seemed wandering again. From her 
 slim finger she slipped the little ring which 
 Galbraith took and kept. 
 
 "And Barbara, dear good Barbara. She is 
 white with that spotless purity of a passionless 
 
382 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 womanhood. Do you know, Mr. Galbraith, that 
 dying people sometimes have a power of seeing 
 into the future ? Shall I tell you what face I 
 see beside Barbara s in the bright coming years 
 which I shall never know ? It is that of a brave 
 and loyal man, a man whose love would make 
 such a woman happy and complete. It is the 
 face of the friend who has brought me great 
 peace on this New Year s Day." 
 
 The black gondola now floated at rest under 
 the archway of the grim old palace. From 
 beneath the sable hood Girolomo lifted the slen 
 der frame. The old fellow s eyes filled with 
 tears at the gentle words which his young mis 
 tress whispered to him as he carried her 
 through the marble archway and up the long 
 steep stairs. 
 
 " Tanto ricca, tanto giovine, tanto bella, e bi- 
 sogna che muore" Galbraith understood the 
 words muttered by the old servant as he passed 
 him after having laid his burden at rest in the 
 great chair. He understood, but he would not 
 believe them. It could not be true. 
 
 It was late that night when the soft-footed 
 nun who was Millicent s nurse laid her patient 
 on her couch, with a gentle reproof for her 
 wilfulness in being so wakeful. 
 
 " But it was not my fault, my sister ; I could not 
 sleep earlier. Now I am better and shall rest." 
 
SAN EOSARIO RANCH. 383 
 
 She smiled in the quiet face which bent over 
 her under its snow-white coif of linen. The 
 heavy gold-bronze hair was not plaited that night, 
 Millicent was so tired. The sister smoothed it 
 tenderly over the pillow, her hard fingers thrill 
 ing at the touch of so much beauty. Her own 
 close-shaven head had once been covered with 
 thick black curls, one of which slept on the 
 heart of the dead man for the repose of whose 
 soul her prayers were offered at every hour 
 of the day. 
 
 " My sister, sit by me. I want to talk with 
 you a little while. I know your story, blessed 
 one. Let me ask you a little of your life in the 
 convent, among the sick. Is it peaceful, is it 
 happy ? Do you feel that you are nearer to the 
 spirit of your dead lover than when you were 
 in the world ? " 
 
 " My child, I may not speak of these things ; 
 it would be a sin. Our words we can control, 
 if not our thoughts." 
 
 "But, sister, I need your help. You know 
 that I have not your faith, and never could 
 have. But I have loved as you once loved, and 
 I shall never see the face of my lover. What 
 shall I do with my empty life? I am so weak!" 
 
 " All the greater need have you for a stronger 
 help than mine, for a haven from the ills of the 
 world. I cannot think you would find that place 
 
384 SAN BOSAIUO RANCH. 
 
 in our cloister. There must be workers in the 
 world among the living and strong, as well as 
 with the sick and dying. It is in that world 
 that you, my child, with your power, your wealth, 
 your beauty, should find your work. The arms 
 of the Church are wide, and embrace the toilers 
 in the market-place as well as those who watch 
 and pray in the cloister." 
 
 " There is only work, then, that will bring 
 peace ? " 
 
 " Work and prayer, my child. You must not 
 talk of this to-night ; you should sleep now. 
 To-morrow you shall tell me more of the needs 
 of your soul." 
 
 " Only work ! I am so tired, I am so weak, 
 I cannot work alone. If there had been one to 
 help me " She lifted her white hand, so 
 nerveless now, and let it sink wearily beside 
 her. 
 
 "Bring the great candelabrum, and set it at 
 the foot of the bed. Light all the candles. I 
 want to drive out the shadows from the dark 
 corners. Ah ! hear them singing below there 
 in the canal." 
 
 She sat up among her pillows listening to the 
 chorus chanted by a band of belated merry 
 makers. It was the love-song that the people 
 in the sandalo had sung that afternoon. 
 
 " Dame un pensiero, sogna ine> ed io ti sognerb" 
 
SAN ROSAEIO RANCH. 385 
 
 " In dreaming give a thought of me, and I will 
 dream of thee." 
 
 " Give me my little golden crown, sister, and 
 then lie down upon your couch and sleep. You 
 do not mind the lights ? " 
 
 Millicent was fanciful and wilful that night ; 
 and the nun, knowing that it was best to humor 
 her, brought her from its velvet case the gold 
 fillet of olive leaves which Graham had laid on 
 the brow of his love in the forest of San Ro- 
 sario. The girl set it on her head, and called 
 for a mirror. 
 
 " I am beautiful still, my sister, though so 
 pale, am I not ? " 
 
 The nun nodded her head smilingly. 
 
 " Now that is all, and I shall sleep. Good 
 night to you. Say a little prayer for me, sister, 
 and one for a strong, proud man who will be very 
 sad to-night with me so far away from him." 
 
 She folded her palms upon her breast, as they 
 fold the hands of the dead. The sister stood 
 beside her, watching uneasily the light slumber 
 into which her patient had fallen. Her pulse 
 was full and even, the breathing regular, and 
 the sleep peaceful as that of a child. 
 
 " A strange fancy to light those candles, and 
 to put that wreath about her head. Poor child, 
 she is beautiful, indeed, as the vision of a saint," 
 murmured the sister. 
 
