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 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., Publishers. 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK. 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 BRET HARTE 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLTN AND COMPANY 
 fttoeraibe $re*s, CambriD0e 
 1891 
 
Copyright, 1891, 
 BY BRET HARTE. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 
 Electrotype* and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS . . 1 
 
 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE ... 81 
 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT . . .131 
 
 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE . . . 228 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " COME in," said the editor. 
 
 The door of the editorial room of the 
 " Excelsior Magazine " began to creak pain- 
 fully under the hesitating pressure of an un- 
 certain and unfamiliar hand. This continued 
 until with a start of irritation the editor 
 faced directly about, throwing his leg over 
 the arm of his chair with a certain youthful 
 dexterity. With one hand gripping its back, 
 the other still grasping a proof-slip, and his 
 pencil in his mouth, he stared at the intruder. 
 
 The stranger, despite his hesitating en- 
 trance, did not seem in the least discon- 
 certed. He was a tall man, looking even 
 taller by reason of the long formless over- 
 coat he wore, known as a " duster," and by 
 a long straight beard that depended from 
 his chin, which he combed with two reflec- 
 tive fingers as he contemplated the editor. 
 The red dust which still lay in the creases of 
 
2 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 his garment and in the curves of his soft felt 
 hat, and left a dusty circle like a precipi- 
 tated halo around his feet, proclaimed him, 
 if not a countryman, a recent inland impor- 
 tation by coach. " Busy ? " he said, in a 
 grave but pleasant voice. " I kin wait. 
 Don't mind me. Go on." 
 
 The editor indicated a chair with his dis- 
 engaged hand and plunged again into his 
 proof-slips. The stranger surveyed the scant 
 furniture and appointments of the office with 
 a look of grave curiosity, and then, taking a 
 chair, fixed an earnest, penetrating gaze on 
 the editor's profile. The editor felt it, and, 
 without looking up, said : 
 
 " Well, go on." 
 
 " But you 're busy. I kin wait." 
 
 " I shall not be less busy this morning. 1 
 can listen." 
 
 " I want you to give me the name of a 
 certain person who writes in your magazine." 
 
 The editor's eye glanced at the second 
 right-hand drawer of his desk. It did not 
 contain the names of his contributors, but 
 what in the traditions of his office was ac- 
 cepted as an equivalent, a revolver. He 
 had never yet presented either to an inquirer. 
 But he laid aside his proofs, and, with a 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 3 
 
 slight darkening of his youthful, discontented 
 face, said, "What do you want to know 
 for?" 
 
 The question was so evidently unexpected 
 that the stranger's face colored slightly, and 
 he hesitated. The editor meanwhile, without 
 taking his eyes from the man, mentally ran 
 over the contents of the last magazine. They 
 had been of a singularly peaceful character. 
 There seemed to be nothing to justify hom- 
 icide on his part or the stranger's. Yet there 
 was no knowing, and his questioner's bucolic 
 appearance by no means precluded an as- 
 sault. Indeed, it had been a legend of the 
 office that a predecessor had suffered vica- 
 riously from a geological hammer covertly 
 introduced into a scientific controversy by an 
 irate professor. 
 
 "As we make ourselves responsible for 
 the conduct of the magazine," continued the 
 young editor, with mature severity, " we do 
 not give up the names of our contributors. 
 If you do not agree with their opinions " 
 
 " But I c?o," said the stranger, with his 
 former composure, " and I reckon that 's why 
 I want to know who wrote those verses called 
 4 Underbrush,' signed 'White Violet,' in 
 your last number. They 're pow'ful pretty." 
 
4 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 The editor flushed slightly, and glanced 
 instinctively around for any unexpected wit- 
 ness of his ludicrous mistake. The fear of 
 ridicule was uppermost in his mind, and he 
 was more relieved at his mistake not being 
 overheard than at its groundlessness. 
 
 " The verses are pretty," he said, recover- 
 ing himself, with a critical air, " and I am 
 glad you like them. But even then, you 
 know, I could not give you the lady's name 
 without her permission. I will write to her 
 and ask it, if you like." 
 
 The actual fact was that the verses had 
 been sent to him anonymously from a remote 
 village in the Coast Range, the address 
 being the post-office and the signature in- 
 itials. 
 
 The stranger looked disturbed. "Then 
 she ain't about here anywhere ? " he said, 
 with a vague gesture. " She don't belong to 
 the office ? " 
 
 The young editor beamed with tolerant 
 superiority : No, I am sorry to say." 
 
 " I should like to have got to see her and 
 kinder asked her a few questions," continued 
 the stranger, with the same reflective seri- 
 ousness. You see, it was n't just the rhym- 
 in' o' them verses, and they kinder sing 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 5 
 
 themselves to ye, don't they ? it was n't 
 the chyce o' words, and I reckon they allus 
 hit the idee in the centre shot every time, 
 it was n't the idees and moral she sort o' 
 drew out o' what she was tellin', but it 
 was the straight thing itself, the truth ! " 
 
 "The truth?" repeated the editor. 
 
 " Yes, sir. I 've bin there. I 've seen all 
 that she's seen in the brush the little 
 flicks and checkers o' light and shadder 
 down in the brown dust that you wonder how 
 it ever got through the dark of the woods, 
 and that allus seems to slip away like a 
 snake or a lizard if you grope. I 've heard 
 all that she 's heard there the creepin', 
 the sighin', and the whisperin' through the 
 bracken and the ground-vines of all that 
 lives there." 
 
 " You seem to be a poet yourself," said the 
 editor, with a patronizing smile. 
 
 " I 'm a lumberman, up in Mendocino," 
 returned the stranger, with sublime naivete. 
 " Got a mill there. You see, sightin' standin' 
 timber and selectin' from the gen'ral show of 
 the trees in the ground and the lay of roots 
 hez sorter made me take notice." He paused. 
 " Then," he added, somewhat despondingly, 
 " you don't know who she is ? " 
 
6 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 " No," said the editor, reflectively ; " not 
 even if it is really a woman who writes." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " Well, you see, ' White Violet ' may as 
 well be the nom de plume of a man as of a 
 woman, especially if adopted for the pur- 
 pose of mystification. The handwriting, I 
 remember, was more boyish than feminine." 
 
 " No," returned the stranger doggedly, " it 
 was n't no man. There 's ideas and words 
 there that only come from a woman : baby- 
 talk to the birds, you know, and a kind of 
 fearsome keer of bugs and creepin' things 
 that don't come to a man who wears boots 
 and trousers. Well," he added, with a re- 
 turn to his previous air of resigned disap- 
 pointment, " I suppose you don't even know 
 what she's like?" , 
 
 " No," responded the editor, cheerfully. 
 Then, following an idea suggested by the 
 odd mingling of sentiment and shrewd per- 
 ception in the man before him, he added : 
 " Probably not at all like anything you im- 
 agine. She may be a mother with three or 
 four children ; or an old maid who keeps a 
 boarding-house; or a wrinkled school-mis- 
 tress ; or a chit of a school-girl. I Ve had 
 some fair verses from a red-haired girl of 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 7 
 
 fourteen at the Seminary," he concluded 
 with professional coolness. 
 
 The stranger regarded him with the naive 
 wonder of an inexperienced man. Having 
 paid this tribute to his superior knowledge, 
 he regained his previous air of grave percep- 
 tion. " I reckon she ain't none of them. 
 But I 'm keepin' you from your work. Good- 
 by. My name's Bowers Jim Bowers, of 
 Mendocino. If you 're up my way, give me 
 a call. And if you do write to this yer 
 4 White Violet,' and she 's willin', send me 
 her address." 
 
 He shook the editor's hand warmly 
 even in its literal significance of imparting a 
 good deal of his own earnest caloric to the 
 editor's fingers and left the room. His 
 footfall echoed along the passage and died 
 out, and with it, I fear, all impression of his 
 visit from the editor's mind, as he plunged 
 again into the silent task before him. 
 
 Presently he was conscious of a melodious 
 humming and a light leisurely step at the en- 
 trance of the hall. They continued on in an 
 easy harmony and unaffected as the passage 
 of a bird. Both were pleasant and both fa- 
 miliar to the editor. They belonged to Jack 
 Hamlin, by vocation a gambler, by taste a 
 
8 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 musician, on his way from his apartments on 
 the upper floor, where he had just risen, to 
 drop into his friend's editorial room and 
 glance over the exchanges, as was his habit 
 before breakfast. 
 
 The door opened lightly. The editor was 
 conscious of a faint odor of scented soap, a 
 sensation of freshness and cleanliness, the 
 impression of a soft hand like a woman's 
 on his shoulder and, like a woman's, mo- 
 mentarily and playfully caressing, the pas- 
 sage of a graceful shadow across his desk, 
 and the next moment Jack Hamlin was os- 
 tentatiously dusting a chair with an open 
 newspaper preparatory to sitting down. 
 
 " You ought to ship that office-boy of 
 yours, if he can't keep things cleaner," he 
 said, suspending his melody to eye grimly 
 the dust which Mr. Bowers had shaken from 
 his departing feet. 
 
 The editor did not look up until he had 
 finished revising a difficult paragraph. By 
 that time Mr. Hamlin had comfortably set- 
 tled himself on a cane sofa, and, possibly out 
 of deference to his surroundings, had sub- 
 dued his song to a peculiarly low, soft, and 
 heart-breaking whistle as he unfolded a news- 
 paper. Clean and faultless in his appear- 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 9 
 
 ance, he had the rare gift of being able to 
 get up at two in the afternoon with much of 
 the dewy freshness and all of the moral 
 superiority of an early riser. 
 
 " You ought to have been here just now, 
 Jack," said the editor. 
 
 " Not a row, old man, eh ? " inquired 
 Jack, with a faint accession of interest. 
 
 " No," said the editor, smiling. Then he 
 related the incidents of the previous inter- 
 view, with a certain humorous exaggeration 
 which was part of his nature. But Jack 
 did not smile. 
 
 " You ought to have booted him out of 
 the ranch on sight," he said. " What right 
 had he to come here prying into a lady's af- 
 fairs ? at least a lady as far as he knows. 
 Of course she 's some old blowzy with frum- 
 pled hair trying to rope in a greenhorn with 
 a string of words and phrases," concluded 
 Jack, carelessly, who had an equally cynical 
 distrust of the sex and of literature. 
 
 " That 's about what I told him," said the 
 editor. 
 
 " That 's just what you should n't have 
 told him," returned Jack. " You ought to 
 have stuck up for that woman as if she 'd 
 been your own mother. Lord ! you fellows 
 
10 A tiAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 don't know how to run a magazine. You 
 ought to let me sit on that chair and tackle 
 your customers." 
 
 " What would you have done, Jack ? " 
 asked the editor, much amused to find that 
 his hitherto invincible hero was not above 
 the ordinary human weakness of offering ad- 
 vice as to editorial conduct. 
 
 44 Done ? " reflected Jack. " Well, first, 
 sonny, I shouldn't keep a revolver in a 
 drawer that I had to open to get at." 
 
 " But what would you have said ? " 
 
 44 1 should simply have asked him what 
 was the price of lumber at Mendocino," said 
 Jack, sweetly, " and when he told me, I 
 should have said that the samples he was 
 offering out of his own head would n't suit. 
 You see, you don't want any trifling in such 
 matters. You write well enough, my boy," 
 continued he, turning over his paper, " but 
 what you 're lacking in is editorial dignity. 
 But go on with your work. Don't mind 
 me." 
 
 Thus admonished, the editor again bent 
 over his desk, and his friend softly took up 
 his suspended song. The editor had not 
 proceeded far in his corrections when Jack's 
 voice again broke the silence. 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS . 11 
 
 "Where are those d d verses, anyway?" 
 
 Without looking up, the editor waved his 
 pencil towards an uncut copy of the " Excel- 
 sior Magazine " lying on the table. 
 
 " You don't suppose I 'm going to read 
 them, do you ? " said Jack, aggrievedly. 
 " Why don't you say what they 're about ? 
 That 's your business as editor." 
 
 But that functionary, now wholly lost and 
 wandering in the noj^sequitur of an involved 
 passage in the proof before him, only waved 
 an impatient remonstrance with his pencil 
 and knit his brows. Jack, with a sigh, took 
 up the magazine. 
 
 A long silence followed, broken only by 
 the hurried rustling of sheets of copy and an 
 occasional exasperated start from the editor. 
 The sun was already beginning to slant a 
 dusty beam across his desk ; Jack's whistling 
 had long since ceased. Presently, with an 
 exclamation of relief, the editor laid aside 
 the last proof-sheet and looked up. 
 
 Jack Hamlin had closed the magazine, but 
 with one hand thrown over the back of the 
 sofa he was still holding it, his slim fore- 
 finger between its leaves to keep the place, 
 and his handsome profile and dark lashes 
 lifted towards the window. The editor, 
 
12 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 smiling at this unwonted abstraction, said, 
 quietly, 
 
 " Well, what do you think of them ? " 
 
 Jack rose, laid the magazine down, settled 
 his white waistcoat with both hands, and 
 lounged towards his friend with audacious 
 but slightly veiled and shining eyes. u They 
 sort of sing themselves to you," he said, 
 quietly, leaning beside the editor's desk, and 
 looking down upon him. After a pause he 
 said, "Then you don't know what she's 
 like?" 
 
 " That 's what Mr. Bowers asked me," re- 
 marked the editor. 
 
 "D -n Bowers!" 
 
 " I suppose you also wish me to write and 
 ask for permission to give you her address ? " 
 said the editor, with great gravity. 
 
 " No," said Jack, coolly. " I propose to 
 give it to you within a week, and you will 
 pay me with a breakfast. I should like to 
 have it said that I was once a paid contrib- 
 utor to literature. If I don't give it to you, 
 I '11 stand you a dinner, that 's all." 
 
 " Done ! " said the editor. " And you 
 know nothing of her now ? " 
 
 " No," said Jack, promptly. " Nor you ? " 
 
 " No more than I have told you." 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 13 
 
 "That'll do. So long!" And Jack, 
 carefully adjusting his glossy hat over his 
 curls at an ominously wicked angle, saun- 
 tered lightly from the room. The editor, 
 glancing after his handsome figure and hear- 
 ing him take up his pretermitted whistle as 
 he passed out, began to think that the con- 
 tingent dinner was by no means an inevit- 
 able prospect. 
 
 Howbeit, he plunged once more into his 
 monotonous duties. But the freshness of 
 the day seemed to have departed with Jack, 
 and the later interruptions of foreman and 
 publisher were of a more practical character. 
 It was not until the post arrived that the 
 superscription on one of the letters caught 
 his eye, and revived his former interest. It 
 was the same hand as that of his unknown 
 contributor's manuscript ill-formed and 
 boyish. He opened the envelope. It con- 
 tained another poem with the same signa- 
 ture, but also a note much longer than the 
 brief lines that accompanied the first con- 
 tribution was scrawled upon a separate 
 piece of paper. This the editor opened first, 
 and read the following, with an amazement 
 that for the moment dominated all other 
 sense : 
 
14 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 MR. EDITOR, I see you have got my 
 poetry in. But I don't see the spondulix 
 that oughter follow. Perhaps you don't 
 know where to send it. Then I '11 tell you. 
 Send the money to Lock Box 47, Green 
 Springs P. O., per Wells Fargo's Express, 
 and I '11 get it there, on account of my par- 
 ents not knowing. We 're very high-toned, 
 and they would think it 's low making poetry 
 for papers. Send amount usually paid for 
 poetry in your papers. Or may be you think 
 I make poetry for nothing ? That 's where 
 you slip up ! 
 
 Yours truly, WHITE VIOLET. 
 
 P. S. If you don't pay for poetry, send 
 this back. It 's as good as what you did 
 put in, and is just as hard to make. You 
 hear me ? that 's me all the time. 
 
 WHITE VIOLET. 
 
 The editor turned quickly to the new con- 
 tribution for some corroboration of what he 
 felt must be an extraordinary blunder. But 
 no ! The few lines that he hurriedly read 
 breathed the same atmosphere of intellectual 
 repose, gentleness, and imagination as the 
 first contribution. And yet they were in 
 the same handwriting as the singular mis- 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 15 
 
 sive, and both were identical with the previ- 
 ous manuscript. 
 
 Had he been the victim of a hoax, and 
 were the verses not original? No; they 
 were distinctly original, local in color, and 
 even local in the use of certain old English 
 words that were common in the Southwest. 
 He had before noticed the apparent incon- 
 gruity of the handwriting and the text, and 
 it was possible that for the purposes of dis- 
 guise the poet might have employed an 
 amanuensis. But how could he reconcile 
 the incongruity of the mercenary and slangy 
 purport of the missive itself with the mental 
 habit of its author ? Was it possible that 
 these inconsistent qualities existed in the 
 one individual? He smiled grimly as he 
 thought of his visitor Bowers and his friend 
 Jack. He was startled as he remembered 
 the purely imaginative picture he had him- 
 self given to the seriously interested Bowers 
 of the possible incongruous personality of 
 the poetess. 
 
 Was he quite fair in keeping this from 
 Jack ? Was it really honorable, in view of 
 their wager ? It is to be feared that a very 
 human enjoyment of Jack's possible dis- 
 comfiture quite as much as any chivalrous 
 
16 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 friendship impelled the editor to ring event- 
 ually for the office-boy. 
 
 " See if Mr. Hamlin is in his rooms." 
 The editor then sat down, and wrote rap- 
 idly as follows : 
 
 DEAE MADAM, You are as right as 
 you are generous in supposing that only 
 ignorance of your address prevented the 
 manager from previously remitting the hon- 
 orarium for your beautiful verses. He now 
 begs to send it to you in the manner you 
 have indicated. As the verses have attracted 
 deserved attention, I have been applied to 
 for your address. Should you care to sub- 
 mit it to me to be used at my discretion, I 
 shall feel honored by your confidence. But 
 this is a matter left entirely to your own 
 kindness and better judgment. Meantime, I 
 take pleasure in accepting " White Violet's " 
 present contribution, and remain, dear mad- 
 am, your obedient servant, 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 The boy returned as he was folding the 
 letter. Mr. Hamlin was not only not in his 
 rooms, but, according to his negro servant 
 Pete, had left town an hour ago for a few 
 days in the country. 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 17 
 
 "Did he say where?" asked the editor, 
 quickly. 
 
 " No, sir : he did n't know." 
 
 " Very well. Take this to the manager." 
 He addressed the letter, and, scrawling a few 
 hieroglyphics on a memorandum-tag, tore it 
 off, and handed it with the letter to the boy. 
 
 An hour later he stood in the manager's 
 office. "The next number is pretty well 
 made up," he said, carelessly, " and I think 
 of taking a day or two off." 
 
 " Certainly," said the manager. " It will 
 do you good. Where do you think you J ll 
 go?" 
 
 " I have n't quite made up my mind," 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 " HULLO ! " said Jack Hamlin. 
 
 He had halted his mare at the edge of an 
 abrupt chasm. It did not appear to be fifty 
 feet across, yet its depth must have been 
 nearly two hundred to where the hidden 
 mountain-stream, of which it was the banks, 
 alternately slipped, tumbled, and fell with 
 murmuring and monotonous regularity. One 
 or two pine-trees growing on the opposite 
 edge, loosened at the roots, had tilted their 
 straight shafts like spears over the abyss, and 
 the top of one, resting on the upper branches 
 of a sycamore a few yards from him, served 
 as an aerial bridge for the passage of a boy 
 of fourteen to whom Mr. Hamlin's challenge 
 was addressed. 
 
 The boy stopped midway in his perilous 
 transit, and, looking down upon the horse- 
 man, responded, coolly, " Hullo, yourself ! " 
 
 " Is that the only way across this infernal 
 hole, or the one you prefer for exercise ? " 
 continued Hamlin, gravely. 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPKJNGS. 19 
 
 The boy sat down on a bough, allowing 
 his bare feet to dangle over the dizzy depths, 
 and critically examined his questioner. Jack 
 had on this occasion modified his usual cor- 
 rect conventional attire by a tasteful com- 
 bination of a vaquero's costume, and, in 
 loose white bullion-fringed trousers, red sash, 
 jacket, and sombrero, looked infinitely more 
 dashing and picturesque than his original. 
 Nevertheless, the boy did not reply. Mr. 
 Hamlin's pride in his usual ascendency over 
 women, children, horses, and all unreasoning 
 animals was deeply nettled. He smiled, 
 however, and said, quietly, 
 
 " Come here, George Washington. I 
 want to talk to you." 
 
 Without rejecting this august yet impos- 
 sible title, the boy presently lifted his feet, 
 and carelessly resumed his passage across 
 the chasm until, reaching the sycamore, he 
 began to let himself down squirrel-wise, leap 
 by leap, with an occasional trapeze swinging 
 from bough to bough, dropping at last eas- 
 ily to the ground. Here he appeared to be 
 rather good-looking, albeit the sun and air 
 had worked a miracle of brown tan and 
 freckles on his exposed surfaces, until the 
 mottling of his oval cheeks looked like a 
 
20 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 polished bird's egg. Indeed, it struck Mr. 
 Hamlin that he was as intensely a part of 
 that sylvan seclusion as the hidden brook 
 that murmured, the brown velvet shadows 
 that lay like trappings on the white flanks 
 of his horse, the quivering heat, and the 
 stinging spice of bay. Mr. Hamlin had 
 vague ideas of dryads and fauns, but at that 
 moment would have bet something on the 
 chances of their survival. 
 
 " I did not hear what you said just now, 
 general," he remarked, with great elegance 
 of manner, " but I know from your reputa- 
 tion that it could not be a lie. I therefore 
 gather that there is another way across." 
 
 The boy smiled; rather, his very short 
 upper lip apparently vanished completely 
 over his white teeth, and his very black 
 eyes, which showed a great deal of the white 
 around them, danced in their orbits. 
 
 *' But you could n't find it," he said, slyly. 
 
 " No more could you find the half-dollar I 
 dropped just now, unless I helped you." 
 
 Mr. Hamlin, by way of illustration, leaned 
 deeply over his left stirrup, and pointed to 
 the ground. At the same moment a bright 
 half-dollar absolutely appeared to glitter in 
 the herbage at the point of his finger. It 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRfNGS. 21 
 
 was a trick that had always brought great 
 pleasure and profit to his young friends, and 
 some loss and discomfiture of wager to his 
 older ones. 
 
 The boy picked up the coin : " There 's a 
 dip and a level crossing about a mile over 
 yer," he pointed, " but it 's through the 
 woods, and they 're that high with thick 
 bresh." 
 
 "With what?" 
 
 " Bresh," repeated the boy; "that? 
 pointing to a few fronds of bracken growing 
 in the shadow of the sycamore. 
 
 "Oh! underbrush?" 
 
 " Yes ; I said ' bresh,' " returned the boy, 
 doggedly. " You might get through, ef you 
 war spry, but not your hoss. Where do you 
 want to go, anyway?" 
 
 " Do you know, George," said Mr. Ham- 
 lin, lazily throwing his right leg over the 
 horn of his saddle for greater ease and de- 
 liberation in replying, "it 's very odd, but 
 that 's just what / ' d like to know. Now, 
 what would you, in your broad statesmanlike 
 views of things generally, advise ? " 
 
 Quite convinced of the stranger's mental 
 unsoundness, the boy glanced again at his 
 half-dollar, as if to make sure of its integ- 
 
22 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 rity, pocketed it doubtfully, and turned 
 away. 
 
 "Where are you going?" said Hamlin, 
 resuming his seat with the agility of a circus- 
 rider, and spurring forward. 
 
 " To Green Springs, where I live, two 
 miles over the ridge on the far slope," 
 indicating the direction. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Jack, with thoughtful grav- 
 ity. " Well, kindly give my love to your 
 sister, will you ? " 
 
 " George Washington did n't have no sis- 
 ter," said the boy, cunningly. 
 
 "Can I have been mistaken?" said Ham- 
 lin, lifting his hand to his forehead with 
 grieved accents. " Then it seems you have. 
 Kindly give her my love." 
 
 "Which one?" asked the boy, with a 
 swift glance o,f mischief. " I 've got four." 
 
 " The one that 's like you," returned Ham- 
 lin, with prompt exactitude. " Now, where 's 
 the bresh ' you spoke of ? " 
 
 " Keep along the edge until you come to 
 the log-slide. Toiler that, and it '11 lead you 
 into the woods. But ye won't go far, I tell 
 ye. When you have to turn back, instead 
 o' comin' back here, you kin take the trail 
 that goes round the woods, and that '11 bring 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 23 
 
 ye out into the stage road ag'in near the post- 
 office at the Green Springs crossin' and the 
 new hotel. That '11 be war ye '11 turn up, I 
 reckon," he added, reflectively. "Fellers 
 that come yer gunnin' and fishin' gin'rally 
 do," he concluded, with a half -inquisitive 
 air. 
 
 " Ah ? " said Mr. Hamlin, quietly shedding 
 the inquiry. " Green Springs Hotel is where 
 the stage stops, eh ? " 
 
 " Yes, and at the post-office," said the boy. 
 " She '11 be along here soon," he added. 
 
 " If you mean the Santa Cruz stage," said 
 Hamlin, " she 's here already. I passed her 
 on the ridge half an hour ago." 
 
 The boy gave a sudden start, and a quick 
 uneasy expression passed over his face. " Go 
 'long with ye ! " he said, with a forced smile : 
 " it ain't her time yet." 
 
 " But I saw her," repeated Hamlin, much 
 amused. "Are you expecting company? 
 Hullo ! Where are you off to ? Come 
 back." 
 
 But his companion had already vanished 
 in the thicket with the undeliberate and im- 
 pulsive act of an animal. There was a mo- 
 mentary rustle in the alders fifty feet away, 
 and then all was silent. The hidden brook 
 
24 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 took up its monotonous murmur, the tapping 
 of a distant woodpecker became suddenly 
 audible, and Mr. Hamlin was again alone. 
 
 " Wonder whether he 's got parents in the 
 stage, and has been playing truant here," he 
 mused, lazily. " Looked as if he 'd been 
 up to some devilment, or more like as if he 
 was primed for it. If he'd been a little 
 older, I 'd have bet he was in league with 
 some road-agents to watch the coach. Just 
 my luck to have him light out as I was be- 
 ginning to get some talk out of him." He 
 paused, looked at his watch, and straight- 
 ened himself in his stirrups. " Four o'clock. 
 I reckon I might as well try the woods and 
 what that imp calls the 4 bresh ; ' I may 
 strike a shanty or a native by the way." 
 
 With this determination, Mr. Hamlin 
 urged his horse along the faint trail by the 
 brink of the watercourse which the boy had 
 just indicated. He had no definite end in 
 view beyond the one that had brought him 
 the day before to that locality his quest 
 of the unknown poetess. His clue would 
 have seemed to ordinary humanity the faint- 
 est. He had merely noted the provincial 
 name of a certain plant mentioned in the 
 poem, and learned that its habitat was lim- 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 25 
 
 ited to the southern local range ; while its 
 peculiar nomenclature was clearly of French 
 Creole or Gulf State origin. This gave him 
 a large though sparsely-populated area for 
 locality, while it suggested a settlement of 
 Louisianians or Mississippians near the 
 Summit, of whom, through their native 
 gambling proclivities, he was professionally 
 cognizant. But he mainly trusted Fortune. 
 Secure in his faith in the feminine character 
 of that goddess, he relied a great deal on 
 her well-known weakness for scamps of his 
 quality. 
 
 It was not long before he came to the 
 " slide " a lightly-cut or shallow ditch. It 
 descended slightly in a course that was far 
 from straight, at times diverging to avoid the 
 obstacles of trees or boulders, at times shav- 
 ing them so closely as to leave smooth abra- 
 sions along their sides made by the grinding 
 passage of long logs down the incline. The 
 track itself was slippery from this, and pre- 
 occupied all Hamlin's skill as a horseman, 
 even to the point of stopping his usual care- 
 less whistle. At the end of half an hour the 
 track became level again, and he was con- 
 fronted with a singular phenomenon. 
 
 He had entered the wood, and the trail 
 
26 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 seemed to cleave through a far-stretching, 
 motionless sea of ferns that flowed on either 
 side to the height of his horse's flanks. The 
 straight shafts of the trees rose like columns 
 from their hidden bases and were lost again 
 in a roof of impenetrable leafage, leaving a 
 clear space of fifty feet between, through 
 which the surrounding horizon of sky was 
 perfectly visible. All the light that entered 
 th;s vast sylvan hall came from the sides ; 
 nothing permeated from above ; nothing 
 radiated from below ; the height of the crest 
 on which the wood was placed gave it this 
 lateral illumination, but gave it also the pro- 
 found isolation of some temple raised by 
 long-forgotten hands. In spite of the height 
 of these clear shafts, they seemed dwarfed by 
 the expanse of the wood, and in the farthest 
 perspective the base of ferns and the capital 
 of foliage appeared almost to meet. As the 
 boy had warned him, the slide had turned 
 aside, skirting the wood to follow the incline, 
 and presently the little trail he now followed 
 vanished utterly, leaving him and his horse 
 adrift breast-high in this green and yellow 
 sea of fronds. But Mr. Hamlin, imperious of 
 obstacles, and touched by some curiosity, 
 continued to advance lazily, taking the bear- 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 27 
 
 ings of a larger red-wood in the centre of the 
 grove for his objective point. The elastic 
 mass gave way before him, brushing his 
 knees or combing his horse's flanks with 
 wide-spread elfin fingers, and closing up be- 
 hind him as he passed, as if to obliterate 
 any track by which he might return. Yet 
 his usual luck did not desert him here. Be- 
 ing on horseback, he found that he could 
 detect what had been invisible to the boy 
 and probably to all pedestrians, namely, 
 that the growth was not equally dense, that 
 there were certain thinner and more open 
 spaces that he could take advantage of by 
 more circuitous progression, always, how- 
 ever, keeping the bearings of the central 
 tree. This he at last reached, and halted his 
 panting horse. Here a new idea which had 
 been haunting him since he entered the 
 wood took fuller possession of him. He 
 had seen or known all this before ! There 
 was a strange familiarity either in these ob- 
 jects or in the impression or spell they left 
 upon him. He remembered the verses ! Yes, 
 this was the " underbrush " which the po- 
 etess had described: the gloom above and 
 below, the light that seemed blown through 
 it like the wind, the suggestion of hidden 
 
28 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 life beneath this tangled luxuriance, which 
 she alone had penetrated, all this was 
 here. But, more than that, here was the 
 atmosphere that she had breathed into the 
 plaintive melody of her verse. It did not 
 necessarily follow that Mr. Hamlin's trans- 
 lation of her sentiment was the correct one, 
 or that the ideas her verses had provoked in 
 his mind were at all what had been hers : in 
 his easy susceptibility he was simply thrown 
 into a corresponding mood of emotion and 
 relieved himself with song. One of the 
 verses he had already associated in his mind 
 with the rhythm of an old plantation mel- 
 ody, and it struck his fancy to take advan- 
 tage of the solitude to try its effect. Hum- 
 ming to himself, at first softly, he at last 
 grew bolder, and let his voice drift away 
 through the stark pillars of the sylvan colon- 
 nade till it seemed to suffuse and fill it with 
 no more effort than the light which strayed 
 in on either side. Sitting thus, his hat 
 thrown a little back from his clustering 
 curls, the white neck and shoulders of his 
 horse uplifting him above the crested mass 
 of fern, his red sash the one fleck of color 
 in their olive depths, I am afraid he looked 
 much more like the real minstrel of the 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 29 
 
 grove than the unknown poetess who trans- 
 figured it. But this, as has been already in- 
 dicated, was Jack Hamlin's peculiar gift. 
 Even as he had previously outshone the 
 vaquero in his borrowed dress, he now si- 
 lenced and supplanted a few fluttering blue- 
 jays rightful tenants of the wood with 
 a more graceful and airy presence and a far 
 sweeter voice. 
 