 25 
 
386 SAN ROSARIO RANCH. 
 
 At last the black-robed watcher laid aside her 
 coif, and, lying down upon a couch near the 
 bedside, fell asleep. She could not have told 
 how long she slept, when a sound awoke her. 
 The quiet of the night was broken by a sudden 
 gust of wind blowing through the long apart 
 ment with a deep sigh. It trembled among 
 the tresses of the sleeping girl, and stirred and 
 lingered in the strand of hair which overhung 
 the tiny ear. It blew the flame of the candles 
 straight out from the wick, and fanned the em 
 bers on the hearthstone to a last up-flaming. 
 It blew over the lips of the sleeper, and bore 
 these softly spoken words to her ear, 
 
 " I come, I come ! wait for me ! " 
 
 The girl turned on her pillow, and smiled in 
 her sleep. All was going well. The nun re 
 plenished the dying fire with fuel, and, extin 
 guishing the candles, lay down to sleep again 
 by the light of the night lamp, muttering an 
 Ave Maria. 
 
 And the breath of the west wind passed out 
 of the silent sick room, and went roystering 
 through the long suite of stately apartments, 
 where it met no man. It was a strong puff of 
 wind, which had travelled far and sturdily across 
 wild seas and smiling lands. It had raced with 
 man s toy of steam and iron, and laughed in 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 387 
 
 derision at the poor engine and its boasted 
 speed ; it had swayed dim forest-trees in a 
 far-off land ; it had ruffled a quiet ocean into 
 deep furrows of foam ; it had breathed upon a 
 band of icy mountain giants, and had grown 
 cold at their contact ; it had come sighing down 
 the Grand Canal, and had entered the great 
 palace unceremoniously; it had fanned the cheek 
 of a sleeping woman beautiful as the vision of a 
 saint; it had whispered in her ear its message. 
 And now, at the doorway of that great palace, 
 the bold wind ceased its blustering, and died 
 away into the still air of the ante-chamber, get 
 ting behind the heavy arras, and imparting a 
 trembling motion to the faded figures of war 
 rior and horse. A dim, gray Presence had 
 entered the palace, before which the merry west 
 wind had grown quiet. The hush of deepest 
 night was on all the sleeping house, and the 
 tide of the Adriatic was at the ebb. Silently 
 the Presence crept toward the sick-room, and, 
 as it crossed the threshold, the spark of the 
 night light flickered and went out, while the 
 nun crossed herself as she slept. 
 
 When Maurice Galbraith called at the Palazzo 
 Fortunio early on the morning after he had seen 
 Millicent, to inquire how she had passed the 
 night, he found the porter s room empty. He 
 
388 SAN ROSARIO EANCH. 
 
 rang at the door of the apartment, which was 
 opened, after some delay, by a weeping woman. 
 He could not understand what she said to him, 
 and made his way to the boudoir where he had 
 last seen Millicent, without meeting any one. 
 He heard voices in the next room, which he 
 knew to be her sleeping apartment. 
 
 " It must have been quite painless," he heard 
 a strange voice say in English. " See! she has 
 not moved ; the clothes are quite unruffled. It 
 is doubtful if she woke at all. Sister Theresa 
 says she was in this attitude when she last saw 
 her. If she had even breathed heavily the nun 
 would have heard her, she sleeps so lightly." 
 
 A chill fell upon the young man s heart. What 
 could those strange words mean? The door 
 opened at last, and two men entered the room, 
 the younger carefully closing it behind him. He 
 was evidently a physician. The elder man passed 
 him with bowed head and clasped hands. Gal- 
 braith touched the younger man on the arm, and 
 asked him what his words had meant. The doc 
 tor waited till the father had left the room, and, 
 turning to the stranger, answered him gently and 
 compassionately ; told him the little there was to 
 tell beyond the great fact that Death had entered 
 in the night and stolen the breath of the fairest, 
 while she slept. 
 
 " If I could but fall quietly asleep ! " he remem- 
 
SAN ROSAR10 RANCH. 389 
 
 bered her words of y ester eve. Her prayer had 
 been answered. The grim visage of Death had 
 been hidden by the tender veil of sleep. 
 
 The physician was very patient with the 
 stranger who asked him so often if it were cer 
 tain, if there could be no mistake regarding 
 the dreadful event. At last, when he was satis 
 fied that there was no hope, he turned to go, 
 stumbling over a chair as he went. The doctor 
 made him take a glass of wine, and bade him 
 rest awhile before going out. Maurice Galbraith 
 was a strong man, and after the first faintness 
 which the news had brought him, he nerved him 
 self to meet the terrible grief, and bear it as a 
 strong man should. 
 
 "You are Mr. Galbraith, from California, of 
 whom she spoke last night ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Perhaps you could help me in a little matter 
 which Mr. Almsford has asked me to attend to. 
 This telegram came an hour ago. It was directed 
 to her, and is dated California. Do you know 
 the sender, and the meaning of the message ?" 
 
 Galbraith took the slip of blue paper, and read 
 these words : 
 
 " I am coming to you. I start to-night. 
 
 " GRAHAM." 
 
 " You know the person ? " 
 
 " Yes, very well." 
 
390 SAN BOSARIO RANCH. 
 
 " As we have not his address, would you kindly 
 answer the despatch and tell him ? " 
 
 " Surely." 
 
 "It would be a great favor." 
 
 " It is the last but one that I can ever do for 
 her now." 
 
 He found his way to the telegraph office, he 
 never knew how, and with trembling hand penned 
 this message, which should fly swifter than west 
 wind or shifting water, to John Graham on the 
 far golden shore, where the tide was at the flood, 
 and the earth glad and green in the promise of 
 the new-born year : 
 
 " Millicent died last night." 
 
 University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. 
 
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