 The open horizon towards the west had 
 taken a warmer color from the already slant- 
 ing sun when Mr. Hamlin, having rested his 
 horse, turned to that direction. He had no- 
 ticed that the wood was thinner there, and, 
 pushing forward, he was presently rewarded 
 by the sound of far-off wheels, and knew he 
 must be near the high-road that the boy had 
 spoken of. Having given up his previous 
 intention of crossing the stream, there seemed 
 nothing better for him to do than to follow 
 the truant's advice and take the road back 
 to Green Springs. Yet he was loath to 
 leave the wood, halting on its verge, and 
 turning to look back into its charmed re- 
 cesses. Once or twice perhaps because he 
 recalled the words of the poem that yel- 
 lowish sea of ferns had seemed instinct with 
 hidden life, and he had even fancied, here 
 
30 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 and there, a swaying of its plumed crests. 
 Howbeit, he still lingered long enough for 
 the open sunlight into which he had ob- 
 truded to point out the bravery of his hand- 
 some figure. Then he wheeled his horse, 
 the light glanced from polished double bit 
 and bridle-fripperies, caught his red sash 
 and bullion buttons, struck a parting flash 
 from his silver spurs, and he was gone ! 
 
 For a moment the light streamed un- 
 brokenly through the wood. And then it 
 could be seen that the yellow mass of under- 
 growth had moved with the passage of an- 
 other figure than his own. For ever since 
 he had entered the shade, a woman, shawled 
 in a vague, shapeless fashion, had watched 
 him wonderingly, eagerly, excitedly, gliding 
 from tree to tree as he advanced, or else 
 dropping breathlessly below the fronds of 
 fern whence she gazed at him as between 
 parted fingers. When he wheeled she had 
 run openly to the west, albeit with hidden 
 face and still clinging shawl, and taken a 
 last look at his retreating figure. And then, 
 with a faint but lingering sigh, she drew 
 back into the shadow of the wood again and 
 vanished also. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT the end of twenty minutes Mr. Ham- 
 lin reined in his mare. He had just ob- 
 served in the distant shadows of a by-lane 
 that intersected his road the vanishing flut- 
 ter of two light print dresses. Without a 
 moment's hesitation he lightly swerved out 
 of the high-road and followed the retreating 
 figures. 
 
 As he neared them, they seemed to be 
 two slim young girls, evidently so preoccu- 
 pied with the rustic amusement of edging 
 each other off the grassy border into the 
 dust of the track that they did not perceive 
 his approach. Little shrieks, slight scuf- 
 flings, and interjections of " Cynthy ! you 
 limb ! " " Quit that, Eunice, now ! " and 
 " I just call that real mean ! " apparently 
 drowned the sound of his canter in the soft 
 dust. Checking his speed to a gentle trot, 
 and pressing his horse close beside the op- 
 posite fence, he passed them with gravely 
 uplifted hat and a serious, preoccupied air. 
 
32 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 But in that single, seemingly conventional 
 glance, Mr. Hamlin had seen that they were 
 both pretty, and that one had the short upper 
 lip of his errant little guide. A hundred 
 yards farther on he halted, as if irresolutely, 
 gazed doubtfully ahead of him, and then 
 turned back. An expression of innocent 
 almost childlike concern was clouding the 
 rascal's face. It was well, as the two girls 
 had drawn closely together, having been ap- 
 parently surprised in the midst of a glowing 
 eulogium of this glorious passing vision by 
 its sudden return. At his nearer approach, 
 the one with the short upper lip hid that 
 piquant feature and the rest of her rosy face 
 behind the other's shoulder, which was sud- 
 denly and significantly opposed to the ad- 
 vance of this handsome intruder, with a cer- 
 tain dignity, half real, half affected, but 
 wholly charming. The protectress appeared 
 possibly from her defensive attitude 
 the superior of her companion. 
 
 Audacious as Jack was to his own sex, he 
 had early learned that such rare but discom- 
 posing graces as he possessed required a cer- 
 tain apologetic attitude when presented to 
 women, and that it was only a plain man 
 who could be always complacently self-con- 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 33 
 
 fident in their presence. There was, conse- 
 quently, a hesitating lowering of this hypo- 
 crite's brown eyelashes as he said, in almost 
 pained accents, 
 
 " Excuse me, but I fear I Ve taken the 
 wrong road. I 'm going to Green Springs." 
 
 44 1 reckon you 've taken the wrong road, 
 wherever you 're going," returned the young 
 lady, having apparently made up her mind 
 to resent each of Jack's perfections as a 
 separate impertinence : 4t this is a private 
 road." She drew herself fairly up here, 
 although gurgled at in the ear and pinched 
 in the arm by her companion. 
 
 44 1 beg your pardon," said Jack, meekly. 
 " I see I 'm trespassing on your grounds. 
 I 'm very sorry. Thank you for telling me. 
 I should have gone on a mile or two farther, 
 I suppose, until I came to your house," he 
 added, innocently. 
 
 44 A mile or two ! You 'd have run chock 
 ag'in' our gate in another minit," said the 
 short -lipped one, eagerly. But a sharp 
 nudge from her companion sent her back 
 again into cover, where she waited expec- 
 tantly for another crushing retort from her 
 protector. 
 
 But, alas ! it did not come. One cannot 
 
34 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 be always witty, and Jack looked distressed. 
 
 Nevertheless, he took advantage of the 
 
 pause. 
 
 " It was so stupid in me, as I think your 
 
 brother " looking at Short-lip " very 
 
 carefully told me the road." 
 
 The two girls darted quick glances at each 
 
 other. " Oh, Bawb ! " said the first speaker, 
 
 in wearied accents, " that limb ! He don't 
 
 keer." 
 
 " But he did care," said Hamlin, quietly, 
 " and gave me a good deal of information. 
 Thanks to him, I was able to see that ferny 
 wood that 's so famous about two miles up 
 the road. You know the one that there 's 
 a poem written about ! " 
 
 The shot told ! Short-lip burst into a 
 display of dazzling little teeth and caught 
 the other girl convulsively by the shoulders. 
 The superior girl bent her pretty brows, and 
 said, " Eunice, what 's gone of ye ? Quit 
 that ! " but, as Hamlin thought, paled 
 slightly. 
 
 " Of course,'* said Hamlin, quickly, " you 
 know the poem everybody 's talking about. 
 Dear me ! let me see ! how does it go ? " The 
 rascal knit his brows, said, " Ah, yes," and 
 then murmured the verse he had lately sung 
 quite as musically. 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 35 
 
 Short -lip was shamelessly exalted and 
 excited. Really she could scarcely believe 
 it ! She already heard herself relating the 
 whole occurrence. Here was the most beau- 
 tiful young man she had ever seen an en- 
 tire stranger talking to them in the most 
 beautiful and natural way, right in the lane, 
 and reciting poetry to her sister! It was 
 like a novel only more so. She thought 
 that Cynthia, on the other hand, looked dis- 
 tressed, and she must say it " silly." 
 
 All of which Jack noted, and was wise. 
 He had got all he wanted at present. He 
 gathered up his reins. 
 
 u Thank you so much, and your brother, 
 too, Miss Cynthia," he said, without looking 
 up. Then, adding, with a parting glance 
 and smile, " But don't tell Bob how stupid I 
 was," he swiftly departed. 
 
 In half an hour he was at the Green 
 Springs Hotel. As he rode into the stable 
 yard, he noticed that the coach had only just 
 arrived, having been detained by a land-slip 
 on the Summit road. With the recollection 
 of Bob fresh in his mind, he glanced at the 
 loungers at the stage office. The boy was 
 not there, but a moment later Jack detected 
 him among the waiting crowd at the post- 
 
36 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 office opposite. With a view of following 
 up his inquiries, he crossed the road as the 
 boy entered the vestibule of the post-office. 
 He arrived in time to see him unlock one of 
 a row of numbered letter-boxes rented by 
 subscribers, which occupied a partition by 
 the window, and take out a small package 
 and a letter. But in that brief glance Mr. 
 Hamlin detected the printed address of the 
 " Excelsior Magazine " on the wrapper. It 
 was enough. Luck was certainly with him. 
 
 He had time to get rid of the wicked 
 sparkle that had lit his dark eyes, and to 
 lounge carelessly towards the boy as the lat- 
 ter broke open the package, and then hur- 
 riedly concealed it in his jacket-pocket, and 
 started for the door. Mr. Hamlin quickly 
 followed him, unperceived, and, as he stepped 
 into the street, gently tapped him on the 
 shoulder. The boy turned and faced him 
 quickly. But Mr. Hamlin's eyes showed 
 nothing but lazy good-humor. 
 
 " Hullo, Bob. Where are you going ? " 
 
 The boy again looked up suspiciously at 
 this revelation of his name. 
 
 " Home," he said, briefly. 
 
 " Oh, over yonder," said Hamlin, calmly. 
 " I don't mind walking with you as far as 
 the lane." 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 37 
 
 He saw the boy's eyes glance furtively 
 towards an alley that ran beside the black- 
 smith's shop a few rods ahead, and was con- 
 vinced that he intended to evade him there. 
 Slipping his arm carelessly in the youth's, 
 he concluded to open fire at once. 
 
 " Bob," he said, with irresistible gravity, 
 " I did not know when I met you this morn- 
 ing that I had the honor of addressing a 
 poet none other than the famous author 
 of 'Underbrush.'" 
 
 The boy started back, and endeavored to 
 withdraw his arm, but Mr. Hamlin tightened 
 his hold, without, however, changing his care- 
 less expression. 
 
 " You see," he continued, " the editor is a 
 friend of mine, and, being afraid this pack- 
 age might not get into the right hands 
 as you did n't give your name he depu- 
 tized me to come here and see that it was 
 all square. As you 're rather young, for 
 all you 're so gifted, I reckon I 'd better go 
 home with you, and take a receipt from your 
 parents. That 's about square, I think ? " 
 
 The consternation of the boy was so evi- 
 dent and so far beyond Mr. Hamlin's ex- 
 pectation that he instantly halted him, gazed 
 into his shifting eyes, and gave a long 
 whistle. 
 
38 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 " Who said it was for me ? Wot you 
 talkin' about ? Lemme go ! " gasped the 
 boy, with the short intermittent breath of 
 mingled fear and passion. 
 
 " Bob," said Mr. Hamlin, in a singularly 
 colorless voice which was very rare with him, 
 and an expression quite unlike his own, 
 " what is your little game ? " 
 
 The boy looked down in dogged silence. 
 
 " Out with it ! Who are you playing this 
 on?" 
 
 " It 's all among my own folks ; it 's noth- 
 in' to you" said the boy, suddenly beginning 
 to struggle violently, as if inspired by this 
 extenuating fact. 
 
 " Among your own folks, eh ? White 
 Violet and the rest, eh ? But she 's not in 
 it?" 
 
 No reply. 
 
 " Hand me over that package. I '11 give 
 it back to you again." 
 
 The boy handed it to Mr. Hamlin. He 
 read the letter, and found the inclosure con- 
 tained a twenty-dollar gold-piece. A half- 
 supercilious smile passed over his face at this 
 revelation of the inadequate emoluments of 
 literature and the trifling inducements to 
 crime. Indeed, I fear the affair began to 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 39 
 
 take a less serious moral complexion in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Then White Violet your sister Cyn- 
 thia, you know," continued Mr. Hamlin, in 
 easy parenthesis " wrote for this ? " hold- 
 ing the coin contemplatively in his fingers, 
 " and you calculated to nab it yourself ? " 
 
 The quick searching glance with which 
 Bob received the name of his sister, Mr. 
 Hamlin attributed only to his natural sur- 
 prise that this stranger should be on such 
 familiar terms with her ; but the boy re- 
 sponded immediately and bluntly : 
 
 "No! She didn't write for it. She 
 did n't want nobody to know who she was. 
 Nobody wrote for it but me. Nobody knew 
 folks was paid for poetry but me. I found 
 it out from a feller. I wrote for it. Zwas n't 
 goin' to let that skunk of an editor have it 
 himself!" 
 
 " And you thought you would take it," 
 said Hamlin, his voice resuming its old tone. 
 " Well, George I mean Bob, your conduct 
 was praiseworthy, although your intentions 
 were bad. Still, twenty dollars is rather too 
 much for your trouble. Suppose we say 
 five and call it square?" He handed the 
 astonished boy five dollars. " Now, George 
 
40 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 Washington," he continued, taking four 
 other twenty-dollar pieces from his pocket, 
 and adding them to the inclosure, which he 
 carefully refolded, " I 'm going to give you 
 another chance to live up to your reputation. 
 You '11 take that package, and hand it to 
 White Violet, and say you found it, just 
 as it is, in the lock-box. I '11 keep the let- 
 ter, for it would knock you endways if it 
 was seen, and I '11 make it all right with the 
 editor. But, as I 've got to tell him that 
 I Ve seen White Violet myself, and know 
 she 's got it, I expect you to manage in some 
 way to have me see her. I '11 manage the 
 rest of it ; and I won't blow on you, either. 
 You '11 come back to the hotel, and tell me 
 what you 've done. And now, George," con- 
 cluded Mr. Hamlin, succeeding at last in 
 fixing the boy's evasive eye with a peculiar 
 look, "it may be just as well for you to 
 understand that I know every nook and cor- 
 ner of this place, that I 've already been 
 through that underbrush you spoke of once 
 this morning, and that I 've got a mare that 
 can go wherever you can, and a d d sight 
 quicker ! " 
 
 " 1 '11 give the package to White Violet," 
 said the boy, doggedly. 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS . 41 
 
 44 And you '11 come back to the hotel ? " 
 
 The boy hesitated, and then said, " I '11 
 come back." 
 
 " All right, then. Adios, general." 
 
 Bob disappeared around the corner of a 
 cross-road at a rapid trot, and Mr. Hamlin 
 turned into the hotel. 
 
 " Smart little chap that ! " he said to the 
 barkeeper. 
 
 " You bet ! " returned the man, who, hav- 
 ing recognized Mr. Hamlin, was delighted 
 at the prospect of conversing with a gentle- 
 man of such decidedly dangerous reputation. 
 " But he 's been allowed to run a little wild 
 since old man Delate ur died, and the wid- 
 der 's got enough to do, I reckon, lookin' arter 
 her four gals, and takin' keer of old Dela- 
 tour's ranch over yonder. I guess it 's 
 pretty hard sleddin' for her sometimes to 
 get clo'es and grub for the famerly, without 
 follerin' Bob around." 
 
 " Sharp girls, too, I reckon ; one of them 
 writes things for the magazines, does n't 
 she? Cynthia, eh?" said Mr. Hamlin, 
 carelessly. 
 
 Evidently this fact was not a notorious one 
 to the barkeeper. He, however, said, " Dun- 
 no ; mabbee ; her father was eddicated, and 
 
42 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 the widder Delatour, too, though she 's sorter 
 queer, I 've heard tell. Lord ! Mr. Hamlin, 
 you oughter remember old man Delatour ! 
 From Opelousas, Louisiany, you know! 
 High old sport French style, frilled bosom 
 open-handed, and us'ter buck ag'in' faro 
 awful ! Why, he dropped a heap o' money 
 to you over in San Jose two years ago at 
 poker ! You must remember him !" 
 
 The slightest possible flush passed over 
 Mr. Hamlin's brow under the shadow of his 
 hat, but did not get lower than his eyes. 
 He suddenly had recalled the spendthrift 
 Delatour perfectly, and as quickly regretted 
 now that he had not doubled the honorarium 
 he had just sent to his portionless daughter. 
 But he only said, coolly, " No," and then, 
 raising his pale face and audacious eyes, 
 continued in his laziest and most insulting 
 manner, " no : the fact is, my mind is just 
 now preoccupied in wondering if the gas is 
 leaking anywhere, and if anything is ever 
 served over this bar except elegant conver- 
 sation. When the gentleman who mixes 
 drinks comes back, perhaps you '11 be good 
 enough to tell him to send a whisky sour to 
 Mr. Jack Hamlin in the parlor. Meantime, 
 you can turn off your soda fountain : I don't 
 want any fizz in mine." 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 43 
 
 Having thus quite recovered himself, Mr. 
 Hamlin lounged gracefully across the hall 
 into the parlor. As he did so, a darkish 
 young man, with a slim boyish figure, a thin 
 face, and a discontented expression, rose 
 from an armchair, held out his hand, and, 
 with a saturnine smile, said : 
 
 "Jack!" 
 
 "Fred!" 
 
 The two men remained gazing at each 
 other with a half-amused, half-guarded ex- 
 pression. Mr. Hamlin was first to begin. 
 " I did n't think you ' J be such a fool as to 
 try on this kind of thing, Fred," he said, 
 half seriously. 
 
 " Yes, but it was to keep you from being 
 a much bigger one that I hunted you up," 
 said the editor, mischievously. " Read that. 
 I got it an hour after you left." And he 
 placed a little triumphantly in Jack's hand 
 the letter he had received from White 
 Violet. 
 
 Mr. Hamlin read it with an unmoved face, 
 and then laid his two hands on the editor's 
 shoulders. " Yes, my young friend, and you 
 sat down and wrote her a pretty letter and 
 sent her twenty dollars which, permit me 
 to say, was d d poor pay ! But that is n't 
 
44 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 your fault, I reckon : it 's the meanness of 
 your proprietors." 
 
 " But it is n't the question, either, just 
 now, Jack, however you have been able to 
 answer it. Do you mean to say seriously 
 that you want to know anything more of a 
 woman who could write such a letter ? " 
 
 "I don't know," said Jack, cheerfully. 
 " She might be a devilish sight funnier than 
 if she had n't written it which is the fact." 
 
 " You mean to say she did n't write it ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Who did, then?" 
 
 " Her brother Bob." 
 
 After a moment's scrutiny of his friend's 
 bewildered face, Mr. Hainlin briefly related 
 his adventures, from the moment of his meet- 
 ing Bob at the mountain-stream to the bar- 
 keeper's gossiping comment and sequel. 
 " Therefore," he concluded, " the author of 
 ' Underbrush ' is Miss Cynthia Delatour, one 
 of four daughters of a widow who lives two 
 miles from here at the crossing. I shall see 
 her this evening and make sure ; but to- 
 morrow morning you will pay me the break- 
 fast you owe me. She 's good-looking, but 
 I can't say I fancy the poetic style : it 's a 
 little too high-toned for me. However, I 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 45 
 
 love my love with a C, because she is your 
 Contributor ; I hate her with a C, because 
 of her Connections ; I met her by Chance 
 and treated her with Civility ; her name is 
 Cynthia, and she lives on a Cross-road." 
 
 " But you surely don't expect you will 
 ever see Bob, again ! " said the editor, impa- 
 tiently. " You have trusted him with enough 
 to start him for the Sandwich Islands, to 
 say nothing of the ruinous precedent you 
 have established in his mind of the value of 
 poetry. I am surprised that a man of your 
 knowledge of the world would have faith in 
 that imp the second time." 
 
 44 My knowledge of the world," returned 
 Mr. Hamlin, sententiously, " tells me that 's 
 the only way you can trust anybody. Once 
 does n't make a habit, nor show a character. 
 I could see by his bungling that he had never 
 tried this on before. Just now the tempta- 
 tion to wipe out his punishment by doing the 
 square thing, and coming back a sort of hero, 
 is stronger than any other. 'T is n't every- 
 body that gets that chance," he added, with 
 an odd laugh. 
 
 Nevertheless, three hours passed without 
 bringing Bob. The two men had gone to 
 the billiard-room, when a waiter brought a 
 
46 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPEfNGS. 
 
 note, which he handed to Mr. Hamlin with 
 some apologetic hesitation. It bore no super- 
 scription, but had been brought by a boy 
 who described Mr. Hamlin perfectly, and 
 requested that the note should be handed to 
 him with the remark that " Bob had come 
 back." 
 
 " And is he there now ? " asked Mr. Ham- 
 lin, holding the letter unopened in his hand. 
 
 " No, sir ; he run right off." 
 
 The editor laughed, but Mr. Hamlin, hav- 
 ing perused the note, put away his cue. 
 " Come into my room," he said. 
 
 The editor followed, and Mr. Hamlin laid 
 the note before him on the table. " Bob 's 
 all right," he said, " for I '11 bet a thousand 
 dollars that note is genuine." 
 
 It was delicately written, in a cultivated 
 feminine hand, utterly unlike the scrawl that 
 had first excited the editor's curiosity, and 
 ran as follows : 
 
 He who brought me the bounty of your 
 friend for I cannot call a recompense so 
 far above my deserts by any other name 
 gives me also to understand that you wished 
 for an interview. I cannot believe that this 
 is mere idle curiosity, or that you have any 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 47 
 
 motive that is not kindly and honorable, but 
 I feel that I must beg and pray you not to 
 seek to remove the veil behind which I have 
 chosen to hide myself and my poor efforts 
 from identification. I think I know you 
 I know I know myself well enough to be- 
 lieve it would give neither of us any happi- 
 ness. You will say to your generous friend 
 that he has already given the Unknown more 
 comfort and hope than could come from any 
 personal compliment or publicity, and you 
 will yourself believe that you have all un- 
 consciously brightened a sad woman's fancy 
 with a Dream and a Vision that before to- 
 day had been unknown to 
 
 WHITE VIOLET. 
 
 " Have you read it ? " asked Mr. Hamlin. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then you don't want to see it any more, 
 or even remember you ever saw it," said Mr. 
 Hamlin, carefully tearing the note into small 
 pieces and letting them drift from the win- 
 dows like blown blossoms. 
 
 " But, I say, Jack ! look here ; I don't un- 
 derstand ! You say you have already seen 
 this woman, and yet " 
 
 " I have n't seen her," said Jack, compos- 
 edly, turning from the window. 
 
48 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " I mean that you and I, Fred, are going 
 to drop this fooling right here and leave 
 this place for Frisco by first stage to-morrow, 
 and that I owe you that dinner." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WHEN the stage for San Francisco rolled 
 away the next morning with Mr. Hamlin 
 and the editor, the latter might have recog- 
 nized in the occupant of a dust -covered 
 buggy that was coming leisurely towards 
 them the tall figure, long beard, and straight 
 duster of his late visitor, Mr. James Bowers. 
 For Mr. Bowers was on the same quest that 
 the others had just abandoned. Like Mr. 
 Hamlin, he had been left to his own re- 
 sources, but Mr. Bowers's resources were a 
 life-long experience and technical skill; he 
 too had noted the topographical indications 
 of the poem, and his knowledge of the sylva 
 of Upper California pointed as unerringly 
 as Mr. Hamlin's luck to the cryptogamous 
 haunts of the Summit. Such abnormal 
 growths were indicative of certain localities 
 only, but, as they were not remunerative 
 from a pecuniary point of view, were to be 
 avoided by the sagacious woodman. It was 
 clear, therefore, that Mr. Bowers's visit to 
 
50 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 Green Springs was not professional, and 
 that he did not even figuratively accept the 
 omen. 
 
 He baited and rested his horse at the 
 hotel, where his bucolic exterior, however, 
 did not elicit that attention which had been 
 accorded to Mr. Hamlin's charming inso- 
 lence or the editor's cultivated manner. But 
 he glanced over a township map on the walls 
 of the reading-room, and took note of the 
 names of the owners of different lots, farms, 
 and ranches, passing that of Delatour with 
 the others. Then he drove leisurely in the 
 direction of the woods, and, reaching them, 
 tied his horse to a young sapling in the 
 shade, and entered their domain with a 
 shambling but familiar woodman's step. 
 
 It is not the purpose of this brief chroni- 
 cle to follow Mr. Bowers in his professional 
 diagnosis of the locality. He recognized 
 Nature in one of her moods of wasteful 
 extravagance, a waste that his experienced 
 eye could tell was also sapping the vitality 
 of those outwardly robust shafts that rose 
 around him. He knew, without testing 
 them, that half of these fair-seeming col- 
 umns were hollow and rotten at the core ; 
 he could detect the chill odor of decay 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPKJNGS. 51 
 
 through the hot balsamic spices stirred by 
 the wind that streamed through their long 
 aisles, like incense mingling with the ex- 
 halations of a crypt. He stopped now and 
 then to part the heavy fronds down to their 
 roots in the dank moss, seeing again, as he 
 had told the editor, the weird second twilight 
 through their miniature stems, and the mi- 
 crocosm of life that filled it. But, even while 
 paying this tribute to the accuracy of the 
 unknown poetess, he was, like his predeces- 
 sor, haunted more strongly by the atmos- 
 phere and melody of her verse. Its spell 
 was upon him, too. Unlike Mr. Hamlin, he 
 did not sing. He only halted once or twice, 
 silently combing his straight narrow beard 
 with his three fingers, until the action seemed 
 to draw down the lines of his face into limit- 
 less dejection, and an inscrutable melancholy 
 filled his small gray eyes. The few birds 
 which had hailed Mr. Hamlin as their suc- 
 cessful rival fled away before the grotesque 
 and angular half-length of Mr. Bowers, as if 
 the wind had blown in a scarecrow from the 
 distant farms. 
 
 Suddenly he observed the figure of a 
 woman, with her back towards him, leaning 
 motionless against a tree, and apparently 
 
52 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 gazing intently in the direction of Green 
 Springs. He had approached so near to her 
 that it was singular she had not heard him. 
 Mr. Bowers was a bashful man in the pres- 
 ence of the other sex. He felt exceedingly 
 embarrassed; if he could have gone away 
 without attracting her attention he would 
 have done so. Neither could he remain si- 
 lent, a tacit spy of her meditation. He had 
 recourse to a polite but singularly artificial 
 cough. 
 
 To his surprise, she gave a faint cry, 
 turned quickly towards him, and then shrank 
 back and lapsed quite helpless against the 
 tree. Her evident distress overcame his 
 bashfulness. He ran towards her. 
 
 " I 'm sorry I frighted ye, ma'am, but I 
 was afraid I might skeer ye more if I lay 
 low, and said nothin'." 
 
 Even then, if she had been some fair 
 young country girl, he would have relapsed 
 after this speech into his former bashfulness. 
 But the face and figure she turned towards 
 him were neither young nor fair : a woman 
 past forty, with gray threads and splashes 
 in her brushed-back hair, which was turned 
 over her ears in two curls like frayed strands 
 of rope. Her forehead was rather high than 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 53 
 
 broad, her nose large but well-shaped, and 
 her eyes full but so singularly light in color 
 as to seem almost sightless. The short upper 
 lip of her large mouth displayed her teeth 
 in an habitual smile, which was in turn so 
 flatly contradicted by every other line of her 
 careworn face that it seemed gratuitously 
 artificial. Her figure was hidden by a shape- 
 less garment that partook equally of the 
 shawl, cloak, and wrapper. 
 
 " I am very foolish," she began, in a voice 
 and accent that at once asserted a cultivated 
 woman, " but I so seldom meet anybody here 
 that a voice quite startled me. That, and 
 the heat," she went on, wiping her face, into 
 which the color was returning violently 
 " for I seldom go out as early as this I 
 suppose affected me." 
 
 Mr. Bowers had that innate Far- Western 
 reverence for womanhood which I fancy chal- 
 lenges the most polished politeness. He re- 
 mained patient, undemonstrative, self-effac- 
 ing, and respectful before her, his angular 
 arm slightly but not obtrusively advanced, 
 the offer of protection being in the act rather 
 than in any spoken word, and requiring no 
 response. 
 
 " Like as not, ma'am," he said, cheerfully, 
 
54 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 looking everywhere but in her burning face. 
 " The sun is pow'ful hot at this time o' day ; 
 I felt it myself comin' yer, and, though the 
 damp of this timber kinder sets it back, it 's 
 likely to come out ag'in. Ye can't check it 
 no more than the sap in that choked limb 
 thar " he pointed ostentatiously where a 
 fallen pine had been caught in the bent and 
 twisted arm of another, but which still put 
 out a few green tassels beyond the point of 
 impact. " Do you live far from here, 
 ma'am ? " he added. 
 
 " Only as far as the first turning below 
 the hill." 
 
 " I 've got my buggy here, and I 'm goin' 
 that way, and I can jist set ye down thar 
 cool and comfortable. Ef," he continued, 
 in the same assuring tone, without waiting 
 for a reply, " ye '11 jist take a good grip of 
 my arm thar," curving his wrist and hand 
 behind him like a shepherd's crook, " I '11 
 go first, and break away the brush for ye." 
 
 She obeyed mechanically, and they fared 
 on through the thick ferns in this fashion 
 for some moments, he looking ahead, occa- 
 sionally dropping a word of caution or en- 
 couragement, but never glancing at her face. 
 When they reached the buggy he lifted her 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 55 
 
 into it carefully, and perpendicularly, it 
 struck her afterwards, very much as if she 
 had been a transplanted sapling with bared 
 and sensitive roots, and then gravely took 
 his place beside her. 
 
 " Bein' in the timber trade myself, ma'am," 
 he said, gathering up the reins, " I chanced 
 to sight these woods, and took a look around. 
 My name is Bowers, of Mendocino ; I reckon 
 there ain't much that grows in the way o' 
 standin' timber on the Pacific Slope that I 
 don't know and can't locate, though I do say 
 it. I 've got ez big a mill, and ez big a run 
 in my district, ez there is anywhere. Ef 
 you 're ever up my way, you ask for Bowers 
 Jim Bowers and that 's me." 
 
 There is probably nothing more conducive 
 to conversation between strangers than a 
 wholesome and early recognition of each 
 other's foibles. Mr. Bowers, believing his 
 chance acquaintance a superior woman, 
 naively spoke of himself in a way that he 
 hoped would reassure her that she was not 
 compromising herself in accepting his ci- 
 vility, and so satisfy what must be her inevi- 
 table pride. On the other hand, the woman 
 regained her self-possession by this exhibi- 
 tion of Mr. Bowers's vanity, and, revived by 
 
56 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 the refreshing breeze caused by the rapid 
 motion of the buggy along the road, thanked 
 him graciously. 
 
 " I suppose there are many strangers at 
 the Green Springs Hotel," she said, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " I did n't get to see 'em, as I only put up 
 my hoss there," he replied. " But I know 
 the stage took some away this mornin' : it 
 seemed pretty well loaded up when I passed 
 it." 
 
 The woman drew a deep sigh. The act 
 struck Mr. Bowers as a possible return of 
 her former nervous weakness. Her atten- 
 tion must at once be distracted at any cost 
 even conversation. 
 
 " Perhaps," he began, with sudden and 
 appalling lightness, " I 'm a-talkin' to Mrs. 
 McFadden?" 
 
 " No," said the woman, abstractedly. 
 
 " Then it must be Mrs. Delatour ? There 
 are only two township lots on that cross- 
 road." 
 
 " My name is Delatour," she said, some- 
 what wearily. 
 
 Mr. Bowers was conversationally stranded. 
 He was not at all anxious to know her name, 
 yet, knowing it now, it seemed to suggest 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 57 
 
 that there was nothing more to say. He 
 would, of course, have preferred to ask her 
 if she had read the poetry about the Under- 
 brush, and if she knew the poetess, and what 
 she thought of it ; but the fact that she ap- 
 peared to be an " eddicated " woman made 
 him sensitive of displaying technical igno- 
 rance in his manner of talking about it. 
 She might ask him if it was " subjective " 
 or " objective " two words he had heard 
 used at the Debating Society at Mendocino 
 on the question, " Is poetry morally bene- 
 ficial?" For a few moments he was silent. 
 But presently she took the initiative in con- 
 versation, at first slowly and abstractedly, 
 and then, as if appreciating his sympathetic 
 reticence, or mayhap finding some relief in 
 monotonous expression, talked mechanically, 
 deliberately, but unostentatiously about her- 
 self. So colorless was her intonation that 
 at times it did not seem as if she was talking 
 to him, but repeating some conversation she 
 had held with another. 
 
 She had lived there ever since she had 
 been in California. Her husband had 
 bought the Spanish title to the property 
 when they first married. The property at 
 his death was found to be greatly involved ; 
 
58 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 she had been obliged to part with much of it 
 to support her children four girls and a 
 boy. She had been compelled to withdraw 
 the girls from the convent at Santa Clara 
 to help about the house; the boy was too 
 young she feared, too shiftless to do 
 anything. The farm did not pay ; the land 
 was poor ; she knew nothing about farming ; 
 she had been brought up in New Orleans, 
 where her father had been a judge, and she 
 didn't understand country life. Of course 
 she had been married too young as all 
 girls were. Lately she had thought of sell- 
 ing off and moving to San Francisco, where 
 she would open a boarding-house or a school 
 for young ladies. He could advise her, per- 
 haps, of some good opportunity. Her own 
 girls were far enough advanced to assist her 
 in teaching ; one particularly, Cynthia, was 
 quite clever, and spoke French and Spanish 
 fluently. 
 
 As Mr. Bowers was familiar with many 
 of these counts in the feminine American 
 indictment of life generally, he was not 
 perhaps greatly moved. But in the last 
 sentence he thought he saw an opening to 
 return to his main object, and, looking up 
 cautiously, said ; 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 59 
 
 44 And mebbe write po'try now and then ? " 
 
 To his great discomfiture, the only effect 
 of this suggestion was to check his compan- 
 ion's, speech for some moments and appar- 
 ently throw her back into her former ab- 
 straction. Yet, after a long pause, as they 
 were turning into the lane, she said, as if 
 continuing the subject : 
 
 44 1 only hope that, whatever my daughters 
 may do, they won't marry young." 
 
 The yawning breaches in the Delatour 
 gates and fences presently came in view. 
 They were supposed to be reinforced by half 
 a dozen dogs, who, however, did their duty 
 with what would seem to be the prevailing 
 inefficiency, retiring after a single perfunc- 
 tory yelp to shameless stretching, scratching, 
 and slumber. Their places were taken on 
 the veranda by two negro servants, two 
 girls respectively of eight and eleven, and 
 a boy of fourteen, who remained silently 
 staring. As Mr. Bowers had accepted the 
 widow's polite invitation to enter, she was 
 compelled, albeit in an equally dazed and 
 helpless way, to issue some preliminary 
 orders : 
 
 44 Now, Chloe I mean aunt Dinah 
 do take Eunice I mean Victorine and 
 
60 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 Una away, and you know tidy them ; 
 and you, Sarah it 's Sarah, is n't it ? 
 lay some refreshment in the parlor for this 
 gentleman. And, Bob, tell your sister Cyn- 
 thia to come here with Eunice." As Bob 
 still remained staring at Mr. Bowers, she 
 added, in weary explanation, " Mr. Bowers 
 brought me over from the Summit woods in 
 his buggy it was so hot. There shake 
 hands and thank him, and run away do ! " 
 They crossed a broad but scantily - fur- 
 nished hall. Everywhere the same look of 
 hopeless incompleteness, temporary utility, 
 and premature decay ; most of the furniture 
 was mismatched and misplaced ; many of the 
 rooms had changed their original functions 
 or doubled them ; a smell of cooking came 
 from the library, on whose shelves, mingled 
 with books, were dresses and household 
 linen, and through the door of a room into 
 which Mrs. Delatour retired to remove her 
 duster Mr. Bowers caught a glimpse of a bed, 
 and of a table covered with books and pa- 
 pers, at which a "tall, fair girl was writing. 
 In a few moments Mrs. Delatour returned, 
 accompanied by this girl, and Eunice, her 
 short-lipped sister. Bob, who joined the 
 party seated around Mr. Bowers and a table 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 61 
 
 set with cake, a decanter, and glasses, com- 
 pleted the group. Emboldened by the pres- 
 ence of the tall Cynthia and his glimpse of 
 her previous literary attitude, Mr. Bowers 
 resolved to make one more attempt. 
 
 44 1 suppose these yer young ladies some- 
 times go to the wood, too ? " As his eye 
 rested on Cynthia, she replied : 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 44 1 reckon on account of the purty shad- 
 ows down in the brush, and the soft light, 
 eh ? and all that ? " he continued, with a 
 playful manner but a serious accession of 
 color. 
 
 44 Why, the woods belong to us. It 's 
 mar's property ! " broke in Eunice with a 
 flash of teeth. 
 
 44 Well, Lordy, I wanter know ! " said 
 Mr. Bowers, in some astonishment. 4t Why* 
 that 's right in my line, too ! I 've been 
 sightin' timber all along here, and that 's 
 how I dropped in on yer mar." Then, see- 
 ing a look of eagerness light up the faces 
 of Bob and Eunice, he was encouraged to 
 make the most of his opportunity. *' Why, 
 ma'am," he went on, cheerfully, 44 1 reckon 
 you 're holdin' that wood at a pretty stiff 
 figger, now." 
 
62 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 "Why?" asked Mrs. Delatour, simply. 
 
 Mr. Bowers delivered a wink at Bob and 
 Eunice, who were still watching him with 
 anxiety. "Well, not on account of the 
 actool timber, for the best of it ain't sound," 
 he said, " but on account of its bein' famous ! 
 Everybody that reads that pow'ful pretty 
 poem about it in the ' Excelsior Magazine ' 
 wants to see it. Why, it would pay the 
 Green Springs hotel-keeper to buy it up for 
 his customers. But I s'pose you reckon to 
 keep it along with the poetess in your 
 famerly?" 
 
 Although Mr. Bowers long considered this 
 speech as the happiest and most brilliant 
 effort of his life, its immediate effect was 
 not, perhaps, all that could be desired. The 
 widow turned upon him a restrained and 
 darkening face. Cynthia half rose with an 
 appealing " Oh, mar ! " and Bob and Eunice, 
 having apparently pinched each other to the 
 last stage of endurance, retired precipitately 
 from the room in a prolonged giggle. 
 
 " I have not yet thought of disposing of 
 the Summit woods, Mr. Bowers," said Mrs. 
 Delatour, coldly, " but if I should do so, I 
 will consult you. You must excuse the chil- 
 dren, who see so little company, they are 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 63 
 
 quite unmanageable when strangers are pres- 
 ent. Cynthia, will you see if the servants 
 have looked after Mr. Bowers's horse ? You 
 know Bob is not to be trusted." 
 
 There was clearly nothing else for Mr. 
 Bowers to do but to take his leave, which he 
 did respectfully, if not altogether hopefully. 
 But when he had reached the lane, his horse 
 shied from the unwonted spectacle of Bob, 
 swinging his hat, and apparently awaiting 
 him, from the fork of a wayside sapling. 
 
 44 Hoi' up, mister. Look here ! " 
 
 Mr. Bowers pulled up. Bob dropped into 
 the road, and, after a backward glance over 
 his shoulder, said : 
 
 "Drive 'longside the fence in the shad- 
 der." As Mr. Bowers obeyed, Bob ap- 
 proached the wheels of the buggy in a man- 
 ner half shy, half mysterious. " You wanter 
 buy them Summit woods, mister?" 
 
 "Well, per'aps, sonny. Why?" smiled 
 Mr. Bowers. 
 
 44 Coz I '11 tell ye suthin'. Don't you be 
 fooled into allowin' that Cynthia wrote that 
 po'try. She did n't no more 'n Eunice 
 nor me. Mar kinder let ye think it, 'cos 
 she don't want folks to think she did it. But 
 mar wrote that po'try herself ; wrote it out 
 
64 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 o' them thar woods all by herself. Thar 's 
 a heap more po'try thar, you bet, and jist as 
 good. And she 's the one that kin write 
 it you hear me ? That 's my mar, every 
 time! You buy that thar wood, and get 
 mar to run it for po'try, and you '11 make 
 your pile, sure ! I ain't lyin'. You 'd bet- 
 ter look spry : thar 's another feller snoopin' 
 'round yere only he barked up the wrong 
 tree, and thought it was Cynthia, jist as you 
 did." 
 
 " Another feller ? " repeated the astonished 
 Bowers. 
 
 " Yes ; a rig'lar sport. He was orful keen 
 on that po'try, too, you bet. So you 'd bet- 
 ter hump yourself afore somebody else cuts 
 in. Mar got a hundred dollars for that 
 pome, from that editor feller and his pard- 
 ner. I reckon that 's the rig'lar price, eh? " 
 he added, with a sudden suspicious caution. 
 
 "I reckon so," replied Mr. Bowers, 
 blankly. " But look here, Bob ! Do you 
 mean to say it was your mother your 
 mother, Bob, who wrote that poem? Are 
 you sure ? " 
 
 " D' ye think I 'm lyin' ? " said Bob, scorn- 
 fully. " Don't / know ? Don't I copy 'em 
 out plain for her, so as folks won't know 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 65 
 
 her handwrite ? Go 'way ! you 're loony ! " 
 Then, possibly doubting if this latter ex- 
 pression were strictly diplomatic with the 
 business in hand, he added, in half -reproach, 
 half-apology, " Don't ye see I don't want ye 
 to be fooled into losin' yer chance o' buying 
 up that Summit wood ? It 's the cold truth 
 I 'm tellin' ye." 
 
 Mr. Bowers no longer doubted it. Dis- 
 appointed as he undoubtedly was at first, 
 and even self-deceived, he recognized in a 
 flash the grim fact that the boy had stated. 
 He recalled the apparition of the sad-faced 
 woman in the wood her distressed manner, 
 that to his inexperienced mind now took 
 upon itself the agitated trembling of dis- 
 turbed mystic inspiration. A sense of sad- 
 ness and remorse succeeded his first shock 
 of disappointment. 
 
 " Well, are ye going to buy the woods ? " 
 said Bob, eying him grimly. " Ye 'd better 
 say." 
 
 Mr. Bowers started. " I should n't won- 
 der, Bob," he said, with a smile, gathering 
 up his reins. " Anyhow, I 'm comin' back 
 to see your mother this afternoon. And 
 meantime, Bob, you keep the first chance for 
 me." 
 
66 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 He drove away, leaving the youthful diplo- 
 matist standing with his bare feet in the dust. 
 For a minute or two the young gentleman 
 amused himself by a few light saltatory steps 
 in the road. Then a smile of scornful supe- 
 riority, mingled perhaps with a sense of pre- 
 vious slights and unappreciation, drew back 
 his little upper lip, and brightened his mot- 
 tled cheek. 
 
 " I 'd like ter know," he said, darkly, 
 " what this yer God-forsaken f amerly would 
 do without me ! " 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 IT is to be presumed that the editor and 
 Mr. Hamlin mutually kept to their tacit 
 agreement to respect the impersonality of 
 the poetess, for during the next three 
 months the subject was seldom alluded to 
 by either. Yet in that period White Violet 
 had sent two other contributions, and on 
 each occasion Mr. Hamlin had insisted upon 
 increasing the honorarium to the amount of 
 his former gift. In vain the editor pointed 
 out the danger of this form of munificence ; 
 Mr. Hamlin retorted by saying that if he 
 refused he would appeal to the proprietor, 
 who certainly would not object to taking the 
 credit of this liberality. " As to the risks," 
 concluded Jack, sententiously, " I '11 take 
 them ; and as far as you 're concerned, you 
 certainly get the worth of your money." 
 
 Indeed, if popularity was an indiction, this 
 had become suddenly true. For the poet- 
 ess's third contribution, without changing 
 its strong local color and individuality, had 
 
68 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 been an unexpected outburst of human pas- 
 sion a love-song, that touched those to 
 whom the subtler meditative graces of the 
 poetess had been unknown. Many people 
 had listened to this impassioned but despair- 
 ing cry from some remote and charmed soli- 
 tude, who had never read poetry before, who 
 translated it into their own limited vocab- 
 ulary and more limited experience, and were 
 inexpressibly affected to find that they, too, 
 understood it ; it was caught up and echoed 
 by the feverish, adventurous, and unsatisfied 
 life that filled that day and time. Even the 
 editor was surprised and frightened. Like 
 most cultivated men, he distrusted popular- 
 ity^ like all men who believe in their own 
 individual judgment, he doubted collective 
 wisdom. Yet now that la.s protegee had been 
 accepted by others, he questioned that judg- 
 ment and became her critic. It struck him 
 that her sudden outburst was strained; it 
 seemed to him that in this mere contortion 
 of passion the sibyl's robe had become rudely 
 disarranged. He spoke to Hamlin, and even 
 approached the tabooed subject. 
 
 " Did you see anything that suggested this 
 sort of business in in that woman I 
 mean in your pilgrimage, Jack ? " 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 69 
 
 "No," responded Jack, gravely. "But 
 it 's easy to see she 's got hold of some hay- 
 footed fellow up there in the mountains 
 with straws in his hair, and is playing him 
 for all he 's worth. You won't get much 
 more poetry out of her, I reckon." 
 
 Is was not long after this conversation 
 that one afternoon, when the editor was 
 alone, Mr. James Bowers entered the edi- 
 torial room with much of the hesitation and 
 irresolution of his previous visit. As the 
 editor had not only forgotten him, but even 
 dissociated him with the poetess, Mr. Bowers 
 was fain to meet his unresponsive eye and 
 manner with some explanation. 
 
 "Ye disremember my comin' here, Mr. 
 Editor, to ask you the name o' the lady who 
 called herself l White Violet,' and how you 
 allowed you could n't give it, but would 
 write and ask for it? " 
 
 Mr. Editor, leaning back in his chair, now 
 remembered the occurrence, but was dis- 
 tressed to add that the situation remained 
 unchanged, and that he had received no such 
 permission. 
 
 "Never mind that, my lad," said Mr. 
 Bowers, gravely, waving his hand. " I un- 
 derstand all that ; but, ez I 've known the 
 
70 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 lady ever since, and am now visiting her at 
 her house on the Summit, I reckon it don't 
 make much matter." 
 
 It was quite characteristic of Mr. Bowers's 
 smileless earnestness that he made no osten- 
 tation of this dramatic retort, nor of the 
 undisguised stupefaction of the editor. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you have met 
 White Violet, the author of these poems?" 
 repeated the editor. 
 
 " Which her name is Delatour, the 
 widder Delatour, ez she has herself give 
 me permission to tell you," continued Mr. 
 Bowers, with a certain abstracted and auto- 
 matic precision that dissipated any sugges- 
 tion of malice in the reversed situation. 
 
 " Delatour ! a widow ! " repeated the 
 editor. 
 
 "With five children," continued Mr. 
 Bowers. Then, with unalterable gravity, he 
 briefly gave an outline of her condition and 
 the circumstances of his acquaintance with 
 her. 
 
 " But I reckoned you might have known 
 suthin' o' this ; though she never let on you 
 did," he concluded, eying the editor with 
 troubled curiosity. 
 
 The editor did not think it necessary to 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 71 
 
 implicate Mr. Hamlin. He said, briefly, 
 "I? Oh, no!" 
 
 " Of course, you might not have seen 
 her ? " said Mr. Bowers, keeping the same 
 grave, troubled gaze on the editor. 
 
 " Of course not," said the editor, some- 
 what impatient under the singular scrutiny 
 of Mr. Bowers ; " and I 'm very anxious to 
 know how she looks. Tell me, what is she 
 like?" 
 
 " She is a fine, pow'ful, eddicated woman," 
 said Mr. Bowers, with slow deliberation. 
 44 Yes, sir, a pow'f ul woman, havin' grand 
 ideas of her own, and holdin' to 'em." He 
 had withdrawn his eyes from the editor, and 
 apparently addressed the ceiling in confi- 
 dence. 
 
 44 But what does she look like, Mr. Bow- 
 ers.? " said the editor, smiling. 
 
 44 Well, sir, she looks like it ! Yes," 
 with deliberate caution, 4t I should say, 
 just like it." 
 
 After a pause, apparently to allow the 
 editor to materialize this ravishing descrip- 
 tion, he said, gently, " Are you busy just 
 now?" 
 
 44 Not very. What can I do for you ? " 
 
 44 Well, not much for m e, I reckon," he 
 
72 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 returned, with a deeper respiration, that was 
 his nearest approach to a sigh, " but suthin' 
 perhaps for yourself and another. Are 
 you married ? " 
 
 " No," said the editor, promptly. 
 
 " Nor engaged to any young lady ? " 
 with great politeness. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, mebbe you think it a queer thing 
 for me to say, mebbe you reckon you 
 know it ez well ez anybody, but it 's my 
 opinion that White Violet is in love with 
 you." 
 
 " With me ? " ejaculated the editor, in a 
 hopeless astonishment that at last gave way 
 to an incredulous and irresistible laugh. 
 
 A slight touch of pain passed over Mr. 
 Bowers's dejected face, but left the deep out- 
 lines set with a rude dignity. " It 's so," he 
 said, slowly, " though, as a young man and 
 a gay feller, ye may think it 's funny." 
 
 " No, not funny, but a terrible blunder, 
 Mr. Bowers, for I give you my word I know 
 nothing of the lady and have never set eyes 
 upon her." 
 
 " No, but she has on you. I can't say," 
 continued Mr. Bowers, with sublime naivete, 
 " that I 'd ever recognize you from her de- 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 73 
 
 scription, but a woman o' that kind don't 
 see with her eyes like you and me, but with 
 all her senses to onct, and a heap more that 
 ain't senses as we know 'em. The same* 
 eyes that seed down through the brush and 
 ferns in the Summit woods, the same ears 
 that heerd the music of the wind trailin' 
 through the pines, don't see you with my 
 eyes or hear you with my ears. And when 
 she paints you, it 's nat'ril for a woman with 
 that pow'ful mind and grand idees to dip 
 her brush into her heart's blood for warmth 
 and color. Yer smitin', young man. Well, 
 go on and smile at me, my lad, but not at 
 her. For you don't know her. When you 
 know her story as I do, when you know she 
 was made a wife afore she ever knew what it 
 was to be a young woman, when you know 
 that the man she married never understood 
 the kind o' critter he was tied to no more 
 than ef he 'd been a steer yoked to a Morgan 
 colt, when ye know she had children growin' 
 up around her afore she had given over bein' 
 a sort of child herself, when ye know she 
 worked and slaved for that man and those 
 children about the house her heart, her 
 soul, and all her pow'ful mind bein' all the 
 time in the woods along with the flickerin' 
 
74 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 leaves and the shadders, when ye mind 
 she could n't get the small ways o' the ranch 
 because she had the big ways o' Natur' that 
 'made it, then you '11 understand her." 
 
 Impressed by the sincerity of his visitor's 
 manner, touched by the unexpected poetry 
 of his appeal, and yet keenly alive to the 
 absurdity of an incomprehensible blunder 
 somewhere committed, the editor gasped al- 
 most hysterically, 
 
 " But why should all this make her in 
 love with me ? " 
 
 " Because ye are both gifted," returned 
 Mr. Bowers, with sad but unconquerable 
 conviction ; " because ye 're both, so to speak, 
 in a line o' idees and business that draws ye 
 together, to lean on each other and trust 
 each other ez pardners. Not that ye are 
 ezakly her ekal," he went on, with a return 
 to his previous exasperating naivete, " though 
 I Ve heerd promisin' things of ye, and ye 're 
 still young, but in matters o' this kind there 
 is allers one ez hez to be looked up to by the 
 other, and gin' rally the wrong one. She 
 looks up to you, Mr. Editor, it 's part of her 
 po'try, ez she looks down inter the brush 
 and sees more than is plain to you and me. 
 Not," he continued, with a courteously depre- 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 75 
 
 eating wave of the hand, " ez you hain't bin 
 kind to her mebbe too kind. For thar 's 
 the purty letter you writ her, thar 's the per- 
 lite, easy, captivatin' way you had with her 
 gals and that boy hold on ! " - as the 
 editor made a gesture of despairing renunci- 
 ation, "I ain't say in' you ain't right in 
 keepin' it to yourself, and thar 's the ex- 
 try money you sent her every time. Stop ! 
 she knows it was extry, for she made a p'int 
 o' gettin' me to find out the market price o' 
 po'try in papers and magazines, and she 
 reckons you 've bin payin' her four hundred 
 per cent, above them figgers hold on ! I 
 ain't sayin' it ain't free and liberal in you, 
 and I 'd have done the same thing ; yet she 
 thinks " 
 
 But the editor had risen hastily to his feet 
 with flushing cheeks. 
 
 "One moment, Mr. Bowers," he said, 
 hurriedly. " This is the most dreadful 
 blunder of all. The gift is not mine. It 
 was the spontaneous offering of another who 
 really admired our friend's work, a gen- 
 tleman who " He stopped suddenly. 
 
 The sound of a familiar voice, lightly 
 humming, was borne along the passage ; the 
 light tread of a familiar foot was approach- 
 
76 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 ing. The editor turned quickly towards the 
 open door, so quickly that Mr. Bowers 
 was fain to turn also. 
 
 For a charming instant the figure of Jack 
 Hamlin, handsome, careless, and confident, 
 was framed in the doorway. His dark eyes, 
 with their habitual scorn of his average 
 fellow-man, swept superciliously over Mr. 
 Bowers, and rested for an instant with caress- 
 ing familiarity on the editor. 
 
 " Well, sonny, any news from the old girl 
 at the Summit?" 
 
 "No-o," hastily stammered the editor, 
 with a half-hysterical laugh. " No, Jack. 
 Excuse me a moment." 
 
 " All right ; busy, I see. Hasta manana." 
 
 The picture vanished, the frame was 
 empty. 
 
 " You see," continued the editor, turning 
 to Mr. Bowers, " there has been a mistake. 
 I " but he stopped suddenly at the ashen 
 face of Mr. Bowers, still fixed in the direc- 
 tion of the vanished figure. 
 
 "Are you ill?" 
 
 Mr. Bowers did not reply, but slowly with- 
 drew his eyes, and turned them heavily on 
 the editor. Then, drawing a longer, deeper 
 breath, he picked up his soft felt hat, and, 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 77 
 
 moulding it into shape in his hands as if 
 preparing to put it on, he moistened his dry, 
 grayish lips, and said, gently : 
 
 " Friend o' yours?" 
 
 *' Yes," said the editor u Jack Hamlin. 
 Of course, you know him ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mr. Bowers here put his hat on his head, 
 and, after a pause, turned round slowly once 
 or twice, as if he had forgotten it, and was 
 still seeking it. Finally he succeeded in 
 finding the editor's hand, and shook it, albeit 
 his own trembled slightly. Then he said : 
 
 " I reckon you 're right. There 's bin a 
 mistake. I see it now. Good-by. If you 're 
 ever up my way, drop in and see me." He 
 then walked to the doorway, passed out, and 
 seemed to melt into the afternoon shadows 
 of the hall. 
 
 He never again entered the office of the 
 " Excelsior Magazine," neither was any fur- 
 ther contribution ever received from White 
 Violet. To a polite entreaty from the edi- 
 tor, addressed first to " White Violet " and 
 then to Mrs. Delatour, there was no re- 
 sponse. The thought of Mr. Hamlin's cyni- 
 cal prophecy disturbed him, but that gentle- 
 man, preoccupied in filling some professional 
 
78 A SAPPHO OF GRE'EN SPRINGS. 
 
 engagements in Sacramento, gave him no 
 chance to acquire further explanations as to 
 the past or the future. The youthful editor 
 was at first in despair and filled with a vague 
 remorse of some unfulfilled duty. But, to 
 his surprise, the readers of the magazine 
 seemed to survive their talented contributor, 
 and the feverish life that had been thrilled 
 by her song, in two months had apparently 
 forgotten her. Nor was her voice lifted 
 from any alien quarter ; the domestic and for- 
 eign press that had echoed her lays seemed 
 to respond no longer to her utterance. 
 
 It is possible that some readers of these 
 pages may remember a previous chronicle 
 by the same historian wherein it was recorded 
 that the volatile spirit of Mr. Hamlin, 
 slightly assisted by circumstances, passed 
 beyond these voices at the Ranch of the 
 Blessed Fisherman, some two years later. 
 As the editor stood beside the body of his 
 friend on the morning of the funeral, he 
 noticed among the flowers laid upon his bier 
 by loving hands a wreath of white violets. 
 Touched and disturbed by a memory long 
 since forgotten, he was further embarrassed, 
 as the cortege dispersed in the Mission grave- 
 yard, by the apparition of the tall figure of 
 
A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 79 
 
 Mr. James Bowers from behind a monu- 
 mental column. The editor turned to him 
 quickly. 
 
 "I am glad to see you here," he said, 
 awkwardly, and he knew not why; then, 
 after a pause, "I trust you can give me 
 some news of Mrs. Delatour. I wrote to 
 her nearly two years ago, but had no re- 
 sponse." 
 
 " Thar 's bin no Mrs. Delatour for two 
 years," said Mr. Bowers, contemplatively 
 stroking his beard ; " and mebbe that 's why. 
 She 's bin for two years Mrs. Bowers." 
 
 "I congratulate you," said the editor; 
 "but I hope there still remains a White 
 Violet, and that, for the sake of literature, 
 she has not given up " 
 
 "Mrs. Bowers," interrupted Mr. Bowers, 
 with singular deliberation, " found that mak- 
 in' po'try and tendin' to the cares of a grow- 
 in'-up famerly was irritatin' to the narves. 
 They did n't jibe, so to speak. What Mrs. 
 Bowers wanted and what, po'try or no 
 po'try, I 've bin tryin' to give her was 
 Rest ! She 's bin havin' it comfor'bly up at 
 my ranch at Mendocino, with her children 
 and me. Yes, sir " his eye wandered ac- 
 cidentally to the new-made grave " you '11 
 
80 A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS. 
 
 excuse my sayin' it to a man in your profes- 
 sion, but it 's what most folks will find is a 
 heap better than readin' or writin' or actin' 
 po'try and that 's Rest ! " 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT 
 RIDGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IT had grown dark on Burnt Ridge. 
 Seen from below, the whole serrated crest 
 that had glittered in the sunset as if its in- 
 terstices were eaten by consuming fires, now 
 closed up its ranks of blackened shafts and 
 became again harsh and sombre chevaux de 
 frise against the sky. A faint glow still 
 lingered over the red valley road, as if it 
 were its own reflection, rather than any 
 light from beyond the darkened ridge. 
 Night was already creeping up out of re- 
 mote canons and along the furrowed flanks 
 of the mountain, or settling on the nearer 
 woods with the sound of home-coming and 
 innumerable wings. At a point where the 
 road began to encroach upon the mountain- 
 side in its slow winding ascent the darkness 
 had become so real that a young girl canter- 
 
82 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 ing along the rising terrace found difficulty 
 in guiding her horse, with eyes still dazzled 
 by the sunset fires. 
 
 In spite of her precautions, the animal 
 suddenly shied at some object in the ob- 
 scured roadway, and nearly unseated her. 
 The accident disclosed not only the fact that 
 she was riding in a man's saddle, but also a 
 foot and ankle that her ordinary walking- 
 dress was too short to hide. It was evident 
 that her equestrian exercise was extempore, 
 and that at that hour and on that road she 
 had not expected to meet company. But she 
 was apparently a good horsewoman, for the 
 mischance which might have thrown a less 
 practical or more timid rider seemed of lit- 
 tle moment to her. With a strong hand 
 and determined gesture she wheeled her 
 frightened horse back into the track, and 
 rode him directly at the object. But here 
 she herself slightly recoiled, for it was the 
 body of a man lying in the road. 
 
 As she leaned forward over her horse's 
 shoulder, she could see by the dim light that 
 he was a miner, and that, though motionless, 
 he was breathing stertorously. Drunk, no 
 doubt ! an accident of the locality alarm- 
 ing only to her horse. But although she 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 83 
 
 cantered impatiently forward, she had not 
 proceeded a hundred yards before she 
 stopped reflectively, and trotted back again. 
 He had not moved. She could now see that 
 his head and shoulders were covered with 
 broken clods of earth and gravel, and 
 smaller fragments lay at his side. A dozen 
 feet above him on the hillside there was a 
 foot trail which ran parallel with the bridle- 
 road, and occasionally overhung it. It 
 seemed possible that he might have fallen 
 from the trail and been stunned. 
 
 Dismounting, she succeeded in dragging 
 him to a safer position by the bank. The 
 act discovered his face, which was young, 
 and unknown to her. Wiping it with the 
 silk handkerchief which was loosely slung 
 around his neck after the fashion of his class, 
 she gave a quick feminine glance around her 
 and then approached her own and rather 
 handsome face near his lips. There was no 
 odor of alcohol in the thick and heavy res- 
 piration. Mounting again, she rode forward 
 at an accelerated pace, and in twenty 
 minutes had reached a higher tableland of 
 the mountain, a cleared opening in the forest 
 that showed signs of careful cultivation, and 
 a large, rambling, yet picturesque-looking 
 
84 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 dwelling, whose unpainted red-wood walls 
 were hidden in roses and creepers. Pushing 
 open a swinging gate, she entered the in- 
 closure as a brown-faced man, dressed as a 
 vaqnero, came towards her as if to assist 
 her to alight. But she had already leaped 
 to the ground and thrown him the reins. 
 
 "Miguel," she said, with a mistress's 
 quiet authority in her boyish contralto voice, 
 " put Glory in the covered wagon, and drive 
 down the road as far as the valley turning. 
 There 's a man lying near the right bank, 
 drunk, or sick, may be, or perhaps crippled 
 by a fall. Bring him up here, unless some- 
 body has found him already, or you happen 
 to know who he is and where to take him." 
 
 The vaquero raised his shoulders, half in 
 disappointed expectation of some other com- 
 mand. " And your brother, senora, he has 
 not himself arrived." 
 
 A light shadow of impatience crossed her 
 face. " No," she said, bluntly. " Come, be 
 quick." 
 
 She turned towards the house as the man 
 moved away. Already a gaunt-looking old 
 man had appeared in the porch, and was 
 awaiting her with his hand shadowing his 
 angry, suspicious eyes, and his lips moving 
 querulously. 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 85 
 
 " Of course, you Ve got to stand out 
 there and give orders and 'tend to your own 
 business afore you think o' speaking to your 
 own flesh and blood," he said aggrievedly. 
 " That 's all you care ! " 
 
 " There was a sick man lying in the road, 
 and I Ve sent Miguel to look after him," re- 
 turned the girl, with a certain contemptuous 
 resignation. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " struck in another voice, which 
 seemed to belong to the female of the first 
 speaker's species, and to be its equal in age 
 and temper, " and I reckon you saw a jay 
 bird on a tree, or a squirrel on the fence, 
 and either of 'em was more important to 
 you than your own brother." 
 
 " Steve did n't come by the stage, and 
 didn't send any message," continued the 
 young girl, with the same coldly resigned 
 manner. "No one had any news of him, 
 and, as I told you before, I did n't expect 
 any." 
 
 " Why don't you say right out you did n't 
 want any ? " said the old man, sneeringly. 
 " Much you inquired ! No ; I orter hev 
 gone myself, and I would if I was master 
 here, instead of me and your mother bein' 
 the dust of the y earth beneath your feet." 
 
86 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 The young girl entered the house, fol- 
 lowed by the old man, passing an old woman 
 seated by the window, who seemed to be 
 nursing her resentment and a large Bible 
 which she held clasped against her shawled 
 bosom at the same moment. Going to the 
 wall, she hung up her large hat and slightly 
 shook the red dust from her skirts as she 
 continued her explanation, in the same deep 
 voice, with a certain monotony of logic and 
 possibly of purpose and practice also. 
 
 " You and mother know as well as I do, 
 father, that Stephen is no more to be de- 
 pended upon than the wind that blows. It 's 
 three years since he has been promising to 
 come, and even getting money to come, and 
 yet he has never showed his face, though he 
 has been a dozen times within five miles of 
 this house. He doesn't come because he 
 does n't want to come. As to your going 
 over to the stage-office, I went there myself 
 at the last moment to save you the mortifi- 
 cation of asking questions of strangers that 
 they know have been a dozen times answered 
 already." 
 
 There was such a ring of absolute truth- 
 fulness, albeit worn by repetition, in the 
 young girl's deep honest voice that for one 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 87 
 
 instant her two more emotional relatives 
 quailed before it ; but only for a moment. 
 
 " That 's right ! " shrilled the old woman. 
 " Go on and abuse your own brother. It 's 
 only the fear you have that he '11 make his 
 fortune yet and shame you before the father 
 and mother you despise." 
 
 The young girl remained standing by the 
 window, motionless and apparently passive, 
 as if receiving an accepted and usual pun- 
 ishment. But here the elder woman gave 
 way to sobs and some incoherent snuffling, 
 at which the younger went away. Whether 
 she recognized in her mother's tears the or- 
 dinary deliquescence of emotion, or whether, 
 as a woman herself, she knew that this mere 
 feminine conventionality coidd not possibly 
 be directed at her, and that the actual con- 
 flict between them had ceased, she passed 
 slowly on to an inner hall, leaving the male 
 victim, her unfortunate father, to succumb, 
 as he always did sooner or later, to their in- 
 fluence. Crossing the hall, which was deco- 
 rated with a few elk horns, Indian trophies, 
 and mountain pelts, she entered another 
 room, and closed the door behind her with a 
 gesture of relief. 
 
 The room, which looked upon a porch, 
 
88 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 presented a singular combination of mascu- 
 line business occupations and feminine taste 
 and adornment. A desk covered with 
 papers, a shelf displaying a ledger and ac- 
 count-books, another containing works of 
 reference, a table with a vase of flowers and 
 a lady's riding-whip upon it, a map of Cali- 
 fornia flanked on either side by an embroid- 
 ered silken workbag and an oval mirror 
 decked with grasses, a calendar and interest- 
 table hanging below two school-girl crayons 
 of classic heads with the legend, " Josephine 
 Forsyth fecit" - - were part of its incongru- 
 ous accessories. The young girl went to her 
 desk, but presently moved and turned 
 towards the window thoughtfully. The last 
 gleam had died from the steel-blue sky ; a 
 few lights like star points began to prick out 
 the lower valley. The expression of monot- 
 onous restraint and endurance had not yet 
 faded from her face. 
 
 Yet she had been accustomed to scenes 
 like the one she had just passed through 
 since her girlhood. Five years ago, Alexan- 
 der Forsyth, her uncle, had brought her to 
 this spot then a mere log cabin on the 
 hillside as a refuge from the impoverished 
 and shiftless home of his elder brother 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 89 
 
 Thomas and his ill-tempered wife. Here 
 Alexander Forsyth, by reason of his more 
 dominant character and business capacity, 
 had prospered until he became a rich and 
 influential ranch owner. Notwithstanding 
 her father's jealousy of Alexander's fortune, 
 and the open rupture that followed between 
 the brothers, Josephine retained her position 
 in the heart and home of her uncle without 
 espousing the cause of either ; and her fa- 
 ther was too prudent not to recognize the 
 near and prospective advantages of such a 
 mediator. Accustomed to her parents' ex- 
 travagant denunciations, and her uncle's 
 more repressed but practical contempt of 
 them, the unfortunate girl early developed 
 a cynical disbelief in the virtues of kinship 
 in the abstract, and a philosophical, resigna- 
 tion to its effects upon her personally. Be- 
 lieving that her father and uncle fairly rep- 
 resented the fraternal principle, she was 
 quite prepared for the early defection and 
 distrust of her vagabond and dissipated 
 brother Stephen, and accepted it calmly. 
 True to an odd standard of justice, which 
 she had erected from the crumbling ruins of 
 her own domestic life, she was tolerant of 
 everything but human perfection. This 
 
90 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 quality, however fatal to her higher growth, 
 had given her a peculiar capacity for busi- 
 ness which endeared her to her uncle. 
 Familiar with the strong passions and preju- 
 dices of men, she had none of those feminine 
 meannesses, a wholesome distrust of which 
 had kept her uncle a bachelor. It was not 
 strange, therefore, that when he died two 
 years ago it was found that he had left her 
 his entire property, real and personal, lim- 
 ited only by a single condition. She was to 
 undertake the vocation of a " sole trader," 
 and carry on the business under the name of 
 "J. Forsyth." If she married, the estate 
 and property was to be held distinct from 
 her husband's, inalienable under the " Mar- 
 ried Woman's Property Act," and subject 
 during her life only to her own control and 
 personal responsibilities as a trader. 
 
 The intense disgust and discomfiture of 
 her parents, who had expected to more 
 actively participate in their brother's for- 
 tune, may be imagined. But it was not 
 equal to their fury when Josephine, instead 
 of providing for them a separate mainte- 
 nance out of her abundance, simply offered 
 to transfer them and her brother to her own 
 house on a domestic but not a business 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 91 
 
 equality. There being no alternative but 
 their former precarious shiftless life in their 
 " played-out " claim in the valley, they 
 wisely consented, reserving the sacred right 
 of daily protest and objurgation. In the 
 economy of Burnt Ridge Ranch they alone 
 took it upon themselves to represent the 
 shattered domestic altar and its outraged 
 Lares and Penates. And so conscientiously 
 did they perform their task as even occa- 
 sionally to impede the business visitor to 
 the ranch, and to cause some of the more 
 practical neighbors seriously to doubt the 
 young girl's commercial wisdom. But she 
 was firm. Whether she thought her parents 
 a necessity of respectable domesticity, or 
 whether she regarded their presence in the 
 light of a penitential atonement for some 
 previous disregard of them, no one knew. 
 Public opinion inclined to the latter. 
 
 The black line of ridge faded out with 
 her abstraction, and she turned from the 
 window and lit the lamp on her desk. The 
 yellow light illuminated her face and figure. 
 In their womanly graces there was no trace 
 of what some people believed to be a mas- 
 culine character, except a singularly frank 
 look of critical inquiry and patient atten- 
 
92 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 tion in her dark eyes. Her long brown hair 
 was somewhat rigidly twisted into a knot on 
 the top of her head, as if more for security 
 than ornament. Brown was also the pre- 
 vailing tint of her eyebrows, thickly-set eye- 
 lashes^ and eyes, and was even suggested in 
 the slight sallowness of her complexion. 
 But her lips were well-cut and fresh-colored 
 and her hands and feet small and finely 
 formed. She would have passed for a pretty 
 girl, had she not suggested something more. 
 She sat down, and began to examine a 
 pile of papers before her with that concen- 
 tration and attention to detail which was 
 characteristic of her eyes, pausing at times 
 with prettily knit brows, and her penholder 
 between her lips, in the semblance of a pout 
 that was pleasant enough to see. Suddenly 
 the rattle of hoofs and wheels struck her 
 with the sense of something forgotten, and 
 she put down her work quickly and stood up 
 listening. The sound of rough voices and 
 her father's querulous accents was broken 
 upon by a cultivated and more familiar ut- 
 terance : " All right ; I '11 speak to her at 
 once. Wait there," and the door opened to 
 the well-known physician of Burnt Ridge, 
 Dr, Duchesne, 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 93 
 
 " Look here," he said, with an abruptness 
 that was only saved from being brusque by 
 a softer intonation and a reassuring smile, 
 " I met Miguel helping an accident into 
 your buggy. Your orders, eh? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, " said Josephine, quietly. " A 
 man I saw on the road." 
 
 " Well, it 's a bad case, and wants prompt 
 attention. And as your house is the nearest 
 I came with him here." 
 
 "Certainly," she said gravely. "Take 
 him to the second room beyond Steve's 
 room it's ready," she explained to two 
 dusky shadows in the hall behind the doc- 
 tor. 
 
 " And look here," said the doctor, partly 
 closing the door behind him and regarding 
 her with critical eyes, " you always said 
 you'd like to see some of my queer cases. 
 Well, this is one a serious one, too ; in 
 fact, it 's just touch and go with him. 
 There 's a piece of the bone pressing on the 
 brain no bigger than that, but as much as if 
 all Burnt Ridge was atop of him ! I 'm go- 
 ing to lift it. I want somebody here to 
 stand by, some one who can lend a hand 
 with a sponge, eh ? some one who is n't 
 going to faint or scream, or even shake a 
 hair's-breadth, eh ? " 
 
94 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 The color rose quickly to the girl's cheek, 
 and her eyes kindled. " I '11 come," she 
 said thoughtfully. " Who is he ? " 
 
 The doctor stared slightly at the unessen- 
 tial query. " Don't know, one of the 
 river miners, I reckon. It 's an urgent case. 
 I '11 go and get everything ready. You 'd 
 better," he added, with an ominous glance 
 at her gray frock, " put something over your 
 dress." The suggestion made her grave, 
 but did not alter her color. 
 
 A moment later she entered the room. 
 It was the one that had always been set 
 apart for her brother: the very bed on 
 which the unconscious man lay had been 
 arranged that morning with her own hands. 
 Something of this passed through her mind 
 as she saw that the doctor had wheeled it 
 beneath the strong light in the centre of the 
 room, stripped its outer coverings with pro- 
 fessional thoughtfulness, and rearranged the 
 mattresses. But it did not seem like the 
 same room. There was a pungent odor in 
 the air from some freshly-opened phial ; an 
 almost feminine neatness and luxury in an 
 open morocco case like a jewel box on the 
 table, shining with spotless steel. At the 
 head of the bed one of her own servants, 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 95 
 
 the powerful mill foreman, was assisting 
 with the mingled curiosity and blase experi- 
 ence of one accustomed to smashed and lac- 
 erated digits. At first she did not look at 
 <the central unconscious figure on the bed, 
 whose sufferings seemed to her to have been 
 vicariously transferred to the concerned, 
 eager, and drawn faces that looked down 
 upon its immunity. Then she femininely 
 recoiled before the bared white neck and 
 shoulders displayed above the quilt, until, 
 forcing herself to look upon the face half- 
 concealed by bandages and the head from 
 which the dark tangles of hair had been 
 ruthlessly sheared, she began to share the 
 doctor's unconcern in his personality. What 
 mattered who or what he was ? It was a 
 case ! 
 
 The operation began. With the same 
 earnest intelligence that she had previously 
 shown, she quickly and noiselessly obeyed 
 the doctor's whispered orders, and even half 
 anticipated them. She was conscious of a 
 singular curiosity that, far from being mean 
 or ignoble, seemed to lift her not only above 
 the ordinary weaknesses of her own sex, but 
 made her superior to the men around her. 
 Almost before she knew it, the operation 
 
96 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 was over, and she regarded with equal curi- 
 osity the ostentatious solicitude with which 
 the doctor seemed to be wiping his fateful 
 instrument that bore an odd resemblance to 
 a silver-handled centre-bit. The stertorous 
 breathing below the bandages had given way 
 to a fainter but more natural respiration. 
 There was a moment of suspense. The doc- 
 tor's hand left the pulse and lifted the closed 
 eyelid of the sufferer. A slight movement 
 passed over the figure. The sluggish face 
 had cleared; life seemed to struggle back 
 into it before even the dull eyes participated 
 in the glow. Dr. Duchesne with a sudden 
 gesture waved aside his companions, but not 
 before Josephine had bent her head eagerly 
 forward. 
 
 " He is coming to," she said. 
 
 At the sound of that deep clear voice 
 the first to break the hush of the room 
 the dull eyes leaped up, and the head turned 
 in its direction. The lips moved and uttered 
 a single rapid sentence. The girl recoiled. 
 
 " You 're all right now," said the doctor, 
 cheerfully, intent only upon the form before 
 him. 
 
 The lips moved again, but this time feebly 
 and vacantly ; the eyes were staring vaguely 
 around. 
 
THE C RAT ELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 97 
 
 " What 's matter ? What 's all about ? " 
 said the man, thickly. 
 
 " You ! ve had a fall. Think a moment. 
 Where do you live ? " 
 
 Again the lips moved, but this time only 
 to emit a confused, incoherent murmur. Dr. 
 Duchesne looked grave, but recovered him- 
 self quickly. 
 
 " That will do. Leave him alone now," 
 he said brusquely to the others. 
 
 But Josephine lingered. 
 
 " He spoke well enough just now," she 
 said eagerly. " Did you hear what he 
 said?" 
 
 " Not exactly," said the doctor, abstract- 
 edly, gazing at the man. 
 
 "He said: 4 You'll have to kill me 
 first,' " said Josephine, slowly. 
 
 " Humph ; " said the doctor, passing his 
 hand backwards and forwards before the 
 man's eyes to note any change in the staring 
 pupils. 
 
 " Yes," continued Josephine, gravely. " I 
 suppose," she added, cautiously, "he was 
 thinking of the operation of what you 
 had just done to him ? " 
 
 " What / had done to him ? Oh, yes 1 " 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 BEFORE noon the next day it was known 
 throughout Burnt Ridge Valley that Dr. 
 Duchesne had performed a difficult opera- 
 tion upon an unknown man, who had been 
 picked up unconscious from a fall, and car- 
 ried to Burnt Ridge Ranch. But although 
 the unfortunate man's life was saved by the 
 operation, he had only momentarily recov- 
 ered consciousness relapsing into a semi- 
 idiotic state, which effectively stopped the 
 discovery of any clue to his friends or his 
 identity. As it was evidently an accident, 
 which, in that rude community and even 
 in some more civilized ones conveyed a 
 vague impression of some contributary inca- 
 pacity on the part of the victim, or some 
 Providential interference of a retributive 
 character, Burnt Ridge gave itself little 
 trouble about it. It is unnecessary to say 
 that Mr. and Mrs. Forsyth gave themselves 
 and Josephine much more. They had a 
 theory and a grievance. Satisfied from the 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 99 
 
 first that the alleged victim was a drunken 
 tramp, who submitted to have a hole bored 
 in his head in order to foist himself upon the 
 ranch, they were loud in their protests, even 
 hinting at a conspiracy between Josephine 
 and the stranger to supplant her brother in 
 the property, as he had already in the spare 
 bedroom. " Did n't all that yer happen the 
 very night she pretended to go for Stephen 
 - eh ? " said Mrs. Forsyth. " Tell me that ! 
 And did n't she have it all arranged with 
 the buggy to bring him here, as that sneak- 
 ing doctor let out eh ? Looks mighty cu- 
 rious, don't it? " she muttered darkly to the 
 old man. But although that gentleman, even 
 from his own selfish view, would scarcely 
 have submitted to a surgical operation and 
 later idiocy as the price of insuring comfort- 
 able dependency, he had no doubt others 
 were base enough to do it ; and lent a will- 
 ing ear to his wife's suspicions. 
 
 Josephine's personal knowledge of the 
 stranger went little further. Doctor Du- 
 chesne had confessed to her his professional 
 disappointment at the incomplete results of 
 the operation. He had saved the man's life, 
 but as yet not his reason. There was still 
 hope, however, for the diagnosis revealed 
 
100 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 nothing that might prejudice a favorable 
 progress. It was a most interesting case. 
 He would watch it carefully, and as soon 
 as the patient could be removed would take 
 him to the county hospital, where, under his 
 own eyes, the poor fellow would have the 
 benefit of the latest science and the highest 
 specialists. Physically, he was doing remark- 
 ably well ; indeed, he must have been a fine 
 young chap, free from blood taint or vicious 
 complication, whose flesh had healed like 
 an infant's. It should be recorded that it 
 was at this juncture that Mrs. For syth first 
 learnt that a silver plate let into the artful 
 stranger's skull was an adjunct of the heal- 
 ing process ! Convinced that this infamous 
 extravagance was part and parcel of the 
 conspiracy, and was only the beginning of 
 other assimilations of the Forsyths' metallic 
 substance ; that the plate was probably pol- 
 ished and burnished with a fulsome inscrip- 
 tion to the doctor's skill, and would pass into 
 the possession and adornment of a perfect 
 stranger, her rage knew no bounds. He or 
 his friends ought to be made to pay for it or 
 work it out ! In vain it was declared that a 
 few dollars were all that was found in the 
 man's pocket, and that no memoranda gave 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 101 
 
 any indication of his name, friends, or his- 
 tory beyond the suggestion that he came 
 from a distance. This was clearly a part of 
 the conspiracy ! Even Josephine's practical 
 good sense was obliged to take note of this 
 singular absence of all record regarding him, 
 and the apparent obliteration of everything 
 that might be responsible for his ultimate 
 fate. 
 
 Homeless, friendless, helpless, and even 
 nameless, the unfortunate man of twenty-five 
 was thus left to the tender mercies of the 
 mistress of Burnt Ridge Ranch, as if he had 
 been a new-born foundling laid at her door. 
 But this mere claim of weakness was not all ; 
 it was supplemented by a singular personal 
 appeal to Josephine's nature. From the 
 time that he turned his head towards her 
 voice on that fateful night, his eyes had 
 always followed her around the room with 
 a wondering, yearning, canine half-intelli- 
 gence. Without being able to convince her- 
 self that he understood her better than his 
 regular attendant furnished by the doctor, 
 she could not fail to see that he obeyed her 
 implicitly, and that whenever any difficulty 
 arose between him and his nurse she was 
 always appealed to. Her pride in this proof 
 
102 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 of her practical sovereignty was flattered ; 
 and when Doctor Duchesne finally admitted 
 that although the patient was now physically 
 able to be removed to the hospital, yet he 
 would lose in the change that very strong 
 factor which Josephine had become in his 
 mental recovery, the young girl as frankly 
 suggested that he should stay as long as there 
 was any hope of restoring his reason. Doc- 
 tor Duchesne was delighted. With all his 
 enthusiasm for science, he had a professional 
 distrust of some of its disciples, and perhaps 
 was not sorry to keep this most interesting 
 case in his own hands. To him her sugges- 
 tion was only a womanly kindness, tempered 
 with womanly curiosity. But the astonish- 
 ment and stupefaction of her parents at this 
 evident corroboration of suspicions they had 
 as yet only half believed was tinged with 
 superstitious dread. Had she fallen in love 
 with, this helpless stranger? or, more awful 
 to contemplate, was he really no stranger, 
 but a surreptitious lover thus strategically 
 brought under her roof ? For once they re- 
 frained from open criticism. The very mag- 
 nitude of their suspicions left them dumb. 
 
 It was thus that the virgin Chatelaine of 
 Burnt Kidge Kanch was left to gaze un- 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 103 
 
 trammeled upon her pale and handsome 
 guest, whose silken, bearded lips and sad, 
 childlike eyes might have suggested a more 
 Exalted Sufferer in their absence of any 
 suggestion of a grosser material manhood. 
 But even this imaginative appeal did not 
 enter into her feelings. She felt for her 
 good-looking, helpless patient a profound 
 and honest pity. I do not know whether 
 she had ever heard that " pity was akin to 
 love." She would probably have resented 
 that utterly untenable and atrocious common- 
 place. There was no suggestion, real or illu- 
 sive, of any previous masterful quality in the 
 man which might have made his present de- 
 pendent condition picturesque by contrast. 
 He had come to her handicapped, by an 
 unromantic accident and a practical want of 
 energy and intellect, He would have to 
 touch her interest anew if, indeed, he would 
 ever succeed in dispelling the old impression. 
 His beauty, in a community of picturesquely 
 handsome men, had little weight with her, 
 except to accent the contrast with their fuller 
 manhood. 
 
 Her life had given her no illusions in re- 
 gard to the other sex. She had found them, 
 however, more congenial and safer compan- 
 
104 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 ions than women, and more accessible to her 
 own sense of justice and honor. In return, 
 they had respected and admired rather than 
 loved her, in spite of her womanly graces. 
 If she had at times contemplated eventual 
 marriage, it was only as a possible practical 
 partnership in her business ; but as she lived 
 in a country where men thought it dishonor- 
 able and a proof of incompetency to rise by 
 their wives' superior fortune, she had been 
 free from that kind of mercenary persecu- 
 tion, even from men who might have wor- 
 shiped her in hopeless and silent honor. 
 
 For this reason, there was nothing in the 
 situation that suggested a single compromis- 
 ing speculation in the minds of the neigh- 
 bors, or disturbed her own tranquillity. 
 There seemed to be nothing in the future 
 except a possible relief to her curiosity. 
 Some day the unfortunate man's reason 
 would be restored, and he would tell his 
 simple history. Perhaps he might explain 
 what was in his mind when he turned to her 
 the first evening with that singular sentence 
 which had often recurred strangely to her, 
 she knew not why. It did not strike her 
 until later that it was because it had been 
 the solitary indication of an energy and 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 105 
 
 capacity that seemed unlike him. Never- 
 theless, after that explanation, she would 
 have been quite willing to have shaken 
 hands with him and parted. 
 
 And yet for there was an unexpressed 
 remainder in her thought she was never 
 entirely free or uninfluenced in his pres- 
 ence. The flickering vacancy of his sad 
 eyes sometimes became fixed with a resolute 
 immobility under the gentle questioning with 
 which she had sought to draw out his facul- 
 ties, that both piqued and exasperated her. 
 He could say " Yes " and " No," as she 
 thought, intelligently, but he could not utter 
 a coherent sentence nor write a word, except 
 like a child in imitation of his copy. She 
 taught him to repeat after her the names of 
 the inanimate objects in the room, then the 
 names of the doctor, his attendant, the ser- 
 vant, and, finally, her own under her Chris- 
 tian prenomen, with frontier familiarity ; 
 but when she pointed to himself he waited 
 for her to name him ! In vain she tried him 
 with all the masculine names she knew ; his 
 was not one of them, or he would not or 
 could not speak it. For at times she re- 
 jected the professional dictum of the doctor 
 that the faculty of memory was wholly para- 
 
106 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 lyzed or held in abeyance, even to the half- 
 automatic recollection of his letters, yet she 
 inconsistently began to teach him the alpha- 
 bet with the same method, and in her sub- 
 lime unconsciousness of his manhood with 
 the same discipline as if he were a very 
 child. When he had recovered sufficiently 
 to leave his room, she would lead him to the 
 porch before her window, and make him 
 contented and happy by allowing him to 
 watch her at work at her desk, occasion- 
 ally answering his wondering eyes with a 
 word, or stirring his faculties with a ques- 
 tion. I grieve to say that her parents had 
 taken advantage of this publicity and his 
 supposed helpless condition to show their 
 disgust of his assumption, to the extreme of 
 making faces at him an act which he re- 
 sented with such a furious glare that they 
 retreated hurriedly to their own veranda. 
 A fresh though somewhat inconsistent griev- 
 ance was added to their previous indictment 
 of him : " If we ain't found dead in our bed 
 with our throats cut by that woman's crazy 
 husband " (they had settled by this time 
 that there had been a clandestine marriage), 
 " we '11 be lucky," groaned Mrs. Forsyth. 
 Meantime, the mountain summer waxed 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 107 
 
 to its fullness of fire and fruition. There 
 were days when the crowded forest seemed 
 choked and impeded with its own foliage, 
 and pungent and stifling with its own rank 
 maturity ; when the long hillside ranks of 
 wild oats, thickset and impassable, filled the 
 air with the heated dust of germination. In 
 this quickening irritation of life it would be 
 strange if the unfortunate man's torpid in- 
 tellect was not helped in its awakening, and 
 he was allowed to ramble at will over the 
 ranch ; but with the instinct of a domestic 
 animal he always returned to the house, and 
 sat in the porch, where Josephine usually 
 found him awaiting her when she herself re- 
 turned from a visit to the mill. Coming 
 thence one day she espied him on the moun- 
 tain-side leaning against a projecting ledge 
 in an attitude so rapt and immovable that 
 she felt compelled to approach him. He 
 appeared to be dumbly absorbed in the 
 prospect, which might have intoxicated a 
 saner mind. 
 
 Half veiled by the heat that rose quiver- 
 ingly from the fiery caflon below, the domain 
 of Burnt Ridge stretched away before him, 
 until, lifted in successive terraces hearsed 
 and plumed with pines, it was at last lost in 
 
108 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 the ghostly snow-peaks. But the practical 
 Josephine seized the opportunity to try once 
 more to awaken the slumbering memory of 
 her pupil. Following his gaze with signs 
 and questions, she sought to draw from him 
 some indication of familiar recollection of 
 certain points of the map thus unrolled be- 
 hind him. But in vain. She even pointed 
 out the fateful shadow of the overhanging 
 ledge on the road where she had picked him 
 up there was no response in his abstracted 
 eyes. She bit her lips ; she was becoming 
 irritated again. Then it occurred to her 
 that, instead of appealing to his hopeless 
 memory, she had better trust to some unre- 
 flective automatic instinct independent of it, 
 and she put the question a little forward : 
 " When you leave us, where will you go from 
 here ? " He stirred slightly, and turned to- 
 wards her. She repeated her query slowly 
 and patiently, with signs and gestures rec- 
 ognized between them. A faint glow of in- 
 telligence struggled into his eyes ; he lifted 
 his arm slowly, and pointed. 
 
 " Ah ! those white peaks the Sierras ? " 
 she asked, eagerly. No reply. "Beyond 
 them?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RJDGE. 109 
 
 "The States?" No reply. "Further 
 still?" 
 
 He remained so patiently quiet and still 
 pointing that she leaned forward, and, fol- 
 lowing with her eyes the direction of his 
 hand, saw that he was pointing to the sky ! 
 
 Then a great quiet fell upon them. The 
 whole mountain-side seemed to her to be 
 hushed, as if to allow her to grasp and real- 
 ize for the first time the pathos of the ruined 
 life at her side, which it had known so long, 
 but which she had never felt till now. The 
 tears came to her eyes ; in her swift revul- 
 sion of feeling she caught the thin uplifted 
 hand between her own. It seemed to her 
 that he was about to raise them to his lips, 
 but she withdrew them hastily, and moved 
 away. She had a strange fear that if he 
 had kissed them, it might seem as if some 
 dumb animal had touched them or it 
 might not. The next day she felt a con- 
 sciousness of this in his presence, and a wish 
 that he was well-cured and away. She deter- 
 mined to consult Dr. Duchesne on the sub- 
 ject when he next called. 
 
 But the doctor, secure in the welfare of 
 his patient, had not visited him lately, and 
 she found herself presently absorbed in the 
 
110 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 business of the ranch, which at this season 
 was particularly trying. There had also 
 been a quarrel between Dick Shipley, her 
 mill foreman, and Miguel, her ablest and 
 most trusted vaquero, and in her strict sense 
 of impartial justice she was obliged to side 
 on the merits of the case with Shipley against 
 her oldest retainer. This troubled her, as 
 she knew that with the Mexican nature, fidel- 
 ity and loyalty were not unmixed with quick 
 and unreasoning jealousy. For this reason 
 she was somewhat watchful of the two men 
 when work was over, and there was a chance 
 of their being thrown together. Once or 
 twice she had remained up late to meet 
 Miguel returning from the posada at San 
 Ramon, filled with aguardiente and a recol- 
 lection of his wrongs, and to see him safely 
 bestowed before she herself retired. It was 
 on one of those occasions, however, that she 
 learned that Dick Shipley, hearing that 
 Miguel had disparaged him freely at the 
 posada, had broken the discipline of the 
 ranch, and absented himself the same night 
 that Miguel " had leave," with a view of fa- 
 cing his antagonist on his own ground. To 
 prevent this, the fearless girl at once secretly 
 set out alone to overtake and bring back the 
 delinquent. 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. HI 
 
 For two or three hours the house was thus 
 left to the sole occupancy of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Forsyth and the invalid a fact only dimly 
 suspected by the latter, who had become 
 vaguely conscious of Josephine's anxiety, and 
 had noticed the absence of light and move- 
 ment in her room. For this reason, there- 
 fore, having risen again and mechanically 
 taken his seat in the porch to await her re- 
 turn, he was startled by hearing her voice in 
 the shadow of the lower porch, accompanied 
 by a hurried tapping against the door of the 
 old couple. The half-reasoning man arose, 
 and would have moved towards it, but sud- 
 denly he stopped rigidly, with white and 
 parted lips and vacantly distended eyeballs. 
 
 Meantime the voice and muffled tapping- 
 had brought the tremulous fingers of old 
 Forsyth to the door-latch. He opened the 
 door partly; a slight figure that had been 
 lurking in the shadow of the porch pushed 
 rapidly through the opening. There was a 
 faint outcry quickly hushed, and the door 
 closed again. The rays of a single candle 
 showed the two old people hysterically clasp- 
 ing in their arms the figure that had entered 
 a slight but vicious-looking young fellow 
 of five-and-twenty. 
 
112 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 " There, d n it ! " he said impatiently, 
 in a voice whose rich depth was like Jose- 
 phine's, but whose querulous action was that 
 of the two. old people before him, " let me 
 go, and quit that. I did n't come here to be 
 strangled! I want some money money, 
 you hear ! Devilish quick, too, for I 've got 
 to be off again before daylight. So look 
 sharp, will you ? " 
 
 " But, Stevy dear, when you did n't come 
 that time three months ago, but wrote from 
 Los Angeles, you said you 'd made a strike 
 at last, and " 
 
 " What are you talking about ? " he inter- 
 rupted violently. " That was just my lyin' 
 to keep you from worryin' me. Three 
 months ago three months ago ! Why, you 
 must have been crazy to have swallowed it ; 
 I had n't a cent." 
 
 " Nor have we," said the old woman, 
 shrilly. "That hellish sister of yours still 
 keeps us like beggars. Our only hope was 
 you, our own boy. And now you only come 
 to to go again." 
 
 " But she has money ; she 's doing well, 
 and she shall give it to me," he went on, 
 angrily. " She can't bully me with her busi- 
 ness airs and morality. Who else has 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 113 
 
 got a right to share, if it is not her own 
 brother?" 
 
 Alas for the fatuousness of human malev- 
 olence ! Had the unhappy couple related 
 only the simple facts they knew about the 
 new guest of Burnt Ridge Ranch, and the 
 manner of his introduction, they might have 
 spared what followed. 
 
 But the old woman broke into a vindic- 
 tive cry: "Who else, Steve who else? 
 Why, the slut has brought a man here 
 a sneaking, deceitful, underhanded, crazy 
 lover ! " 
 
 "Oh, has she?" said the young man, 
 fiercely, yet secretly pleased at this promis- 
 ing evidence of his sister's human weakness. 
 " Where is she ? I '11 go to her. She 's in 
 her room, I suppose," and before they could 
 restrain him, he had thrown off their im- 
 peding embraces and darted across the 
 hall. 
 
 The two old people stared doubtfully at 
 each other. For even this powerful ally, 
 whose strength, however, they were by no 
 means sure of, might succumb before the 
 determined Josephine ! Prudence demanded 
 a middle course, " Ain't they brother and 
 sister?" said the old man, with an air 
 
114 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 of virtuous toleration. "Let 'em fight it 
 out." 
 
 The young man impatiently entered the 
 room he remembered to have been his 
 sister's. By the light of the moon that 
 streamed upon the window he could see she 
 was not there. He passed hurriedly to the 
 door of her bedroom ; it was open ; the room 
 was empty, the bed unturned. She was 
 not in the house she had gone to the 
 mill. Ah ! What was that they had said ? 
 An infamous thought passed through the 
 scoundrel's mind. Then, in what he half 
 believed was an access of virtuous fury, he 
 began by the dim light to rummage in the 
 drawers of the desk for such loose coin or 
 valuables as, in the perfect security of the 
 ranch, were often left unguarded. Sud- 
 denly he heard a heavy footstep on the 
 threshold, and turned. 
 
 An awful vision a recollection, so unex- 
 pected, so ghostlike in that weird light that 
 he thought he was losing his senses stood 
 before him. It moved forwards with staring 
 eyeballs and white and open lips from which 
 a horrible inarticulate sound issued that was 
 the speech of no living man ! With a single 
 desperate, almost superhuman effort Stephen 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 115 
 
 Forsyth bounded aside, leaped from the win- 
 dow, and ran like a madman from the house. 
 Then the apparition trembled, collapsed, and 
 sank in an undistinguishable heap to the 
 ground. 
 
 When Josephine Forsyth returned an hour 
 later with her mill foreman, she was startled 
 to find her helpless patient in a fit on the 
 floor of her room. With the assistance of 
 her now converted and penitent employee, 
 she had the unfortunate man conveyed to his 
 room but not until she had thoughtfully 
 rearranged the disorder of her desk and 
 closed the open drawers without attracting 
 Dick Shipley's attention. In the morning, 
 hearing that the patient was still in the semi- 
 conscious exhaustion of his late attack, but 
 without seeing him, she sent for Dr. Du- 
 chesne. The doctor arrived while she was 
 absent at the mill, where, after a careful 
 examination of his patient, he sought her 
 with some little excitement. 
 
 " Well ? " she said, with eager gravity. 
 
 " Well, it looks as if your wish would be 
 gratified. Your friend has had an epileptic 
 fit, but the physical shock has started his 
 mental machinery again. He has recovered 
 his faculties ; his memory is returning : he 
 
116 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 thinks and speaks coherently ; he is as sane 
 as you and I." 
 
 " And " said Josephine, questioning the 
 doctor's knitted eyebrows. 
 
 "I am not yet sure whether it was the re- 
 sult of some shock he does n't remember ; or 
 an irritation of the brain, which would indi- 
 cate that the operation had not been success- 
 ful and that there was still some physical 
 pressure or obstruction there in which 
 case he would be subject to these attacks all 
 his life." 
 
 " Do you think his reason came before the 
 fit or after ? " asked the girl, anxiously. 
 
 " I could n't say. Had anything hap- 
 pened ? " 
 
 " I was away, and found him on the floor 
 on my return," she answered, half uneasily. 
 After a pause she said, " Then he has told 
 you his name and all about himself ? " 
 
 " Yes, it 's nothing at all ! He was a 
 stranger just arrived from the States, going 
 to the mines the old story ; had no near 
 relations, of course ; was n't missed or asked 
 after ; remembers walking along the ridge 
 and falling over ; name, John Baxter, of 
 Maine." He paused, and relaxing into a 
 slight smile, added, " I have n't spoiled your 
 romance, have I ? " 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 117 
 
 " No," she said, with an answering smile. 
 Then as the doctor walked briskly away she 
 slightly knitted her pretty brows, hung her 
 head, patted the ground with her little foot 
 beyond the hem of her gown, and said to 
 herself, " The man was lying to him." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 ON her return to the house, Josephine ap- 
 parently contented herself with receiving the 
 bulletin of the stranger's condition from the 
 servant, for she did not enter his room. She 
 had obtained no theory of last night's inci- 
 dent from her parents, who, beyond a quer- 
 ulous agitation that was quickened by the 
 news of his return to reason, refrained from 
 even that insidious comment which she half 
 feared would follow. When another day 
 passed without her seeing him, she neverthe- 
 less was conscious of a little embarrassment 
 when his attendant brought her the request 
 that she would give him a moment's speech 
 in the porch, whither he had been removed. 
 
 She found him physically weaker ; indeed, 
 so much so that she was fain, even in her 
 embarrassment, to assist him back to the 
 bench from which he had ceremoniously 
 risen. But she was so struck with the 
 change in his face and manner, a change so 
 virile and masterful, in spite of its gentle 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 119 
 
 sadness of manner, that she recoiled with a 
 slight timidity as if he had been a stranger, 
 although she was also conscious that he 
 seemed to be more at his ease than she 
 was. He began in a low exhausted voice, 
 but before he had finished his first sen- 
 tence, she felt herself in the presence of a 
 superior. 
 
 " My thanks come very late, Miss For- 
 syth," he said, with a faint smile, " but no 
 one knows better than yourself the reason 
 why, or can better understand that they 
 mean that the burden you have so gener- 
 ously taken on yourself is about to be lifted. 
 I know all, Miss Forsyth. Since yesterday 
 I have learned how much I owe you, even 
 my life I believe, though I am afraid I must 
 tell you in the same breath that that is of 
 little worth to any one. You have kindly 
 helped and interested yourself in a poor 
 stranger who turns out to be a nobody, with- 
 out friends, without romance, and without 
 even mystery. You found me lying in the 
 road down yonder, after a stupid accident 
 that might have happened to any other care- 
 less tramp, and which scarcely gave me a 
 claim to a bed in the county hospital, much 
 less under this kindly roof. It was not my 
 
120 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 fault, as you know, that all this did not come 
 out sooner ; but while it does n't lessen your 
 generosity, it does n't lessen my debt, and 
 although I cannot hope to ever repay you, 
 I can at least keep the score from running 
 on. Pardon my speaking so bluntly, but 
 my excuse for speaking at all was to say 
 ' Good-by ' and fc God bless you.' Dr. 
 Duchesne has promised to give me a lift on 
 my way in his buggy when he goes." 
 
 There was a slight touch of consciousness 
 in his voice in spite of its sadness, which 
 struck the young girl as a weak and even 
 ungentlemanly note in his otherwise self- 
 abnegating and undemonstrative attitude. 
 If he was a common tramp, he would n't 
 talk in that way, and if he was n't, why did 
 he lie ? Her practical good sense here as- 
 serted itself. 
 
 "But you are far from strong yet; in 
 fact, the doctor says you might have a re- 
 lapse at any moment, and you have that 
 is, you seem to have no money," she said 
 gravely. 
 
 "That's true," he said, quickly. "I 
 remember I was quite played out when I 
 entered the settlement, and I think I had 
 parted from even some little trifles I carried 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 121 
 
 with me. I am afraid I was a poor find to 
 those who picked me up, and you ought to 
 have taken warning. But the doctor has 
 offered to lend me enough to take me to San 
 Francisco, if only to give a fair trial to the 
 machine he has set once more a-going." 
 
 "Then you have friends in San Fran- 
 cisco ? " said the young girl quickly. " Those 
 who know you? Why not write to them 
 first, and tell them you are here ? " 
 
 " I don't think your postmaster here would 
 be preoccupied with letters for John Baxter, 
 if I did," he said, quietly. " But here is the 
 doctor waiting. Good-by." 
 
 He stood looking at her in a peculiar, yet 
 half-resigned way, and held out his hand. 
 For a moment she hesitated. Had he been 
 less independent and strong, she would have 
 refused to let him go have offered him 
 some slight employment at the ranch; for 
 oddly enough, in spite of the suspicion that 
 he was concealing something, she felt that 
 she would have trusted him, and he would 
 have been a help to her. But he was not 
 only determined, but she was all the time 
 conscious that he was a totally different man 
 from the one she had taken care of, and 
 merely ordinary prudence demanded that she 
 
122 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 should know something more of him first. 
 She gave him her hand constrainedly ; he 
 pressed it warmly. 
 
 Dr. Duchesne drove up, helped him into 
 the buggy, smiled a good-natured but half- 
 perfunctory assurance that he would look 
 after " her patient," and drove away. 
 
 The whole thing was over, but so unex- 
 pectedly, so suddenly, so unromantically, so 
 unsatisfactorily, that, although her common 
 sense told her that it was perfectly natural, 
 proper, business-like, and reasonable, and, 
 above all, final and complete, she did not 
 know whether to laugh or be angry. Yet 
 this was her parting from the man who had 
 but a few days ago moved her to tears with 
 a single hopeless gesture. Well, this would 
 teach her what to expect. Well, what had 
 she expected ? Nothing ! 
 
 Yet for the rest of the day she was un- 
 reasonably irritable, and, if the con jointure 
 be not paradoxical, severely practical, and 
 inhumanly just. Falling foul of some pre- 
 sumption of Miguel's, based upon his pre- 
 scriptive rights through long service on the 
 estate, with the recollection of her severity 
 towards his antagonist in her mind, she rated 
 that trusted retainer with such pitiless equity 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 123 
 
 and unfeminine logic that his hot Latin blood 
 chilled in his veins, and he stood livid on the 
 road. Then, informing Dick Shipley with 
 equally relentless calm that she might feel it 
 necessary to change all her foremen unless 
 they could agree in harmony, she sought the 
 dignified seclusion of her castle. But her 
 respected parents, whose triumphant relief 
 at the stranger's departure had emboldened 
 them to await her return in their porch with 
 bended bows of invective and lifted javelins 
 of aggression, recoiled before the resistless 
 helm of this cold-browed Minerva, who gal- 
 loped contemptuously past them. 
 
 Nevertheless, she sat late that night at her 
 desk. The cold moon looked down upon her 
 window, and lit up the empty porch where 
 her silent guest had mutely watched her. 
 For a moment she regretted that he had re- 
 covered his reason, excusing herself on the 
 practical ground that he would never have 
 known his dependence, and he would have 
 been better cared for by her. She felt rest- 
 less and uneasy. This slight divergence 
 from the practical groove in which her life 
 had been set had disturbed her in many other 
 things, and given her the first views of the 
 narrowness of it. 
 
124 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 Suddenly she heard a step in the porch. 
 The lateness of the hour, perhaps some other 
 reason, seemed to startle her, and she half 
 rose. The next moment the figure of Miguel 
 appeared at the doorway, and with a quick, 
 hurried look around him, and at the open 
 window, he approached her. He was evi- 
 dently under great excitement, his hollow 
 shaven cheek looked like a waxen effigy in 
 the mission church; his yellow, tobacco- 
 stained eye glittered like phosphorescent 
 'amber, his lank gray hair was damp and 
 perspiring ; but more striking than this was 
 the evident restraint he had put upon him- 
 self, pressing his broad-brimmed sombrero 
 with both of his trembling yellow hands 
 against his breast. The young girl cast a 
 hurried glance at the open window and at 
 the gun which stood in the corner, and then 
 confronted him with clear and steady eyes, 
 but a paler cheek. 
 
 Ah, he began in Spanish, which he himself 
 had taught her as a child, it was a strange 
 thing, his coming there to-night ; but, then, 
 mother of God ! it was a strange, a terrible 
 thing that she had done to him old Miguel, 
 her uncle's servant : he that had known her 
 as a muchacha; he that had lived all his 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 125 
 
 life at the ranch ay, and whose fathers 
 before him had lived there all their lives and 
 driven the cattle over the very spot where 
 she now stood, before the thieving Ameri- 
 cans came here ! But he would be calm ; 
 yes, the senora should find him calm, even 
 as she was when she told him to go. He 
 would not speak. No, he Miguel would 
 contain himself ; yes, he had mastered him- 
 self, but could he restrain others ? Ah, yes, 
 others that was it. Could he keep Manuel 
 and Pepe and Dominguez from talking to 
 the milkman that leaking sieve, that gab- 
 bling brute of a Shipley, for whose sake 
 she had cast off her old servant that very 
 day? 
 
 She looked at him with cold astonish- 
 ment, but without fear. Was he drunk with 
 aguardiente, or had his jealousy turned his 
 brain ? He continued gasping, but still 
 pressing his hat against his breast. 
 
 Ah, he saw it all ! Yes, it was to-day, the 
 day he left. Yes, she had thought it safe 
 to cast Miguel off now now that he was 
 gone ! 
 
 Without in the least understanding him, 
 the color had leaped to her cheek, and the 
 consciousness of it made her furious. 
 
126 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 " How dare you ? " she said, passionately. 
 " What has that stranger to do with my 
 affairs or your insolence ? " 
 
 He stopped and gazed at her with a cer- 
 tain admiring loyalty. " Ah ! so," he said, 
 with a deep breath, " the sefiora is the niece 
 of her uncle. She does well not to fear him 
 a dog," with a slight shrug, " who 
 is more than repaid by the senora's conde- 
 scension. He dare not speak ! " 
 
 " Who dare not speak ? Are you mad ? " 
 She stopped with a sudden terrible instinct 
 of apprehension. " Miguel," she said in her 
 deepest voice, " answer me, I command you ! 
 Do you know anything of this man ? " 
 
 It was Miguel's turn to recoil from his 
 mistress. " Ah, my God ! is it possible the 
 senora has not suspect? " 
 
 " Suspect ! " said Josephine, haughtily, 
 albeit her proud heart was beating quickly. 
 " I suspect nothing. I command you to tell 
 me what you know" 
 
 Miguel turned with a rapid gesture and 
 closed the door. Then, drawing her away 
 from the window, he said in a hurried whis- 
 per, - 
 
 " I know that that man has not the name 
 of Baxter ! I know that he has the name of 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 127 
 
 Bandolph, a young gambler, who have won 
 a large sum at Sacramento, and, fearing to 
 be robbed by those he won of, have walk to 
 himself through the road in disguise of a 
 miner. I know that your brother Estebaii 
 have decoyed him here, and have fallen on 
 him." 
 
 " Stop ! " said the young girl, her eyes, 
 which had been fixed with the agony of con- 
 viction, suddenly flashing with the energy of 
 despair. " And you call yourself the ser- 
 vant of my uncle, and dare say this of his 
 nephew ? " 
 
 " Yes, senora," broke out the old man, pas- 
 sionately. " It is because I am the servant 
 of your uncle that I, and I alone, dare say 
 it to you ! It is because I perjured my soul, 
 and have perjured my soul to deny it else- 
 where, that I now dare to say it ! It is be- 
 cause I, your servant, knew it from one of 
 my countrymen, who was of the gang, 
 because I, Miguel, knew that your brother 
 was not far away that night, and because I, 
 whom you would dismiss, have picked up 
 this pocket-book of Randolph's and your 
 brother's ring which he have dropped, and 
 I have found beneath the body of the man 
 you sent me to fetch." 
 
128 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 He drew a packet from his bosom, and 
 tossed it on the desk before her. 
 
 " And why have you not told me this be- 
 fore ? " said Josephine, passionately. 
 
 Miguel shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "What good? Possibly this dog Kan- 
 dolph would die. Possibly he would live 
 as a lunatic. Possibly would happen what 
 has happened ! The senora is beautiful. 
 The American has eyes. If the Dona Jo- 
 sephine's beauty shall finish what the silly 
 Don Esteban's arm have begun what mat- 
 ter ? " 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Josephine, pressing her 
 hands across her shuddering eyes. Then, 
 uncovering her white and set face, she said 
 rapidly, " Saddle my horse and your own at 
 once. Then take your choice ! Come with 
 me and repeat all that you have said in the 
 presence of that man, or leave this ranch 
 forever. For if I live I shall go to him to- 
 night, and tell the whole story." 
 
 The old man cast a single glance at his 
 mistress, shrugged his shoulders, and, with- 
 out a word, left the room. But in ten min- 
 utes they were on their way to the county 
 town. 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 129 
 
 Day was breaking over the distant Burnt 
 Ridge a faint, ghostly level, like a funeral 
 pall, in the dim horizon as they drew up 
 before the gaunt, white-painted pile of the 
 hospital building. Josephine uttered a cry. 
 Dr. Duchesne's buggy was before the door. 
 On its very threshold they met the doctor, 
 dark and irritated. " Then you heard the 
 news ? " he said, quickly. 
 
 Josephine turned her white face to the 
 doctor's. " What news ? " she asked, in a 
 voice that seemed strangely deep and reso- 
 nant. 
 
 " The poor fellow had another attack last 
 night, and died of exhaustion about an hour 
 ago. I was too late to save him." 
 
 " Did he say anything ? Was he con- 
 scious ? " asked the girl, hoarsely. 
 
 " No ; incoherent ! Now I think of it, he 
 harped on the same string as he did the 
 night of the operation. What was it he 
 said ? you remember." 
 
 " ' You '11 have to kill me first,' " repeated 
 Josephine, in a choking voice. 
 
 " Yes ; something about his dying before 
 he 'd tell. Well, he came back to it before 
 he went off they often do. You seem a 
 little hoarse with your morning ride. You 
 
130 THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE. 
 
 should take care of that voice of yours. 
 By the way, it 's a good deal like your 
 brother's." 
 
 The Chatelaine of Burnt Bidge never 
 married. 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA 
 WHEAT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IT was an enormous wheat -field in the 
 Santa Clara valley, stretching to the horizon 
 line unbroken. The meridian sun shone 
 upon it without glint or shadow ; but at 
 times, when a stronger gust of the trade 
 winds passed over it, there was a quick slant- 
 ing impression of the whole surface that was, 
 however, as unlike a billow as itself was 
 unlike a sea. Even when a lighter zephyr 
 played down its long level, the agitation was 
 superficial, and seemed only to momentarily 
 lift a veil of greenish mist that hung above 
 its immovable depths. Occasional puffs of 
 dust alternately rose and fell along an im- 
 aginary line across the field, as if a current 
 of air were passing through it, but were 
 otherwise inexplicable. 
 
 Suddenly a faint shout, apparently some- 
 
132 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 where in the vicinity of the line, brought out 
 a perfectly clear response, followed by the 
 audible murmur of voices, which it was im- 
 possible to localize. Yet the whole field was 
 so devoid of any suggestion of human life 
 or motion that it seemed rather as if the 
 vast expanse itself had become suddenly 
 articulate and intelligible. 
 
 " Wot say ? " 
 
 " Wheel off." 
 
 "Whare?" 
 
 " In the road." 
 
 One of the voices here indicated itself in 
 the direction of the line of dust, and said, 
 " Comin'," and a man stepped out from the 
 wheat into a broad and dusty avenue. 
 
 With his presence three things became 
 apparent. 
 
 First, that the puffs of dust indicated the 
 existence of the invisible avenue through the 
 unlimited and unfenced field of grain ; sec- 
 ondly, that the stalks of wheat on either side 
 of it were so tall as to actually hide a pass- 
 ing vehicle ; and thirdly, that a vehicle had 
 just passed, had lost a wheel, and been 
 dragged partly into the grain by its fright- 
 ened horse, which a dusty man was trying to 
 restrain and pacify. 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 133 
 
 The horse, given up to equine hysterics, 
 and evidently convinced that the ordinary 
 buggy behind him had been changed into 
 some dangerous and appalling creation, still 
 plunged and kicked violently to rid himself 
 of it. The man who had stepped out of 
 the depths of the wheat quickly crossed the 
 road, unhitched the traces, drew back the 
 vehicle, and, glancing at the traveler's dusty 
 and disordered clothes, said, with curt sym- 
 pathy : 
 
 " Spilt, too ; but not hurt, eh ? " 
 
 " No, neither of us. I went over with the 
 buggy when the wheel cramped, but she 
 jumped clear." 
 
 He made a gesture indicating the pres- 
 ence of another. The man turned quickly. 
 There was a second figure, a young girl 
 standing beside the grain from which he had 
 emerged, embracing a few stalks of wheat 
 with one arm and a hand in which she still 
 held her parasol, while she grasped her gath- 
 ered skirts with the other, and trying to find 
 a secure foothold for her two neat narrow 
 slippers on a crumbling cake of adobe above 
 the fathomless dust of the roadway. Her 
 face, although annoyed and discontented, 
 was pretty, and her light dress and slim fig- 
 
134 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 ure were suggestive of a certain superior 
 condition. 
 
 The man's manner at once softened with 
 Western courtesy. He swung Ms broad- 
 brimmed hat from his head, and bent his 
 body with the ceremoniousness of the coun- 
 try ball-room. " I reckon the lady had bet- 
 ter come up to the shanty out o' the dust and 
 sun till we kin help you get these things 
 fixed," he said to the driver. "I'll send 
 round by the road for your hoss, and have 
 one of mine fetch up your wagon." 
 
 "Is it far?" asked the girl, slightly 
 acknowledging his salutation, without wait- 
 ing for her companion to reply. 
 
 *' Only a step this way," he answered, 
 motioning to the field of wheat beside her. 
 
 " What ! In there ? I never could go in 
 there," she said, decidedly. 
 
 "It 's a heap shorter than by the road, 
 and not so dusty. I '11 go with you, and 
 pilot you." 
 
 The young girl cast a vexed look at her 
 companion as the probable cause of all this 
 trouble, and shook her head. But at the 
 same moment one little foot slipped from 
 the adobe into the dust again. She instantly 
 clambered back with a little feminine shriek. 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 135 
 
 and ejaculated : " Well, of all things ! " and 
 then, fixing her blue annoyed eyes on the 
 stranger, asked impatiently, " Why could n't 
 I go there by the road 'n the wagon? I 
 could manage to hold on and keep in." 
 
 " Because I reckon you 'd find it too 
 pow'ful hot waitin' here till we got round 
 to ye." 
 
 There was no doubt it was very hot ; the 
 radiation from the baking roadway beating 
 up under her parasol, and pricking her 
 cheekbones and eyeballs like needles. She 
 gave a fastidious little shudder, furled her 
 parasol, gathered her skirts still tighter, 
 faced about, and said, " Go on, then." The 
 man slipped backwards into the ranks of 
 stalks, parting them with one hand, and 
 holding out the other as if to lead her. But 
 she evaded the invitation by holding her 
 tightly-drawn skirt with both hands, and 
 bending her head forward as if she had not 
 noticed it. The next moment the road, and 
 even the whole outer world, disappeared be- 
 hind them, and they seemed floating in a 
 choking green translucent mist. 
 
 But the effect was only momentary; a 
 few steps further she found that she could 
 walk with little difficulty between the ranks 
 
136 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 of stalks, which were regularly spaced, and 
 the resemblance now changed to that of a 
 long pillared conservatory of greenish glass, 
 that touched all objects with its pervading 
 hue. She also found that the close air above 
 her head was continually freshened by the 
 interchange of currents of lower tempera- 
 ture from below, as if the whole vast field 
 had a circulation of its own, and that the 
 adobe beneath her feet was gratefully cool 
 to her tread. There was no dust, as he had 
 said ; what had at first half suffocated her 
 seemed to be some stimulating aroma of 
 creation that filled the narrow green aisles, 
 and now imparted a strange vigor and ex- 
 citement to her as she walked along. Mean- 
 time her guide was not conversationally idle. 
 Now, no doubt, she had never seen anything 
 like this before? It was ordinary wheat, 
 only it was grown on adobe soil the rich- 
 est in the valley. These stalks, she could 
 see herself, were ten and twelve feet high. 
 That was the trouble, they all ran too much 
 to stalk, though the grain yield was " suthen' 
 pow'ful." She could tell that to her friends, 
 for he reckoned she was the only young lady 
 that had ever walked under such a growth. 
 Perhaps she was new to Calif orny? He 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 137 
 
 thought so from the start. Well, this was 
 Californy, and this was not the least of the 
 ways it could " lay over " every other coun- 
 try on God's yearth. Many folks thought 
 it was the gold and the climate, but she could 
 see for herself what it could do with wheat. 
 He wondered if her brother had ever told 
 her of it ? No, the stranger was n't her 
 brother. Nor cousin, nor company ? No ; 
 only the hired driver from a San Jose hotel, 
 who was takiii' her over to Major Ran- 
 dolph's. Yes, he knew the old major ; the 
 ranch was a pretty place, nigh unto three 
 miles further on. Now that he knew the 
 driver was no relation of hers he did n't 
 mind telling her that the buggy was a 
 " rather old consarn," and the driver did n't 
 know his business. Yes, it might be fixed 
 up so as to take her over to the major's ; 
 there was one of their own men a young 
 fellow who could do anything that could 
 be done with wood and iron, a reg'lar 
 genius ! and lie 'd tackle it. It might take 
 an hour, but she 'd find it quite cool waiting 
 in the shanty. It was a rough place, for 
 they only camped out there during the sea- 
 son to look after the crop, and lived at their 
 own homes the rest of the time. Was she 
 
138 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 going to stay long at the major's ? He no- 
 ticed she had not brought her trunk with 
 her. Had she known the major's wife long? 
 Perhaps she thought of settling in the neigh- 
 borhood ? 
 
 All this naive, good-humored questioning 
 so often cruelly misunderstood as mere 
 vulgar curiosity, but as often the courteous 
 instinct of simple unaffected people to enter- 
 tain the stranger by inviting him to talk 
 of what concerns himself rather than their 
 own selves was nevertheless, I fear, met 
 only by monosyllables from the young lady 
 or an impatient question in return. She 
 scarcely raised her eyes to the broad jean- 
 shirted back that preceded her through the 
 grain until the man abruptly ceased talking, 
 and his manner, without losing its half-pater- 
 nal courtesy, became graver. She was be- 
 ginning to be conscious of her incivility, and 
 was trying to think of something to say, 
 when he exclaimed with a slight air of relief, 
 " Here we are ! " and the shanty suddenly 
 appeared before them. 
 
 It certainly was very rough a mere shell 
 of unpainted boards that scarcely rose above 
 the level of the surrounding grain, and a few 
 yards distant was invisible. Its slightly slop- 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 139 
 
 ing roof, already warped and shrunken into 
 long fissures that permitted glimpses of the 
 steel-blue sky above, was evidently intended 
 only as a shelter from the cloudless sun in 
 those two months of rainless days and dew- 
 less nights when it was inhabited. Through 
 the open doors and windows she could see 
 a row of " bunks," or rude sleeping berths 
 against the walls, furnished with coarse mat- 
 tresses and blankets. As the young girl 
 halted, the man with an instinct of delicacy 
 hurried forward, entered the shanty, and 
 dragging a rude bench to the doorway, placed 
 it so that she could sit beneath the shade of 
 the roof, yet with her back to these domestic 
 revelations. Two or three men, who had 
 been apparently lounging there, rose qui- 
 etly, and unobtrusively withdrew. Her guide 
 brought her a tin cup of deliciously cool 
 water, exchanged a few hurried words with 
 his companions, and then disappeared with 
 them, leaving her alone. 
 
 Her first sense of relief from their com- 
 pany was, I fear, stronger than any other 
 feeling. After a hurried glance around the 
 deserted apartment, she arose, shook out her 
 dress and mantle, and then going into the 
 darkest corner supported herself with one 
 
140 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 hand against the wall while with the other 
 she drew off, one by one, her slippers from 
 her slim, striped-stockinged feet, shook and 
 blew out the dust that had penetrated 
 within, and put them on again. Then, per- 
 ceiving a triangular fragment of looking- 
 glass nailed against the wall, she settled the 
 strings of her bonnet by the aid of its reflec- 
 tion, patted the fringe of brown hair on her 
 forehead with her separated five fingers as if 
 playing an imaginary tune on her brow, and 
 came back with maidenly abstraction to the 
 doorway. 
 
 Everything was quiet, and her seclusion 
 seemed unbroken. A smile played for an 
 instant in the soft shadows of her eyes and 
 mouth as she recalled the abrupt withdrawal 
 of the men. Then her mouth straightened 
 and her brows slightly bent. It was cer- 
 tainly very unmannerly in them to go off in 
 that way. " Good heavens ! could n't they 
 have stayed around without talking ? Surely 
 it did n't require four men to go and bring 
 up that wagon ! " She picked up her par- 
 asol from the bench with an impatient little 
 jerk. Then she held out her ungloved hand 
 into the hot sunshine beyond the door with 
 the gesture she would have used had it been 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 141 
 
 raining, and withdrew it as quickly her 
 hand quite scorched in the burning rays. 
 Nevertheless, after another impatient pause 
 she desperately put up her parasol and 
 stepped from the shanty. 
 
 Presently she was conscious of a faint 
 sound of hammering not far away. Perhaps 
 there was another shed, but hidden, like 
 everything else, in this monotonous, ridicu- 
 lous grain. Some stalks, however, were trod- 
 den down and broken around the shanty ; 
 she could move more easily and see where 
 she was going. To her delight, a few steps 
 further brought her into a current of the 
 trade-wind and a cooler atmosphere. And 
 a short distance beyond them, certainly, 
 was the shed from which the hammering 
 proceeded. She approached it boldly. 
 
 It was simply a roof upheld by rude up- 
 rights and crossbeams, and open to the breeze 
 that swept through it. At one end was a 
 small blacksmith's forge, some machinery, 
 and what appeared to be part of a small 
 steam-engine. Midway of the shed was a 
 closet or cupboard fastened with a large pad- 
 lock. Occupying its whole length on the 
 other side was a work-bench, and at the fur- 
 ther end stood the workman she had heard. 
 
142 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 He was apparently only a year or two 
 older than herself, and clad in blue jean 
 overalls, blackened and smeared with oil and 
 coal-dust. Even his youthful face, which he 
 turned towards her, had a black smudge 
 running across it and almost obliterating a 
 small auburn moustache. The look of sur- 
 prise that he gave her, however, quickly 
 passed ; he remained patiently and in a half- 
 preoccupied way, holding his hammer in his 
 hand, as she advanced. This was evidently 
 the young fellow who could "do anything 
 that could be done with wood and iron." 
 
 She was very sorry to disturb him, but 
 could he tell her how long it would be be- 
 fore the wagon could be brought up and 
 mended ? He could not say that until he 
 himself saw what was to be done ; if it was 
 only a matter of the wheel he could fix it up 
 in a few moments ; if, as he had been told, 
 it was a case of twisted or bent axle, it 
 would take longer, but it would be here very 
 soon. Ah, then, would he let her wait here, 
 as she was very anxious to know at once, and 
 it was much cooler than in the shed ? Cer- 
 tainly ; he would go over and bring her a 
 bench. But here she begged he would n't 
 trouble himself, she could sit anywhere com- 
 fortably. 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 143 
 
 The lower end of the work-bench was cov- 
 ered with clean and odorous shavings; she 
 lightly brushed them aside and, with a youth- 
 ful movement, swung herself to a seat upon 
 it, supporting herself on one hand as she 
 leaned towards him. She could thus see 
 that his eyes were of a light-yellowish brown, 
 like clarified honey, with a singular look of 
 clear concentration in them, which, however, 
 was the same whether turned upon his work, 
 the surrounding grain, or upon her. This, 
 and his sublime unconsciousness of the 
 smudge across his face and his blackened 
 hands, made her wonder if the man who 
 could do everything with wood and iron was 
 above doing anything with water. She had 
 half a mind to tell him of it, particularly as 
 she noticed also that his throat below the 
 line of sunburn disclosed by his open collar 
 was quite white, and his grimy hands well 
 made. She was wondering whether he 
 would be affronted if she said in her politest 
 way, " I beg your pardon, but do you know 
 you have quite accidentally got something 
 on your face," and offer her handkerchief, 
 which, of course, he would decline, when her 
 eye fell on the steam-engine. 
 
 " How odd ! Do you use that on the 
 farm?" 
 
144 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 " No," he smiled here, the smudge ac- 
 centing it and setting off his white teeth in 
 a Christy Minstrel fashion that exasperated 
 her no, although it could be used, and had 
 been. But it was his first effort, made two 
 years ago, when he was younger and more 
 inexperienced. It was a rather rough thing, 
 she could see but he had to make it at 
 odd times with what iron he could pick up 
 or pay for, and at different forges where he 
 worked. 
 
 She begged his pardon where 
 
 WTiere he worked. 
 
 Ah, then he was the machinist or en- 
 gineer here ? 
 
 No, he worked here just like the others, 
 only he was allowed to put up a forge while 
 the grain was green, and have his bench in 
 consideration of the odd jobs he could do in 
 the way of mending tools, etc. There was a 
 heap of mending and welding to do she 
 had no idea how quickly agricultural ma- 
 chines got out of order ! He had done much 
 of his work on the steam-engine on moonlit 
 nights. Yes ; she had no idea how perfectly 
 clear and light it was here in the valley on 
 such nights ; although of course the shadows 
 were very dark, and when he dropped a 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 145 
 
 screw or a nut it was difficult to find. He 
 had worked there because it saved time and 
 because it did n't cost anything, and he had 
 nobody to look on or interfere with him. 
 No, it was not lonely ; the coyotes and wild 
 cats sometimes came very near, but were al- 
 ways more surprised and frightened than he 
 was ; and once a horseman who had strayed 
 off the distant road yonder mistook him for 
 an animal and shot at him twice. 
 
 He told all this with such freedom from 
 embarrassment and with such apparent un- 
 consciousness of the blue eyes that were fol- 
 lowing him, and the light, graceful figure, 
 which was so near his own that in some of 
 his gestures his grimy hands almost touched 
 its delicate garments, that, accustomed as 
 she was to a certain masculine aberration in 
 her presence, she was greatly amused by his 
 nai've acceptance of her as an equal. Sud- 
 denly, looking frankly in her face, he said : 
 
 "I'll show you a secret, if you care to 
 see it." 
 
 Nothing would please her more. 
 
 He glanced hurriedly around, took a key 
 from his pocket, and unlocked the padlock 
 that secured the closet she had noticed. 
 Then, reaching within, with infinite care he 
 brought out a small mechanical model. 
 
146 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 " There 's an invention of my own. A 
 reaper and thresher combined. I 'm going 
 to have it patented and have a big one made 
 from this model. This will work, as you 
 see." 
 
 He then explained to her with great pre- 
 cision how as it moved over the field the 
 double operation was performed by the same 
 motive power. That it would be a saving 
 of a certain amount of labor and time which 
 she could not remember. She did not un- 
 derstand a word of his explanations ; she saw 
 only a clean and pretty but complicated toy 
 that under the manipulation of his grimy 
 fingers rattled a number of frail-like staves 
 and worked a number of wheels and drums, 
 yet there was no indication of her ignorance 
 in her sparkling eyes and smiling, breathless 
 attitude. Perhaps she was interested in his 
 own absorption ; the revelation of his pre- 
 occupation with this model struck her as if 
 he had made her a confidante of some boy- 
 ish passion for one of her own sex, and she 
 regarded him with the same sympathizing 
 superiority. 
 
 " You will make a fortune out of it," she 
 said pleasantly. 
 
 Well, he might make enough to be able 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 147 
 
 to go on with some other inventions he had 
 in his mind. They cost money and time, no 
 matter how careful one was. 
 
 This was another interesting revelation to 
 the young girl. He not only did not seem 
 to care for the profit his devotion brought 
 him, but even his one beloved ideal might 
 be displaced by another. So like a man, 
 after all ! 
 
 Her reflections were broken upon by the 
 sound of voices. The young man carefully 
 replaced the model in its closet with a part- 
 ing glance as if he was closing a shrine, and 
 said, " There comes the wagon." The young 
 girl turned to face the men who were drag- 
 ging it from the road, with the half -compla- 
 cent air of having been victorious over their 
 late rude abandonment, but they did not 
 seem to notice it or to be surprised at her 
 companion, who quickly stepped forward and 
 examined the broken vehicle with workman- 
 like deliberation. 
 
 " I hope you will be able to do something 
 with it," she said sweetly, appealing directly 
 to him. " I should thank you so much." 
 
 He did not reply. Presently he looked 
 up to the man who had brought her to the 
 shanty, and said, " The axle 's strained, but 
 
148 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 it 's safe for five or six miles more of this 
 road. I '11 put the wheel on easily." He 
 paused, and without glancing at her, contin- 
 ued, " You might send her on by the cart." 
 
 "Pray don't trouble yourselves," inter- 
 rupted the young girl, with a pink uprising 
 in her cheeks ; " I shall be quite satisfied 
 with the buggy as it stands." Send her on 
 in the cart, indeed! Really, they were a 
 rude set all of them." 
 
 Without taking the slightest notice of her 
 remark, the man replied gravely to the young 
 mechanic, " Yes, but we ? 11 be wanting the 
 cart before it can get back from taking 
 her." 
 
 " Her " again. " I assure you the buggy 
 will serve perfectly well if this gentle- 
 man will only be kind enough to put on 
 the wheel again," she returned hotly. 
 
 The young mechanic at once set to work. 
 The young girl walked apart silently until the 
 wheel was restored to its axle. But to her 
 surprise a different horse was led forward to 
 be harnessed. 
 
 " We thought your horse was n't safe in 
 case of another accident," said the first man, 
 with the same smileless consideration. " This 
 one would n't cut up if he was harnessed to 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 149 
 
 an earthquake or a worse driver than you 've 
 got." 
 
 It occurred to her instantly that the more 
 obvious remedy of sending another driver 
 had been already discussed and rejected by 
 them. Yet, when her own driver appeared 
 a moment afterwards, she ascended to her 
 seat with some dignity and a slight increase 
 of color. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you all," she 
 said, without glancing at the young inventor. 
 
 " Don't mention it, miss." 
 
 " Good afternoon." 
 
 "Good afternoon." They all took off 
 their hats with the same formal gravity as 
 the horse moved forward, but turned back 
 to their work again before she was out of 
 the field. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE ranch of Major Randolph lay on a 
 rich falda of the Coast Range, and over- 
 looked the great wheat plains that the young 
 girl had just left. The house of wood and 
 adobe, buried to its first story in rose-trees 
 and passion vines, was large and commodi- 
 ous. Yet it contained only the major, his 
 wife, her son and daughter, and the few oc- 
 casional visitors from San Francisco whom 
 he entertained, and she tolerated. 
 
 For the major's household was not entirely 
 harmonious. While a young infantry sub- 
 altern at a Gulf station, he had been at- 
 tracted by the piquant foreign accent and 
 dramatic gestures of a French Creole widow, 
 and believing them, in the first flush of 
 his youthful passion more than an offset to 
 the encumbrance of her two children who; 
 with the memory of various marital infideli- 
 ties were all her late husband had left her 
 had proposed, been accepted, and promptly 
 married to her. Before he obtained his cap- 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 151 
 
 taincy, she had partly lost her accent, and 
 those dramatic gestures, which had accented 
 the passion of their brief courtship, began 
 to intensify domestic altercation and the 
 bursts of idle jealousy to which she was 
 subject. Whether she was revenging her- 
 self on her second husband for the faults of 
 her first is not known, but it was certain 
 that she brought an unhallowed knowledge 
 of the weaknesses, cheap cynicism, and van- 
 ity of a foreign predecessor, to sit in judg- 
 ment upon the simple-minded and chivalrous 
 American soldier who had succeeded him, 
 and who was, in fact, the most loyal of hus- 
 bands. The natural result of her skepticism 
 was an espionage and criticism of the wives 
 of the major's brother officers that com- 
 pelled a frequent change of quarters. When 
 to this was finally added a racial divergence 
 and antipathy, the public disparagement of 
 the customs and education of her female 
 colleagues, and the sudden insistence of a 
 foreign and French dominance in her house- 
 hold beyond any ordinary Creole justifica- 
 tion, Randolph, presumably to avoid later 
 international complications, resigned while 
 he was as yet a major. Luckily his latest 
 banishment to an extreme Western outpost 
 
152 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 had placed him in California during the 
 flood of a speculation epoch. He purchased 
 a valuable Spanish grant to three leagues of 
 land for little over a three months' pay. 
 Following that yearning which compels re- 
 tired ship-captains and rovers of all degrees 
 to buy a farm in their old days, the major, 
 professionally and socially inured to border 
 strife, sought surcease and Arcadian repose 
 in ranching. 
 
 It was here that Mrs. Randolph, late rel- 
 ict of the late Scipion L'Hommadieu, de- 
 voted herself to bringing up her children 
 after the extremest of French methods, and 
 in resurrecting a " de " from her own family 
 to give a distinct and aristocratic character 
 to their name. The " de Fontanges T Hom- 
 madieu " were, however, only known to their 
 neighbors, after the Western fashion, by 
 their stepfather's name, when they were 
 known at all which was seldom. For the 
 boy was unpleasantly conceited as a preco- 
 cious worldling, and the girl as unpleasantly 
 complacent in her role of ingenue. The 
 household was completely dominated by 
 Mrs. Randolph. A punctilious Catholic, 
 she attended all the functions of the adja- 
 cent mission, and the shadow of a black 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 153 
 
 soutane at twilight gliding through the wild 
 oat-fields behind the ranch had often been 
 mistaken for a coyote. The peace-loving 
 major did not object to a piety which, while 
 it left his own conscience free, imparted a 
 respectable religious air to his household, 
 and kept him from the equally distasteful 
 approaches of the Puritanism of his neigh- 
 bors, and was blissfully unconscious that he 
 was strengthening the antagonistic foreign 
 element in his family with an alien church. 
 
 Meantime, as the repaired buggy was 
 slowly making its way towards his house, 
 Major Randolph entered his wife's boudoir 
 with a letter which the San Francisco post 
 had just brought him. A look of embar- 
 rassment on his good-humored face strength- 
 ened the hard lines of hers ; she felt some 
 momentary weakness of her natural enemy, 
 and prepared to give battle. 
 
 " I 'm afraid here 's something of a mud- 
 dle, Josephine," he began with a deprecating 
 smile. " Mallory, who was coining down 
 here with his daughter, you know " 
 
 " This is the first intimation I have had 
 that anything has been settled upon," inter- 
 rupted the lady, with appalling deliberation. 
 
 " However, my dear, you know I told you 
 
154 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 last week that he thought of bringing her 
 here while he went South on business. You 
 know, being a widower, he has no one to leave 
 her with." 
 
 " And I suppose it is the American fash- 
 ion to intrust one's daughters to any old 
 boon companions ? " 
 
 " Mallory is an old friend," interrupted 
 the major, impatiently. " He knows I 'm 
 married, and although he has never seen 
 you, he is quite willing to leave his daughter 
 here." 
 
 " Thank you ! " 
 
 " Come, you know what I mean. The 
 man naturally believes that my wife will be 
 a proper chaperone for his daughter. But 
 that is not the present question. He in- 
 tended to call here ; I expected to take you 
 over to San Jose to see her and all that, you 
 know; but the fact of it is that is it 
 seems from this letter that he 's been called 
 away sooner than he expected, and that 
 well hang it I the girl is actually on her 
 way here now." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 "I suppose so. You know one thinks 
 nothing of that here." 
 
 " Or any other propriety, for that matter." 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 155 
 
 "For heaven's sake, Josephine, don't be 
 ridiculous ! Of course it 's stupid her com- 
 ing in this way, and Mallory ought to have 
 brought her but she 's coming, and we 
 must receive her. By Jove ! Here she is 
 now ! " he added, starting up after a hurried 
 glance through the window. " But what 
 kind of a d d turn-out is that, anyhow ? " 
 
 It certainly was an odd-looking convey- 
 ance that had entered the gates, and was 
 now slowly coming up the drive towards the 
 house. A large draught horse harnessed to 
 a dust-covered buggy, whose strained fore- 
 axle, bent by the last mile of heavy road, 
 had slanted the tops of the fore-wheels 
 towards each other at an alarming angle. 
 The light, graceful dress and elegant parasol 
 of the young girl, who occupied half of its 
 single seat, looked ludicrously pronounced by 
 the side of the slouching figure and grimy 
 duster of the driver, who occupied the other 
 half. 
 
 Mrs. Randolph gave a gritty laugh. " I 
 thought you said she was alone. Is that an 
 escort she has picked up, American fashion, 
 on the road ? " 
 
 "That's her hired driver, no doubt. 
 Hang it ! she can't drive here by herself," 
 
156 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 retorted the major, impatiently, hurrying to 
 the door and down the staircase. But he 
 was instantly followed by his wife. She had 
 no idea of permitting a possible understand- 
 ing to be exchanged in their first greeting. 
 The late M. 1'Hommadieu had been able to 
 impart a whole plan of intrigue in a single 
 word and glance. 
 
 Happily, Rose Mallory, already in the hall, 
 in a few words detailed the accident that had 
 befallen her, to the honest sympathy of the 
 major and the coldly-polite concern of Mrs. 
 Randolph, who, in deliberately chosen sen- 
 tences, managed to convey to the young girl 
 the conviction that accidents of any kind to 
 young ladies were to be regarded as only 
 a shade removed from indiscretions. Rose 
 was impressed, and even flattered, by the 
 fastidiousness of this foreign-appearing wo- 
 man, and after the fashion of youthful na- 
 tures, accorded to her the respect due to 
 recognized authority. When to this author- 
 ity, which was evident, she added a deprecia- 
 tion of the major, I fear that some common 
 instinct of feminine tyranny responded in 
 Rose's breast, and that on the very threshold 
 of the honest soldier's home she tacitly agreed 
 with the wife to look down upon him, Mrs, 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 157 
 
 Randolph departed to inform her son and 
 daughter of their guest's arrival. As a mat- 
 ter of fact, however, they had already ob- 
 serve 1 her approach to the house through the 
 slits of their drawn window-blinds, and those 
 even narrower prejudices and limited com- 
 prehensions which their education had fos- 
 tered. The girl, Adele, had only grasped 
 the fact that Rose had come to their house 
 in fine clothes, alone with a man, in a broken- 
 down vehicle, and was moved to easy mirth 
 and righteous wonder. The young man, 
 Emile, had agreed with her, with the mental 
 reservation that the guest was pretty, and 
 must eventually fall in love with him. They 
 both, however, welcomed her with a trained 
 politeness and a superficial attention that, 
 while the indifference of her own country- 
 men in the wheat-field was still fresh in her 
 recollection, struck her with grateful con- 
 trast ; the major's quiet and unobtrusive 
 kindliness naturally made less impression, or 
 was accepted as a matter of course. 
 
 " Well," said the major, cheerfully but 
 tentatively, to his wife when they were alone 
 again, " she seems a nice girl, after all ; and 
 a good deal of pluck and character, by Jove ! 
 to push on in that broken buggy rather than 
 linger or come in a farm cart, eh ? " 
 
158 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 " She was alone in that wheat-field," said 
 Mrs. Randolph, with grim deliberation, " for 
 half an hour ; she confesses it herself talk- 
 ing with a young man ! " 
 
 " Yes, but the others had gone for the 
 buggy. And, in the name of Heaven, what 
 would you have her do hide herself in the 
 grain ? " said the major, desperately. " Be- 
 sides," he added, with a recklessness he af- 
 terwards regretted, " that mechanical chap 
 they've got there is really intelligent and 
 worth talking to." 
 
 " I have no doubt she thought so," said 
 Mrs. Randolph, with a mirthless smile. " In 
 fact, I have observed that the American 
 freedom generally means doing what you 
 want to do. Indeed, I wonder she did n't 
 bring him with her ! Only I beg, major, 
 that you will not again, in the presence of 
 my daughter, and I may even say, of my 
 son, talk lightly of the solitary meetings 
 of young ladies with mechanics, even though 
 their faces were smutty, and their clothes 
 covered with oil." 
 
 The major here muttered something about 
 there being less danger in a young lady 
 listening to the intelligence of a coarsely- 
 dressed laborer than to the compliments of 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 159 
 
 a rose-scented fop, but Mrs. Kandolph walked 
 out of the room before he finished the evi- 
 dent platitude. 
 
 That night Rose Mallory retired to her 
 room in a state of self-satisfaction that she 
 even felt was to a certain extent a virtue. 
 She was delighted with her reception and 
 with her hostess and family. It was strange 
 her father had not spoken more of Mrs. 
 Randolph, who was clearly the superior of 
 his old friend. What fine manners they all 
 had, so different from other people she had 
 known ! There was quite an Old World civi- 
 lization about them ; really, it was like going 
 abroad ! She would make the most of her 
 opportunity and profit by her visit. She 
 would begin by improving her French ; they 
 spoke it perfectly, and with such a pure ac- 
 cent. She would correct certain errors she 
 was conscious of in her own manners, and 
 copy Mrs. Randolph as much as possible. 
 Certainly, there was a great deal to be said 
 of Mrs. Randolph's way of looking at things. 
 Now she thought of it calmly, there was too 
 much informality and freedom in American 
 ways! There was not enough respect due 
 to position and circumstances. Take those 
 men in the wheat-field, for example. Yet 
 
160 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 here she found it difficult to formulate an 
 indictment against them for " freedom." She 
 would like to go there some day with the 
 Randolphs and let them see what company 
 manners were ! She was thoroughly con- 
 vinced now that her father had done wrong 
 in sending her alone ; it certainly was most 
 disrespectful to them and careless of him 
 (she had quite forgotten that she had herself 
 proposed to her father to go alone rather 
 than wait at the hotel), and she must have 
 looked very ridiculous in her fine clothes and 
 the broken-down buggy. When her trunk 
 came by express to-morrow she would look 
 out something more sober. She must re- 
 member that she was in a Catholic and reli- 
 gious household now. Ah, yes ! how very 
 fine it was to see that priest at dinner in his 
 soutane, sitting down like one of the family, 
 and making them all seem like a picture of 
 some historical and aristocratic romance ! 
 And then they were actually " de Fontanges 
 V Hommadieu" How different he was from 
 that shabby Methodist minister who used to 
 come to see her father in a black cravat with 
 a hideous bow ! Really there was something 
 to say for a religion that contained so much 
 picturesque refinement ; and for her part 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 161 
 
 but that will do. I beg to say that I am 
 not writing of any particular snob or femi- 
 nine monstrosity, but of a very charming 
 creature, who was quite able to say her 
 prayers afterwards like a good girl, and lay 
 her pretty cheek upon her pillow without a 
 blush. 
 
 She opened her window and looked out. 
 The moon, a great silver dome, was uplift- 
 ing itself from a bluish-gray level, which she 
 knew was the distant plain of wheat. Some- 
 where in its midst appeared a dull star, at 
 times brightening as if blown upon or drawn 
 upwai'ds in a comet-like trail. By some odd 
 instinct she felt that it was the solitary forge 
 of the young inventor, and pictured him 
 standing before it with his abstracted hazel 
 eyes and a face more begrimed in the moon- 
 light than ever. When did he wash him- 
 self ? Perhaps not until Sunday. How 
 lonely it must be out there ! She slightly 
 shivered and turned from the window. As 
 she did so, it seemed to her that something 
 knocked against her door from without. 
 Opening it quickly, she was almost certain 
 that the sound of a rustling skirt retreated 
 along the passage. It was very late ; per- 
 haps she had disturbed the house by shut- 
 
162 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 ting her window. No doubt it was the mo- 
 therly interest of Mrs. Randolph that im- 
 pelled her to come softly and look after her ; 
 and for once her simple surmises were cor- 
 rect. For not only the inspecting eyes of 
 her hostess, but the amatory glances of the 
 youthful Emile, had been fastened upon her 
 window until the light disappeared, and even 
 the Holy Mission Church of San Jose had 
 assured itself of the dear child's safety with 
 a large and supple ear at her keyhole. 
 
 The next morning Major Randolph took 
 her with Adele in a light cariole over the 
 ranch. Although his domain was nearly as 
 large as the adjoining wheat plain, it was 
 not, like that, monopolized by one enormous 
 characteristic yield, but embraced a more 
 diversified product. There were acres and 
 acres of potatoes in rows of endless and 
 varying succession ; there were miles of wild 
 oats and barley, which overtopped them as 
 they drove in narrow lanes of dry and dusty 
 monotony ; there were orchards of pears, 
 apricots, peaches, and nectarines, and vine- 
 yards of grapes, so comparatively dwarfed 
 in height that they scarcely reached to the 
 level of their eyes, yet laden and breaking 
 beneath the weight of their ludicrously dis- 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 163 
 
 proportionate fruit. What seemed to be a 
 vast green plateau covered with tiny patches, 
 that headed the northern edge of the pros- 
 pect, was an enormous bed of strawberry 
 plants. But everywhere, crossing the track, 
 bounding the fields, orchards, and vineyards, 
 intersecting the paths of the whole domain, 
 were narrow irrigating ducts and channels 
 of running water. 
 
 " Those," said the major, poetically, " are 
 the veins and arteries of the ranch. Come 
 with me now, and I '11 show you its pulsa- 
 ting heart." Descending from the wagon 
 into pedestrian prose again, he led Rose a 
 hundred yards further to a shed that covered 
 a wonderful artesian well. In the centre of 
 a basin a column of water rose regularly 
 with the even flow and volume of a brook. 
 " It is one of the largest in the State," said 
 the major, " and is the life of all that grows 
 here during six months of the year." 
 
 Pleased as the young girl was with those 
 evidences of the prosperity and position of 
 her host, she was struck, however, with the 
 fact that the farm-laborers, wine-growers, 
 nurserymen, and all field hands scattered on 
 the vast estate were apparently of the same 
 independent, unpastoral, and unprofessional 
 
164 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 character as the men of the wheat -field. 
 There were no cottages or farm buildings 
 that she could see, nor any apparent connec- 
 tion between the household and the estate ; 
 far from suggesting tenantry or retainers, 
 the men who were working in the fields 
 glanced at them as they passed with the 
 indifference of strangers, or replied to the 
 major's greetings or questionings with per- 
 fect equality of manner, or even business- 
 like reserve and caution. Her host explained 
 that the ranch was worked by a company 
 " on shares ; " that those laborers were, in 
 fact, the bulk of the company ; and that he, 
 the major, only furnished the land, the seed, 
 and the implements. " That man who was 
 driving the long roller, and with whom you 
 were indignant because he would n't get out 
 of our way, is the president of the com- 
 pany." 
 
 " That need n't make him so uncivil," said 
 Rose, poutingly, " for if it comes to that 
 you 're the landlord" she added trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 "No," said the major, good-humoredly. 
 " I am simply the man driving the lighter 
 and more easily-managed team for pleasure, 
 and he 's the man driving the heavier and 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 165 
 
 more difficult machine for work. It 's for 
 me to get out of his way ; and looked at in 
 the light of my being the landlord it is still 
 worse, for as we 're working ' on shares ' 
 I 'm interrupting his work, and reducing his 
 profits merely because I choose to sacrifice 
 my own." 
 
 I need not say that those atrociously level- 
 ing sentiments were received by the young 
 ladies with that feminine scorn which is 
 only qualified by misconception. Rose, who, 
 under the influence of her hostess, had a 
 vague impression that they sounded some- 
 thing like the French Revolution, and that 
 Adele must feel like the Princess Elizabeth, 
 rushed to her relief like a good girl. " But, 
 major, now, you 're a gentleman, and if you 
 had been driving that roller, you know you 
 would have turned out for us." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said the major, 
 mischievously ; " but if I had, I should have 
 known that the other fellow who accepted it 
 was n't a gentleman." 
 
 But Rose, having sufficiently shown her 
 partisanship in the discussion, after the fem- 
 inine fashion, did not care particularly for 
 the logical result. After a moment's silence 
 she resumed : " And the wheat ranch below 
 is that carried on in the same way? " 
 
166 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 " Yes. But their landlord is a bank, who 
 advances not only the land, but the money 
 to work it, and does n't ride around in a 
 buggy with a couple of charmingly distract- 
 ing young ladies." 
 
 " And do they all share alike ? " continued 
 Rose, ignoring the pleasantry, " big and lit- 
 tle that young inventor with the rest ? " 
 
 She stopped. She felt the ingenue's usu- 
 ally complacent eyes suddenly fixed upon 
 her with an unhallowed precocity, and as 
 quickly withdrawn. Without knowing why, 
 she felt embarrassed, and changed the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 The next day they drove to the Convent 
 of Santa Clara and the Mission College of 
 San Jose. Their welcome at both places 
 seemed to Rose to be a mingling of caste 
 greeting and spiritual zeal, and the austere 
 seclusion and reserve of those cloisters re- 
 peated that suggestion of an Old World civi- 
 lization that had already fascinated the young 
 Western girl. They made other excursions 
 in the vicinity, but did not extend it to a 
 visit to their few neighbors. With their re- 
 served and exclusive ideas this fact did not 
 strike Rose as peculiar, but on a later shop- 
 ping expedition to the town of San Jose, a 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 167 
 
 certain reticence and aggressive sensitiveness 
 on the part of the shopkeepers and trades- 
 people towards the Randolphs produced an 
 unpleasant impression on her mind. She 
 could not help noticing, too, that after the 
 first stare of astonishment which greeted 
 her appearance with her hostess, she herself 
 was included in the antagonism. With her 
 youthful prepossession for her friends, this 
 distinction she regarded as flattering and 
 aristocratic, and I fear she accented it still 
 more by discussing with Mrs. Randolph the 
 merits of the shopkeepers' wares in school- 
 girl French before them. She was unfor- 
 tunate enough, however, to do this in the 
 shop of a polyglot German. 
 
 "Oxcoos me, mees," he said gravely, 
 "but dot lady speeks Engeleesh so goot mit 
 yourselluf , and ven you dells to her dot silk 
 is hallf gotten in English, she onderstand 
 you mooch better, and it don't make nodings 
 to me." The laugh which would have fol- 
 lowed from her own countrywomen did not, 
 however, break upon the trained faces of the 
 " de Fontanges V Hommadieus" yet while 
 Rose would have joined in it, albeit a little 
 ruefully, she felt for the first time mortified 
 at their civil insincerity. 
 
168 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 At the end of two weeks, Major Randolph 
 received a letter from Mr. Mallory. When 
 he had read it, he turned to his wife : " He 
 thanks you," he said, " for your kindness to 
 his daughter, and explains that his sudden 
 departure was owing to the necessity of his 
 taking advantage of a great opportunity for 
 speculation that had offered." As Mrs. 
 Randolph turned away with a slight shrug 
 of the shoulders, the major continued : " But 
 you have n't heard all ! That opportunity 
 was the securing of a half interest in a Cin- 
 nabar lode in Sonora, which has already 
 gone up a hundred thousand dollars in his 
 hands ! By Jove ! a man can afford to drop 
 a little social ceremony on those terms eh, 
 Josephine ? " he concluded with a triumphant 
 chuckle. 
 
 " He 's as likely to lose his hundred thou- 
 sand to-morrow, while his manners will re- 
 main." said Mrs. Randolph. " I 've no faith 
 in these sudden California fortunes ! " 
 
 " You 're wrong as regards Mallory, for 
 he 's as careful as he is lucky. He don't 
 throw money away for appearance sake, or 
 he 'd have a rich home for that daughter. 
 He could afford it." 
 
 Mrs. Randolph was silent. " She is his 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 169 
 
 only daughter, I believe," she continued pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " Yes he has no other kith or kin," re- 
 turned the major. 
 
 " She seems to be very much impressed by 
 Emile," said Mrs. Randolph. 
 
 Major Randolph faced his wife quickly. 
 
 " In the name of all that 's ridiculous, my 
 dear, you are not already thinking of" he 
 gasped. 
 
 " I should be very loth to give my sanc- 
 tion to anything of the kind, knowing the 
 difference of her birth, education, and reli- 
 gion, although the latter I believe she 
 would readily change," said Mrs. Randolph, 
 severely. " But when you speak of my al- 
 ready thinking of 4 such things,' do you sup- 
 pose that your friend, Mr. Mallory, did n't 
 consider all that when he sent that girl 
 here?" 
 
 "Never," said the major, vehemently, 
 " and if it entered his head now, by Jove, 
 he 'd take her away to-morrow always 
 supposing I did n't anticipate him by send- 
 ing her off myself." 
 
 Mrs. Randolph uttered her mirthless 
 laugh. " And you suppose the girl would 
 go? Really, major, you don't seem to 
 
170 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 understand this boasted liberty of your own 
 countrywoman. What does she care for her 
 father's control ? Why, she 'd make him do 
 just what she wanted. But," she added with 
 an expression of dignity, " perhaps we had 
 better not discuss this until we know some- 
 thing of Emile's feelings in the matter. 
 That is the only question that concerns us." 
 With this she swept out of the room, leav- 
 ing the major at first speechless with honest 
 indignation, and then after the fashion of 
 all guileless natures, a little uneasy and sus- 
 picious of his own guilelessness. For a day 
 or two after, he found himself, not without 
 a sensation of meanness, watching Rose 
 when in Emile's presence, but he could dis- 
 tinguish nothing more than the frank satis- 
 faction she showed equally to the others. 
 Yet he found himself regretting even that, 
 so subtle was the contagion of his wife's sus- 
 picions. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 IT had been a warm morning ; an unusual 
 mist, which the sun had not dissipated, had 
 crept on from the great grain-fields beyond, 
 and hung around the house charged with a 
 dry, dusty closeness that seemed to be quite 
 independent of the sun's rays, and more like 
 a heated exhalation or emanation of the soil 
 itself. In its acrid irritation Rose thought 
 she could detect the breath of the wheat as 
 on the day she had plunged into its pale, 
 green shadows. By the afternoon this mist 
 had disappeared, apparently in the same 
 mysterious manner, but not scattered by the 
 usual trade-wind, which another unusual 
 circumstance that day was not forthcom- 
 ing. There was a breathlessness in the air 
 like the hush of listening expectancy, which 
 filled the young girl with a vague restless- 
 ness, and seemed to even affect a scattered 
 company of crows in the field beyond the 
 house, which rose suddenly with startled but 
 aimless wings, and then dropped vacantly 
 among the grain again. 
 
172 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 Major Randolph was inspecting a distant 
 part of the ranch, Mrs. Randolph was pre- 
 sumably engaged in her boudoir, and Rose 
 was sitting between Adele and Emile before 
 the piano in the drawing-room, listlessly turn- 
 ing over the leaves of some music. There 
 had been an odd mingling of eagerness and 
 abstraction in the usual attentions of the 
 young man that morning, and a certain ner- 
 vous affectation in his manner of twisting 
 the ends of a small black moustache, which 
 resembled his mother's eyebrows, that had 
 affected Rose with a half -amused, half -uneasy 
 consciousness, but which she had, however, 
 referred to the restlessness produced by the 
 weather. It occurred to her also that the 
 vacuously amiable Adele had once or twice 
 regarded her with the same precocious, child- 
 like curiosity and infantine cunning she had 
 once before exhibited. All this did not, 
 however, abate her admiration for both 
 perhaps particularly for this picturesquely 
 gentlemanly young fellow, with his gentle 
 audacities of compliment, his caressing at- 
 tentions, and his unfailing and equal address. 
 And when, discovering that she had mislaid 
 her fan for the fifth time that morning, he 
 started up with equal and undiminished fire 
 
THROUGH THE SA&TA CLARA WHEAT. 173 
 
 to go again and fetch it, the look of grateful 
 pleasure and pleading perplexity in her 
 pretty eyes might have turned a less con- 
 ceited brain than his. 
 
 " But you don't know where it is ! " 
 
 " I shall find it by instinct." 
 
 " You are spoiling me you two." The 
 parenthesis was a hesitating addition, but she 
 continued, with fresh sincerity, " I shall be 
 quite helpless when I leave here if I am 
 ever able to go by myself." 
 
 " Don't ever go, then." 
 
 " But just now I want my fan ; it is so 
 close everywhere to-day." 
 
 " I fly, mademoiselle." 
 
 He started to the door. 
 
 She called after him : 
 
 " Let me help your instinct, then ; I had 
 it last in the major's study." 
 
 " That was where I was going." 
 
 He disappeared. Rose got up and mo\ ed 
 uneasily towards the window. " How queer 
 and quiet it looks outside. It 's really too 
 bad that he should be sent after that fan 
 again. He '11 never find it." She resumed 
 her place at the piano, Adele following her 
 with round, expectant eyes. After a pause 
 she started up again. " I '11 go and fetch it 
 
174 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 myself," she said, with, a half -embarrassed 
 laugh, and ran to the door. 
 
 Scarcely understanding her own nervous- 
 ness, but finding relief in rapid movement, 
 Rose flew lightly up the staircase. The 
 major's study, where she had been writing 
 letters, during his absence, that morning, 
 was at the further end of a long passage, 
 and near her own bedroom, the door of 
 which, as she passed, she noticed, half- 
 abstractedly, was open, but she continued 
 on and hurriedly entered the study. At the 
 same moment Emile, with a smile on his 
 face, turned towards her with the fan in his 
 hand. 
 
 " Oh, you Ve found it," she said, with 
 nervous eagerness. " I was so afraid you 'd 
 have all your trouble for nothing." 
 
 She extended her hand, with a half -breath- 
 less smile, for the fan, but he caught her 
 outstretched little palm in his own, and held 
 it. 
 
 " Ah ! but you are not going to leave us, 
 are you?" 
 
 In a flash of consciousness she understood 
 him, and, as it seemed to her, her own ner- 
 vousness, and all, and everything. And 
 with it came a swift appreciation of all it 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 175 
 
 meant to her and her future. To be always 
 with him and like him, a part of this refined 
 and restful seclusion akin to all that had 
 so attracted her in this house ; not to be 
 obliged to educate herself up to it, but to 
 be in it on equal terms at once; to know 
 that it was no wild, foolish youthful fancy, 
 but a wise, thoughtful, and prudent resolve, 
 that her father would understand and her 
 friends respect : these were the thoughts that 
 crowded quickly upon her, more like an ex- 
 planation of her feelings than a revelation, 
 in the brief second that he held her hand. 
 It was not, perhaps, love as she had dreamed 
 it, and even believed it, before. She was 
 not ashamed or embarrassed ; she even felt, 
 with a slight pride, that she was not blush- 
 ing. She raised her eyes frankly. What 
 she would have said she did not know, for 
 the door, which he had closed behind her, 
 began to shake violently. 
 
 It was not the fear of some angry intru- 
 sion or interference surely that made him 
 drop her hand instantly. It was not her 
 second thought the idea that some one 
 had fallen in a fit against it that blanched 
 his face with abject and unreasoning terror ! 
 It must have been something else that 
 
176 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 caused him to utter an inarticulate cry and 
 dash out of the room and down the stairs 
 like a madman ! What had happened ? 
 
 In her own self-possession she knew that 
 all this was passing rapidly, that it was not 
 the door now that was still shaking, for it 
 had swung almost shut again but it was 
 the windows, the book-shelves, the floor be- 
 neath her feet, that were all shaking. She 
 heard a hurried scrambling, the trampling 
 of feet below, and the quick rustling of a 
 skirt in the passage, as if some one had 
 precipitately fled from her room. Yet no 
 one had called to her even he had said 
 nothing. Whatever had happened they 
 clearly had not cared for her to know. 
 
 The jarring and rattling ceased as sud- 
 denly, but the house seemed silent and 
 empty. She moved to the door, which had 
 now swung open a few inches, but to her as- 
 tonishment it was fixed in that position, and 
 she could not pass. As yet she had been 
 free from any personal fear, and even now 
 it was with a half smile at her imprisonment 
 in the major's study, that she rang the bell 
 and turned to the window. A man, whom 
 she recognized as one of the ranch laborers, 
 was standing a hundred feet away in the 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 177 
 
 garden, looking curiously at the house. He 
 saw her face as she tried to raise the sash, 
 uttered an exclamation, and ran forward. 
 But before she could understand what he 
 said, the sash began to rattle in her hand, 
 the jarring recommenced, the floor shook 
 beneath her feet, a hideous sound of grind- 
 ing seemed to come from the walls, a thin 
 seam of dust-like smoke broke from the ceil- 
 ing, and with the noise of falling plaster a 
 dozen books followed each other from the 
 shelves, in what in the frantic hurry of that 
 moment seemed a grimly deliberate succes- 
 sion ; a picture hanging against the wall, to 
 her dazed wonder, swung forward, and ap- 
 peared to stand at right angles from it ; she 
 felt herself reeling against the furniture ; a 
 deadly nausea overtook her ; as she glanced 
 despairingly towards the window, the out- 
 lying fields beyond the garden seemed to be 
 undulating like a sea. For the first time 
 she raised her voice, not in fear, but in a 
 pathetic little cry of apology for her awk- 
 wardness in tumbling about and not being 
 able to grapple this new experience, and 
 then she found herself near the door, which 
 had once more swung free. She grasped it 
 eagerly, and darted out of the stud}' into the 
 
178 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 deserted passage. Here some instinct made 
 her follow the line of the wall, rather than 
 the shaking balusters of the corridor and 
 staircase, but before she reached the bottom 
 she heard a shout, and the farm laborer she 
 had seen coming towards her seized her by 
 the arm, dragged her to the open doorway 
 of the drawing-room, and halted beneath its 
 arch in the wall. Another thrill, but lighter 
 than before, passed through the building, 
 then all was still again. 
 
 " It 's over ; I reckon that 's all just now," 
 said the man, coolly. " It 's quite safe to 
 cut and run for the garden now, through 
 this window." He half led, half lifted her 
 through the French window to the veranda 
 and the ground, and locking her arm in his, 
 ran quickly forward a hundred feet from the 
 house, stopping at last beneath a large post 
 oak where there was a rustic seat into which 
 she sank. " You 're safe now, I reckon," 
 he said grimly. 
 
 She looked towards the house ; the sun 
 was shining brightly ; a cool breeze seemed 
 to have sprung up as they ran. She could 
 see a quantity of rubbish lying on the roof 
 from which a dozen yards of zinc gutter were 
 perilously hanging ; the broken shafts of the 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 179 
 
 further cluster of chimneys, a pile of bricks 
 scattered upon the ground and among the 
 battered down beams of the end of the 
 veranda but that was all. She lifted her 
 now whitened face to the man, and with the 
 apologetic smile still lingering on her lips, 
 asked : 
 
 " What does it all mean ? "What has hap- 
 pened ? " 
 
 The man stared at her. " D' ye mean to 
 say ye don't know? " 
 
 " How could I ? They must have all left 
 the house as soon as it began. I was talking 
 to to M. I'Hommadieu, and he suddenly 
 left." 
 
 The man brought his face angrily down 
 within an inch of her own. " D' ye mean to 
 say that them d d French half-breeds stam- 
 peded and left yer there alone ? " 
 
 She was still too much stupefied by the 
 reaction to fully comprehend his meaning, 
 and repeated feebly with her smile still 
 faintly lingering : " But you don't tell me 
 what it was ? " 
 
 " An earthquake," said the man, roughly, 
 " and if it had lasted ten seconds longer it 
 would have shook the whole shanty down 
 and left you under it. Yer kin tell that to 
 
180 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 them, if they don't know it, but from the 
 way they made tracks to the fields, I reckon 
 they did. They 're coming now." 
 
 Without another word he turned away 
 half surlily, half defiantly, passing scarce 
 fifty yards away Mrs. Randolph and her 
 daughter, who were hastening towards their 
 guest. 
 
 " Oh, here you are ! " said Mrs. Randolph, 
 with the nearest approach to effusion that 
 Rose had yet seen in her manner. " We 
 were wondering where you had run to, and 
 were getting quite concerned. Emile was 
 looking for you everywhere." 
 
 The recollection of his blank and abject 
 face, his vague outcry and blind fright, came 
 back to Rose with a shock that sent a flash 
 of sympathetic shame to her face. The 
 ingenious A dele noticed it, and dutifully 
 pinched her mother's arm. 
 
 " Emile ? " echoed Rose faintly " look- 
 ing for me?" 
 
 Mother and daughter exchanged glances. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Randolph, cheerfully, 
 " he says he started to run with you, but you 
 got ahead and slipped out of the garden door 
 or something of the kind," she added, 
 with the air of making light of Rose's girlish 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 181 
 
 fears. " You know one scarcely knows what 
 one does at such times, and it must have 
 been frightfully strange to you and he 's 
 been quite distracted, lest you should have 
 wandered away. Adele, run and tell him 
 Miss Mallory has been here under the oak 
 all the time." 
 
 Rose started and then fell hopelessly 
 back in her seat. Perhaps it was true ! 
 Perhaps he had not rushed off with that 
 awful face and without a word. Perhaps she 
 herself had been half-frightened out of her 
 reason. In the simple, weak kindness of 
 her nature it seemed less dreadful to believe 
 that the fault was partly her own. 
 
 " And you went back into the house to 
 look for us when all was over," said Mrs. 
 Randolph, fixing her black, beady, magnetic 
 eyes on Rose, " and that stupid yokel Zake 
 brought you out again. He need n't have 
 clutched your arm so closely, my dear, I 
 must speak to the major about his excessive 
 familiarity but I suppose I shall be told 
 that that is American freedom. I call it ' a 
 liberty.' " 
 
 It struck Rose that she had not even 
 thanked the man in the same flash that 
 she remembered something dreadful that he 
 
182 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 had said. She covered her face with her 
 hands and tried to recall herself. 
 
 Mrs. Randolph gently tapped her shoul- 
 der with a mixture of maternal philosophy 
 and discipline, and continued : " Of course, 
 it 's an upset and you 're confused still. 
 That 's nothing. They say, dear, it 's per- 
 fectly well known that no two people's recol- 
 lections of these things ever are the same. 
 It 's really ridiculous the contradictory sto- 
 ries one hears. Is n't it, Emile ? " 
 
 Rose felt that the young man had joined 
 them and was looking at her. In the fear 
 that she should still see some trace of the 
 startled, selfish animal in his face, she did 
 not dare to raise her eyes to his, but looked 
 at his mother. Mrs. Randolph was stand- 
 ing then, collected but impatient. 
 
 "It's all over now." said Emile, in his 
 usual voice, " and except the chimneys and 
 some fallen plaster there 's really no damage 
 done. But I 'm afraid they have caught it 
 pretty badly at the mission, and at San Fran- 
 cisco in those tall, flashy, rattle-trap build- 
 ings they 're putting up. I 've just sent off 
 one of the men for news." 
 
 Her father was in San Francisco by that 
 time ; and she had never thought of him ! 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 183 
 
 In her quick remorse she now forgot all else 
 and rose to her feet. 
 
 " I must telegraph to my father at once," 
 she said hurriedly ; " he is there." 
 
 " You had better wait until the messenger 
 returns and hear his news," said Emile. " If 
 the shock was only a slight one in San Fran- 
 cisco, your father might not understand you, 
 and would be alarmed." 
 
 She could see his face now there was no 
 record of the past expression upon it, but he 
 was watching her eagerly. Mrs. Randolph 
 and Adele had moved away to speak to the 
 servants. Emile drew nearer. 
 
 " You surely will not desert us now?" he 
 said in a low voice. 
 
 " Please don't," she said vaguely. " I 'in 
 so worried," and, pushing quickly past him, 
 she hurriedly rejoined the two women. 
 
 They were superintending the erection of 
 a long tent or marquee in the garden, hastily 
 extemporized from the awnings of the ve- 
 randa and other cloth. Mrs. Randolph ex- 
 plained that, although all danger was over, 
 there was the possibility of the recurrence of 
 lighter shocks during the day and night, and 
 that they would all feel much more secure 
 and comfortable to camp out for the next 
 twenty-four hours in the open air. 
 
184 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 " Only imagine you 're picnicking, and 
 you '11 enjoy it as most people usually enjoy 
 those horrid al fresco entertainments. I 
 don't believe there 's the slightest real neces- 
 sity for it, but," she added in a lower voice, 
 " the Irish and Chinese servants are so de- 
 moralized now, they would n't stay indoors 
 with us. It 's a common practice here, I be- 
 lieve, for a day or two after the shock, and 
 it gives time to put things right again and 
 clear up. The old, one- storied, Spanish houses 
 with walls three feet thick, and built" round 
 a courtyard or patio, were much safer. It 's 
 only when the Americans try to improve 
 upon the old order of things with their 
 pinchbeck shams and stucco that Providence 
 interferes like this to punish them." 
 
 It was the fact, however, that Rose was 
 more impressed by what seemed to her the 
 absolute indifference of Providence in the 
 matter, and the cool resumption by Nature 
 of her ordinary conditions. The sky above 
 their heads was as rigidly blue as ever, and 
 as smilingly monotonous ; the distant pros- 
 pect, with its clear, well-known silhouettes, 
 had not changed ; the crows swung on lazy, 
 deliberate wings over the grain as before ; 
 and the trade- wind was again blowing in its 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 185 
 
 quiet persistency. And yet she knew that 
 something had happened that would never 
 again make her enjoyment of the prospect the 
 same that nothing would ever be as it was 
 yesterday. I think at first she referred only 
 to the material and larger phenomena, and 
 did not confound this revelation of the inse- 
 curity of the universe with her experience 
 of man. Yet the fact also remained that 
 to the conservative, correct, and, as she be- 
 lieved, secure condition to which she had 
 been approximating, all her relations were 
 rudely shaken and upset. It really seemed 
 to this simple-minded young woman that the 
 revolutionary disturbance of settled condi- 
 tions might have as Providential an origin 
 as the " Divine Eight " of which she had 
 heard so much. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN her desire to be alone and to evade the 
 now significant attentions of Emile, she took 
 advantage of the bustle that followed the 
 hurried transfer of furniture and articles 
 from the house to escape through the garden 
 to the outlying fields. Striking into one of 
 the dusty lanes that she remembered, she 
 wandered on for half an hour until her pro- 
 gress and meditation were suddenly arrested. 
 She had come upon a long chasm or crack in 
 the soil, full twenty feet wide and as many 
 in depth, crossing her path at right angles. 
 She did not remember having seen it be- 
 fore ; the track of wheels went up to its pre- 
 cipitous edge ; she could see the track on 
 the other side, but the hiatus remained, un- 
 bridged and uncovered. It was not there 
 yesterday. She glanced right and left ; the 
 fissure seemed to extend, like a moat or 
 ditch, from the distant road to the upland 
 between her and the great wheat valley be- 
 low, from which she was shut off. An odd 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 187 
 
 sense of being in some way a prisoner con- 
 fronted her. She drew back with an impa- 
 tient start, and perhaps her first real sense 
 of indignation. A voice behind her, which 
 she at once recognized, scarcely restored her 
 calmness. 
 
 " You can't get across there, miss." 
 
 She turned. It was the young inventor 
 from the wheat ranch, on horseback and with 
 a clean face. He had just ridden out of the 
 grain on the same side of the chasm as her- 
 self. 
 
 "But you seem to have got over,'' she 
 said bluntly. 
 
 " Yes, but it was further up the field. I 
 reckoned that the split might be deeper but 
 not so broad in the rock outcrop over there 
 than in the adobe here. I found it so and 
 jumped it." 
 
 He looked as if he might alert, intelli- 
 gent, and self-contained. He lingered a mo- 
 ment, and then continued : 
 
 " I 'm afraid you must have been badly 
 shaken and a little frightened up there be- 
 fore the chimneys came down ? " 
 
 "No," she was glad to say briefly, and 
 she believed truthfully, " I was n't fright- 
 ened. I did n't even know it was an earth- 
 quake." 
 
188 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 " All ! " he reflected, " that was because 
 you were a stranger. It 's odd they 're 
 all like that. I suppose it 's because nobody 
 really expects or believes in the unlooked-for 
 thing, and yet that 's the thing that always 
 happens. And then, of course, that other 
 affair, which really is serious, startled you 
 the more." 
 
 She felt herself ridiculously and angrily 
 blushing. " I don't know what you mean," 
 she said icily. " What other affair ? " 
 
 " Why, the well." 
 
 " The well ? " she repeated vacantly. 
 
 "Yes; the artesian well has stopped. 
 Did n't the major tell you ? " 
 
 " No," said the girl. " He was away ; I 
 have n't seen him yet." 
 
 " Well, the flow of water has ceased com- 
 pletely. That 's what I 'm here for. The 
 major sent for me, and I 've been to exam- 
 ine it." 
 
 "And is that stoppage so very impor- 
 tant ? " she said dubiously. 
 
 It was his turn to look at her wonder- 
 ingly. 
 
 " If it 's lost entirely, it means ruin for 
 the ranch," he said sharply. He wheeled 
 his horse, nodded gravely, and trotted off. 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 189 
 
 Major Randolph's figure of the " life- 
 blood of the ranch " flashed across her sud- 
 denly. She knew nothing of irrigation or 
 the costly appliances by which the Califor- 
 nian agriculturist opposed the long summer 
 droughts. She only vaguely guessed that 
 the dreadful earthquake had struck at the 
 prosperity of those people whom only a few 
 hours ago she had been proud to call her 
 friends. The underlying goodness of her 
 nature was touched. Should she let a mo- 
 mentary fault if it were not really, after 
 all, only a misunderstanding rise between 
 her and them at such a moment? She 
 turned and hurried quickly towards the 
 house. 
 
 Hastening onward, she found time, how- 
 ever, to wonder also why these common men 
 she now included even the young inventor 
 in that category were all so rude and un- 
 civil to her! She had never before been 
 treated in this way ; she had always been 
 rather embarrassed by the admiring atten- 
 tions of young men (clerks and collegians) 
 in her Atlantic home, and of professional 
 men (merchants and stockbrokers) in San 
 Francisco. It was true that they were not 
 as continually devoted to her and to the nice 
 
190 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 art and etiquette of pleasing as Emile, 
 they had other things to think about, being 
 in business and not being gentlemen, but 
 then they were greatly superior to these 
 clowns, who took no notice of her, and rode 
 off without lingering or formal leave-taking 
 when their selfish affairs were concluded. 
 It must be the contact of the vulgar earth 
 this wretched, cracking, material, and yet 
 ungovernable and lawless earth that so 
 depraved them. She felt she would like to 
 say this to some one not her father, for he 
 would n't listen to her, nor to the major, 
 who would laughingly argue with her, but 
 to Mrs. Randolph, who would understand 
 her, and perhaps say it some day in her own 
 sharp, sneering way to these very clowns. 
 With those gentle sentiments irradiating her 
 blue eyes, and putting a pink flush upon her 
 fair cheeks, Rose reached the garden with 
 the intention of rushing sympathetically into 
 Mrs. Randolph's arms. But it suddenly oc- 
 curred to her that she would be obliged to 
 state how she became aware of this misfor- 
 tune, and with it came an instinctive aver- 
 sion to speak of her meeting with the inven- 
 tor. She would wait until Mrs. Randolph 
 told her. But although that lady was en- 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 191 
 
 gaged in a low-voiced discussion in French 
 with Emile and Adele, which instantly 
 ceased at her approach, there was no allu- 
 sion made to the new calamity. " You 
 need not telegraph to your father," she said 
 as Rose approached, "he has already tele- 
 graphed to you for news ; as you were out, 
 and the messenger was waiting an answer, 
 we opened the dispatch, and sent one, tell- 
 ing him that you were all right, and that he 
 need not hurry here on your account. So 
 you are satisfied, I hope." A few hours ago 
 this would have been true, and Rose would 
 have probably seen in the action of her host- 
 ess only a flattering motherly supervision ; 
 there was, in fact, still a lingering trace of 
 trust in her mind ; yet she was conscious 
 that she would have preferred to answer the 
 dispatch herself, and to have let her father 
 come. To a girl brought up with a belief 
 in the right of individual independence of 
 thought and action, there was something in 
 Mrs. Randolph's practical ignoring of that 
 right which startled her in spite of her new 
 conservatism, while, as the daughter of a 
 business man, her instincts revolted against 
 Mrs. Randolph's unbusinesslike action with 
 the telegram, however vulgar and unrefined 
 
192 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 she may have begun to consider a life of 
 business. The result was a certain con- 
 straint and embarrassment in her manner, 
 which, however, had the laudable effect of 
 limiting Emile's attention to significant 
 glances, and was no doubt variously inter- 
 preted by the others. But she satisfied her 
 conscience by determining to make a con- 
 fidence of her sympathy to the major on 
 the first opportunity. 
 
 This she presently found when the others 
 were preoccupied ; the major greeting her 
 with a somewhat careworn face, but a voice 
 whose habitual kindness was unchanged. 
 When he had condoled with her on the ter- 
 rifying phenomenon that had marred her 
 visit to the ranch, and she could not help 
 impatiently noticing that he too seemed to 
 have accepted his wife's theory that she had 
 been half deliriously frightened, he re- 
 gretted that her father had not concluded 
 to come down to the ranch, as his practical 
 advice would have been invaluable in this 
 emergency. She was about to eagerly ex- 
 plain why, when it occurred to her that Mrs. 
 Randolph had only given him a suppressed 
 version of the telegram, and that she would 
 be betraying her, or again taking sides in 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 193 
 
 this partisan divided home. With some 
 hesitation she at last alluded to the accident 
 to the artesian well. The major did not ask 
 her how she had heard of it ; it was a bad 
 business, he thought, but it might not be a 
 total loss. The water may have been only 
 diverted by the shock and might be found 
 again at the lower level, or in some lateral 
 fissure. He had sent hurriedly for Tom 
 Bent that clever young engineer at the 
 wheat ranch, who was always studying up 
 these things with his inventions and that 
 was his opinion. No, Tom was not a well- 
 digger, but it was generally known that he 
 had "located" one or two, and had long ago 
 advised the tapping of that flow by a second 
 boring, in case of just such an emergency. 
 He was coming again to-morrow. By the 
 way, he had asked how the young lady visi- 
 tor was, and hoped she had not been alarmed 
 by the earthquake ! 
 
 Rose felt herself again blushing, and, what 
 was more singular, with an unexpected and 
 it seemed to her ridiculous pleasure, although 
 outwardly she appeared to ignore the civility 
 completely. And she had no intention of 
 being so easily placated. If this young man 
 thought by mere perfunctory civilities to her 
 
194 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 host to make up for his clownishness to her, 
 he was mistaken. She would let him see it 
 when he called to-morrow. She quickly 
 turned the subject by assuring the major of 
 her sympathy and her intention of sending 
 for her father. For the rest of the after- 
 noon and during their al fresco dinner she 
 solved the difficulty of her strained relations 
 with Mrs. Randolph and Emile by convers- 
 ing chiefly with the major, tacitly avoiding, 
 however, any allusion to this Mr. Bent. 
 But Mrs. Randolph was less careful. 
 
 " You don't really mean to say, major," 
 she began in her dryest, grittiest manner, 
 " that instead of sending to San Francisco 
 for some skilled master-mechanic, you are 
 going to listen to the vagaries of a conceited, 
 half-educated farm-laborer, and employ him ? 
 You might as well call in some of those 
 wizards or water-witches at once." But the 
 major, like many other well-managed hus- 
 bands who are good-humoredly content to 
 suffer in the sunshine of prosperity, had no 
 idea of doing so in adversity, and the pros- 
 pect of being obliged to go back to youthful 
 struggles had recalled some of the indepen- 
 dence of that period. He looked up quietly, 
 and said : 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 195 
 
 " If his conclusions are as clear and satis- 
 factory to-morrow as they were to-day, I shall 
 certainly try to secure his services." 
 
 " Then I can only say I would prefer the 
 water- witch. He at least would not repre- 
 sent a class of neighbors who have made 
 themselves systematically uncivil and dis- 
 agreeable to us." 
 
 " I am afraid, Josephine, we have not 
 tried to make ourselves particularly agree- 
 able to them" said the major. 
 
 " If that can only be done by admitting 
 their equality, I prefer they should remain 
 uncivil. Only let it be understood, major, 
 that if you choose to take this Torn-the- 
 ploughboy to mend your well, you will at 
 least keep him there while he is on the 
 property." 
 
 With what retort the major would have 
 kept up this conjugal discussion, already be- 
 ginning to be awkward to the discreet visitor, 
 is not known, as it was suddenly stopped by 
 a bullet from the rosebud lips of the ingen- 
 uous Adele. 
 
 " Why, he 's very handsome when his face 
 is clean, and his hands are small and not at 
 all hard. And he does n't talk the least bit 
 queer or common." 
 
196 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 There was a dead silence. " And pray 
 where did you see him, and what do you 
 know about his hands?" asked Mrs. Ran- 
 dolph, in her most desiccated voice. " Or 
 has the major already presented you to him ? 
 I should n't be surprised." 
 
 " No, but " - hesitated the young girl, 
 with a certain mouse-like audacity, " when 
 you sent me to look after Miss Mallory, I 
 came up to him just after he had spoken to 
 her, and he stopped to ask me how we all 
 were, and if Miss Mallory was really fright- 
 ened by the earthquake, and he shook hands 
 for good afternoon that 's all." 
 
 " And who taught you to converse with 
 common strangers and shake hands with 
 them ? " continued Mrs. Randolph, with nar- 
 rowing lips. 
 
 " Nobody, mamma ; but I thought if Miss 
 Mallory, who is a young lady, could speak to 
 him, so could I, who am not out yet." 
 
 " We won't discuss this any further at 
 present," said Mrs. Randolph, stiffly, as the 
 major smiled grimly at Rose. " The earth- 
 quake seems to have shaken down in this 
 house more than the chimneys." 
 
 It certainly had shaken all power of sleep 
 from the eyes of Rose when the household 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 197 
 
 at last dispersed to lie down in their clothes 
 on the mattresses which had been arranged 
 under the awnings. She was continually 
 starting up from confused dreams of the 
 ground shaking under her, or she seemed to 
 be standing on the brink of some dreadful 
 abyss like the great chasm on the grain-field, 
 when it began to tremble and crumble be- 
 neath her feet. It was near morning when, 
 unable to endure it any longer, she managed 
 without disturbing the sleeping Adele, who 
 occupied the same curtained recess with her, 
 to slip out from the awning. Wrapped in a 
 thick shawl, she made her way through the 
 encompassing trees and bushes of the gar- 
 den that had seemed to imprison and suffo- 
 cate her, to the edge of the grain-field, where 
 she could breathe the fresh air beneath an 
 open, starlit sky. There was no moon and 
 the darkness favored her ; she had no fears 
 that weighed against the horror of seclusion 
 with her own fancies. Besides, they were 
 camping out of the house, and if she chose 
 to sit up or walk about, no one could think 
 it strange. She wished her father were here 
 that she might. have some one of her own 
 kin to talk to, yet she knew not what to say 
 to him if he had come. She wanted some- 
 
198 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 body to sympathize with her feelings, or 
 rather, perhaps, some one to combat and 
 even ridicule the uneasiness that had lately 
 come over her She knew what her father 
 would say, " Do you want to go, or do you 
 want to stay here ? Do you like these people, 
 or do you not ? " She remembered the one 
 or two glowing and enthusiastic accounts she 
 had written him of her visit here, and felt 
 herself blushing again. What would he 
 think of Mrs. Randolph's opening and an- 
 swering the telegram ? Would n't he find 
 out from the major if she had garbled the 
 sense of his dispatch ? 
 
 Away to the right, in the midst of the dis- 
 tant and invisible wheat-field, there was the 
 same intermittent star, which like a living, 
 breathing thing seemed to dilate in glowing 
 respiration, as she had seen it the first night 
 of her visit. Mr. Bent's forge ! It must 
 be nearly daylight now ; the poor fellow had 
 been up all night, or else was stealing this 
 early march on the day. She recalled 
 Adele's sudden eulogium of him. The first 
 natural smile that had come to her lips since 
 the earthquake broke up. her nervous re- 
 straint, and sent her back more like her old 
 self to her couch. 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 199 
 
 But she had not proceeded far towards the 
 tent, when she heard the sound of low voices 
 approaching her. It was the major and his 
 wife, who, like herself, had evidently been 
 unable to sleep, and were up betimes. A 
 new instinct of secretiveness, which she felt 
 was partly the effect of her artificial sur- 
 rounding, checked her first natural instinct 
 to call to them, and she drew back deeper in 
 the shadow to let them pass. But to her 
 great discomfiture the major in a conversa- 
 tional emphasis stopped directly in front of 
 her. 
 
 " You are wrong, I tell you, a thousand 
 times wrong. The girl is simply upset by 
 this earthquake. It 's a great pity her fa- 
 ther did n't come instead of telegraphing. 
 And by Jove, rather than hear any more of 
 this, I '11 send for him myself," said the 
 major, in an energetic but suppressed voice. 
 
 " And the girl won't thank you, and you '11 
 be a fool for your pains," returned Mrs. Ran- 
 dolph, with dry persistency. 
 
 " But according to your own ideas of pro- 
 priety, Mallory ought to be the first one to 
 be consulted and by me, too." 
 
 " Not in this case. Of course, before any 
 actual engagement is on, you can speak of 
 Emile's attentions." 
 
200 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 " But suppose Mallory has other views. 
 Suppose he declines the honor. The man is 
 no fool." 
 
 "Thank you. But for that very reason 
 he must. Listen to me, major; if he 
 does n't care to please his daughter for her 
 own sake, he will have to do so for the sake 
 of decency. Yes, I tell you, she has thor- 
 oughly compromised herself quite enough, 
 if it is ever known, to spoil any other en- 
 gagement her father may make. Why, ask 
 Adele ! The day of the earthquake she ab- 
 solutely had the audacity to send him out of 
 the room upstairs into your study for her 
 fan, and then follow him up there alone. 
 The servants knew it. I knew it, for I was 
 in her room at the time with Father Antonio. 
 The earthquake made it plain to everybody. 
 Decline it! No. Mr. Mallory will think 
 twice about it before he does that. What 's 
 that? Who's there?" 
 
 There was a sudden rustle in the bushes 
 like the passage of some frightened animal 
 and then all was still again. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE sun, an hour high, but only just 
 topping the greenish crests of the wheat, 
 was streaming like the morning breeze 
 through the open length of Tom Bent's 
 workshed. An exaggerated and prolonged 
 shadow of the young inventor himself at 
 work beside his bench was stretching itself 
 far into the broken-down ranks of stalks to- 
 wards the invisible road, and falling at the 
 very feet of Rose Mallory as she emerged 
 from them. 
 
 She was very pale, very quiet, and very 
 determined. The traveling mantle thrown 
 over her shoulders was dusty, the ribbons 
 that tied her hat under her round chin had 
 become unloosed. She advanced, walking 
 down the line of shadow directly towards 
 him. 
 
 " I am afraid I will have to trouble you 
 once more," she said with a faint smile, 
 which did not, however, reach her perplexed 
 eyes. " Could you give me any kind of a 
 
202 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 conveyance that would take me to San Jose 
 at once ? " 
 
 The young man had started at the rustling 
 of her dress in the shavings, and turned 
 eagerly. The faintest indication of a loss 
 of interest was visible for an instant in his 
 face, but it quickly passed into a smile of 
 recognition. Yet she felt that he had nei- 
 ther noticed any change in her appearance, 
 nor experienced any wonder at seeing her 
 there at that hour. 
 
 " I did not take a buggy from the house," 
 she went on quickly, " for I left early, and 
 did not want to disturb them. In fact, they 
 don't know that I am gone. I was worried 
 at not hearing news from my father in 
 San Francisco since the earthquake, and I 
 thought I would run down to San Jose to 
 inquire without putting them to any trouble. 
 Anything will do that you have ready, if I 
 can take it at once." 
 
 Still without exhibiting the least surprise, 
 Bent nodded affirmatively, put down his 
 tools, begged her to wait a moment, and ran 
 off in the direction of the cabin. As he dis- 
 appeared behind the wheat, she lapsed quite 
 suddenly against the work bench, but recov- 
 ered herself a moment later, leaning with 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 203 
 
 her back against it, her hands grasping it on 
 either side, and her knit brows and deter- 
 mined little face turned towards the road. 
 Then she stood erect again, shook the dust 
 out of her skirts, lifted her veil, wiped her 
 cheeks and brow with the corner of a small 
 handkerchief, and began walking up and 
 down the length of the shed as Bent reap- 
 peared. 
 
 He was accompanied by the man who had 
 first led her through the wheat. He gazed 
 upon her with apparently all the curiosity 
 and concern that the other had lacked. 
 
 " You want to get to San Jose as quick as 
 you can?" he said interrogatively. 
 
 " Yes," she said quickly, " if you can help 
 me." 
 
 " You walked all the way from the major's 
 here ? " he continued, without taking his 
 eyes from her face. 
 
 " Yes," she answered with an affectation 
 of carelessness she had not shown to Bent. 
 " But I started very early, it was cool and 
 pleasant, and did n't seem far." 
 
 " I '11 put you down in San Jose inside 
 the hour. You shall have my horse and 
 trotting sulky, and I '11 drive you myself. 
 Will that do?" 
 
204 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 She looked at him wonderingly. She had 
 not forgotten his previous restraint and grav- 
 ity, but now his face seemed to have relaxed 
 with some humorous satisfaction. She felt 
 herself coloring slightly, but whether with 
 shame or relief she could not tell. 
 
 " I shall be so much obliged to you," she 
 replied hesitatingly, " and so will my father, 
 I know." 
 
 " I reckon," said the man with the same 
 look of amused conjecture ; then, with a 
 quick, assuring nod, he turned away, and 
 dived into the wheat again. 
 
 "You 're all right now, Miss Mallory," 
 said Bent, complacently. " Dawson will fix 
 it. He 's got a good horse, and he 's a good 
 driver, too." He paused, and then added 
 pleasantly, " I suppose they 're all well up 
 at the house ? " 
 
 It was so evident that his remark carried 
 no personal meaning to herself that she was 
 obliged to answer carelessly, " Oh, yes." 
 
 " I suppose you see a good deal of Miss 
 Randolph Miss Adele, I think you call 
 her ? " he remarked tentatively, and with a 
 certain boyish enthusiasm, which she had 
 never conceived possible to his nature. 
 
 " Yes," she replied a little dryly, " she is 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 205 
 
 the only young lady there." She stopped, 
 remembering Adele's nai've description of 
 the man before her, and said abruptly, 
 " You know her, then ? " 
 
 " A little," replied the young man, mod- 
 estly. "I see her pretty often when I am 
 passing the upper end of the ranch. She 's 
 very well brought up, and her manners are 
 very refined don't you think so ? and 
 yet she 's just as simple and natural as a 
 country girl. There 's a great deal in edu- 
 cation after all, is n't there ? " he went on 
 confidentially, " and although " he low- 
 ered his voice and looked cautiously around 
 him "I believe that some of us here don't 
 fancy her mother much, there 's no doubt 
 that Mrs. Randolph knows how to bring up 
 her children. Some people think that kind 
 of education is all artificial, and don't be- 
 lieve in it, but /do ! " 
 
 With the consciousness that she was run- 
 ning away from these people and the shame- 
 ful disclosure she had heard last night 
 with the recollection of Adele's scandalous 
 interpretation of her most innocent actions 
 and her sudden and complete revulsion 
 against all that she had previously admired 
 in that household, to hear this man who had 
 
206 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 seemed to her a living protest against their 
 ideas and principles, now expressing them 
 and holding them up for emulation, almost 
 took her breath away. 
 
 " I suppose that means you intend to fix 
 Major Randolph's well for him ? " she said 
 dryly. 
 
 " Yes," he returned without noticing her 
 manner ,- " and I think I can find that water 
 again. I 've been studying it up all night, 
 and do you know what I'm going to do? 
 I am going to make the earthquake that lost 
 it help me to find it again." He paused, 
 and looked at her with a smile and a return 
 of his former enthusiasm. " Do you remem- 
 ber the crack in the adobe field that stopped 
 you yesterday ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the girl, with a slight shiver. 
 
 " I told you then that the same crack was 
 a split in the rock outcrop further up the 
 plain, and was deeper. I am satisfied now, 
 from what I have seen, that it is really a rup- 
 ture of the whole strata all the way down. 
 That 's the one weak point that the impris- 
 oned water is sure to find, and that 's where 
 the borer will tap it in the new well that 
 the earthquake itself has sunk." 
 
 It seemed to her now that she understood 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 207 
 
 his explanation perfectly, and she wondered 
 the more that he had been so mistaken in 
 his estimate of Adele. She turned away a 
 little impatiently and looked anxiously to- 
 wards the point where Dawson had disap- 
 peared. Bent followed her eyes. 
 
 " He '11 be here in a moment, Miss Mai- 
 lory. He has to drive slowly through the 
 grain, but I hear the wheels." He stopped, 
 and his voice took up its previous note of 
 boyish hesitation. " By the way I '11 
 I '11 be going up to the Kancho this after- 
 noon to see the major. Have you any mes- 
 sage for Mrs. Randolph or for for Miss 
 Adele?" 
 
 44 No " - said Rose, hesitatingly, " and 
 and " 
 
 " I see," interrupted Bent, carelessly. 
 " You don't want anything said about your 
 coming here. I won't." 
 
 It struck her that he seemed to have no 
 ulterior meaning in the suggestion. But 
 before she could make any reply, Dawson 
 reappeared, driving a handsome mare har- 
 nessed to a light, spider-like vehicle. He 
 had also assumed, evidently in great haste, a 
 black frock coat buttoned over his waistcoat- 
 less and cravatless shirt, and a tall black hat 
 
208 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 that already seemed to be cracking in the 
 sunlight. He drove up, at once assisted her 
 to the narrow perch beside him, and with a 
 nod to Bent drove off. His breathless ex- 
 pedition relieved the leave-taking of these 
 young people of any ceremony. 
 
 " I suppose," said Mr. Dawson, giving a 
 half glance over his shoulder as they struck 
 into the dusty highway, "I suppose you 
 don't care to see anybody before you get to 
 San Jose ? " 
 
 " No-o-o," said Rose, timidly. 
 "And I reckon you wouldn't mind my 
 racin' a bit if anybody kern up ? " 
 "No." 
 
 " The mare 's sort o' fastidious about tak- 
 in' anybody's dust." 
 
 " Is she ? " said Rose, with a faint smile. 
 " Awful," responded her companion ; " and 
 the queerest thing of all is, she can't bear to 
 have any one behind her, either." 
 
 He leaned forward with his expression of 
 humorous enjoyment of some latent joke and 
 did something with the reins Rose never 
 could clearly understand what, though it 
 seemed to her that he simply lifted them 
 with ostentatious lightness; but the mare 
 suddenly seemed to lengthen herself and lose 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 209 
 
 her height, and the stalks of wheat on either 
 side of the dusty track began to melt into 
 each other, and then slipped like a flash 
 into one long, continuous, shimmering green 
 hedge. So perfect was the mare's action 
 that the girl was scarcely conscious of any 
 increased effort ; so harmonious the whole 
 movement that the light skeleton wagon 
 seemed only a prolonged process of that long, 
 slim body and free, collarless neck, both 
 straight as the thin shafts on each side and 
 straighter than the delicate ribbon-like traces 
 which, in what seemed a mere affectation of 
 conscious power, hung at times almost limp 
 between the whiffie-tree and the narrow breast 
 band which was all that confined the an- 
 imal's powerful fore-quarters. So superb 
 was the reach of its long easy stride that 
 Rose could scarcely see any undulations in 
 the brown shining back on which she could 
 have placed her foot, nor felt the soft beat 
 of the delicate hoofs that took the dust so 
 firmly and yet so lightly. 
 
 The rapidity of motion which kept them 
 both with heads bent forward and seemed to 
 force back any utterance that rose to their 
 lips spared Rose the obligation of conversa- 
 tion, and her companion was equally reti- 
 
210 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 cent. But it was evident to her that he half 
 suspected she was running away from the 
 Randolphs, and that she wished to avoid the 
 embarrassment of being overtaken even in 
 persuasive pursuit. It was not possible that 
 he knew the cause of her flight, and yet she 
 could not account for his evident desire to 
 befriend her, nor, above all, for his appar- 
 ently humorous enjoyment of the situation. 
 Had he taken it gravely, she might have 
 been tempted to partly confide in him and 
 ask his advice. Was she doing right, after 
 all? Ought she not to have stayed long 
 enough to speak her mind to Mrs. Randolph 
 and demand to be sent home ? No ! She 
 had not only shrunk from repeating the in- 
 famous slander she had overheard, but she 
 had a terrible fear that if she had done so, 
 Mrs. Randolph was capable of denying it, or 
 even charging her of being still under the 
 influence of the earthquake shock and of 
 walking in her sleep. No ! She could not 
 trust her she could trust no one there. 
 Had not even the major listened to those in- 
 famous lies? Had she not seen that he was 
 helpless in the hands of this cabal in his own 
 household? a cabal that she herself had 
 thoughtlessly joined against him. 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 211 
 
 They had reached the first slight ascent. 
 Her companion drew out his watch, looked 
 at it with satisfaction, and changed the posi- 
 tion of his hands on the reins. Without 
 being able to detect the difference, she felt 
 they were slackening speed. She turned in- 
 quiringly towards him ; he nodded his head, 
 with a half smile and a gesture to her to 
 look ahead. The spires of San Jose were 
 already faintly uplifting from the distant 
 fringe of oaks. 
 
 So soon ! In fifteen minutes she would 
 be there and then ! She remembered 
 suddenly she had not yet determined what 
 to do. Should she go on at once to San 
 Francisco, or telegraph to her father and 
 await him at San Jose ? In either case a 
 new fear of the precipitancy of her action 
 and the inadequacy of her reasons had 
 sprung up in her mind. Would her father 
 understand her? Would he underrate the 
 cause and be mortified at the insult she had 
 given the family of his old friend, or, more 
 dreadful still, would he exaggerate her 
 wrongs and seek a personal quarrel with the 
 major. He was a man of quick temper, and 
 had the Western ideas of redress. Perhaps 
 even now she was precipitating a duel be- 
 
212 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 tween them. Her cheeks grew wan again, 
 her breath came quickly, tears gathered in 
 her eyes. Oh, she was a dreadful girl, she 
 knew it ; she was an utterly miserable one, 
 and she knew that too ! 
 
 The reins were tightened. The pace les- 
 sened and at last fell to a walk. Conscious 
 of her telltale eyes and troubled face, she 
 dared not turn to her companion to ask him 
 why, but glanced across the fields. 
 
 " When you first came I did n't get to 
 know your name, Miss Mallory, but I reckon 
 I know your father." 
 
 Her father ! What made him say that ? 
 She wanted to speak, but she felt she could 
 not. In another moment, if he went on, she 
 must do something she would cry ! 
 
 " I reckon you '11 be wanting to go to the 
 hotel first, anyway ? " 
 
 There ! she knew it ! He would keep 
 on ! And now she had burst into tears. 
 
 The mare was still walking slowly; the 
 man was lazily bending forward over the 
 shafts as if nothing had occurred. Then 
 suddenly, illogically, and without a mo- 
 ment's warning, the pride that had sustained 
 her crumbled and became as the dust of the 
 road. 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 213 
 
 She burst out and told him this stran- 
 ger ! this man she had disliked ! all and 
 everything. How she had felt, how she had 
 been deceived, and what she had overheard ! 
 
 " I thought as much," said her companion, 
 quietly, " and that 's why I sent for your 
 father." 
 
 " You sent for my father ! when ? 
 where ? " echoed Rose, in astonishment. 
 
 " Yesterday. He was to come to-day, and 
 if we don't find him at the hotel it will be 
 because he has already started to come here 
 by the upper and longer road. But you 
 leave it to me, and don't you say anything 
 to him of this now. If he 's at the hotel, I ? 11 
 say I drove you down there to show off the 
 mare. Sabe ? If he is n't, I '11 leave you 
 there and come back here to find him. I 've 
 got something to tell him that will set you 
 all right." He smiled grimly, lifted the 
 reins, the mare started forward again, and 
 the vehicle and its occupants disappeared in 
 a vanishing dust cloud. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IT was nearly noon when Mr. Dawson fin- 
 ished rubbing down his sweating mare in 
 the little stable shed among the wheat. He 
 had left Rose at the hotel, for they found 
 Mr. Mallory had previously started by a cir- 
 cuitous route for the wheat ranch. He had 
 resumed not only his working clothes but 
 his working expression. He was now super- 
 intending the unloading of a wain of stores 
 and implements when the light carryall of 
 the Randolphs rolled into the field. It con- 
 tained only Mrs. Randolph and the driver. 
 A slight look of intelligence passed between 
 the latter and the. nearest one of Dawson's 
 companions, succeeded, however, by a dull 
 look of stupid vacancy on the faces of all the 
 others, including Dawson. Mrs. Randolph 
 noticed it, and was forewarned. She re- 
 flected that no human beings ever looked 
 naturally as stupid as that and were able to 
 work. She smiled sarcastically, and then 
 began with dry distinctness and narrowing 
 lips. 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 215 
 
 " Miss Mallory, a young lady visiting us, 
 went out for an early walk this morning and 
 has not returned. It is possible she may 
 have lost her way among your wheat. Have 
 you seen anything of her? " 
 
 Dawson raised his eyes from his work and 
 glanced slowly around at his companions, as 
 if taking the heavy sense of the assembly. 
 One or two shook their heads mechanically, 
 and returned to their suspended labor. He 
 said, coolly : 
 
 " Nobody here seems to." 
 
 She felt that they were lying. She was 
 only a woman against five men. She was 
 only a petty domestic tyrant ; she might 
 have been a larger one. But she had all the 
 courage of that possibility. 
 
 " Major Randolph and my son are away," 
 she went on, drawing herself erect. " But 
 I know that the major will pay liberally if 
 these men will search the field, besides mak- 
 ing it all right with your employers for 
 the loss of time." 
 
 Dawson uttered a single word in a low 
 voice to the man nearest him, who appar- 
 ently communicated it to the others, for the 
 four men stopped unloading, and moved 
 away one after the other even the driver 
 
216 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 joining in the exodus. Mrs. Randolph 
 smiled sarcastically ; it was plain that these 
 people, with all their boasted independence, 
 were quite amenable to pecuniary considera- 
 tions. Nevertheless, as Dawson remained 
 looking quietly at her, she said : 
 
 " Then I suppose they 've concluded to go 
 and see ? " 
 
 " No ; I 've sent them away so that they 
 could n't hear." 
 
 "Hear what?" 
 
 " What I 've got to say to you." 
 
 She looked at him suddenly. Then she 
 said, with a disdainful glance around her: 
 " I see I am helpless here, and thanks to 
 your trickery alone. Have a care, sir ; I 
 warn you that you will have to answer to 
 Major Randolph for any insolence." 
 
 "I reckon you won't tell Major Randolph 
 what I have to say to you," he returned 
 coolly. 
 
 Her lips were nearly a grayish hue, but 
 she said scornfully : " And why not ? Do 
 you know who you are talking to ? " 
 
 The man came lazily forward to the carry- 
 all, carelessly brushed aside the slack reins, 
 and resting his elbows on the horse's back, 
 laid his chin on his hands, as he looked up 
 in the woman's face. 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 217 
 
 "Yes; /know who I'm talking to," he 
 said coolly. " But as the major don't, I 
 reckon you won't tell him." 
 
 " Stand away from that horse ! " she said, 
 her whole face taking the grayish color of 
 her lips, but her black eyes growing smaller 
 and brighter. " Hand me those reins, and 
 let me pass ! What canaille are you to stop 
 me?" 
 
 " I thought so," returned the man, with- 
 out altering his position ; " you don't know 
 me. You never saw me before. Well, I 'm 
 Jim Dawson, the nephew of L'Hommadieu, 
 your old master ! " 
 
 She gripped the irdn rail of the seat as if 
 to leap from it, but checked herself suddenly 
 and leaned back, with a set smile on her 
 rnouth that seemed stamped there. It was 
 remarkable that with that smile she flung 
 away her old affectation of superciliousness 
 for an older and ruder audacity, and that 
 not only the expression, but the type of her 
 face appeared to have changed. 
 
 " I don't say," continued the man quietly, 
 " that he did n't marry you before he died. 
 But you know as well as I do that the laws 
 of his State did n't recognize the marriage 
 of a master with his octoroon slave ! And 
 
218 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 you know as well as I do that even if he had 
 freed you, he could n't change your blood. 
 Why, if I 'd been willing to stay at Avo- 
 yelles to be a nigger-driver like him, the 
 plantation of ' de Fontanges ' whose name 
 you have taken would have been left to 
 me. If you had stayed there, you might 
 have been my property instead of your own- 
 ing a square man like Randolph. You 
 did n't think of that when you came here, 
 did you?" he said composedly. 
 
 " OA, mon Dieu ! " she said, dropping 
 rapidly into a different accent, with her 
 white teeth and fixed mirthless smile, " so it 
 is a claim for property, eh ? You 're want- 
 ing money you ? Tres bien, you forget 
 we are in California, where one does not 
 own a slave. And you have a fine story 
 there, my poor friend. Very pretty, but 
 very hard to prove, m 'sieu. And these 
 peasants are in it, eh, working it on shares 
 like the farm, eh ? " 
 
 "Well," said Dawson, slightly changing 
 his position, and passing his hand over the 
 horse's neck with a half -wearied contempt, 
 " one of these men is from Plaquemine, and 
 the other from Coupee. They know all the 
 1'Hommadieus' history. And they know a 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 219 
 
 streak of the tar brush when they see it.* 
 They took your measure when they came 
 here last year, and sized you up fairly. So 
 had I, for the matter of that, when I first 
 saw you. And we compared notes. But 
 the major is a square man, for all he is your 
 husband, and we reckoned he had a big 
 enough contract on his hands to take caro 
 of you and l'Hommadieu's half-breeds, and 
 so " he tossed the reins contemptuously 
 aside " we kept this to ourselves." 
 " And now you want what eh ? " 
 " We want an end to this foolery," he 
 broke out roughly, stepping back from the 
 vehicle, and facing her suddenly, with his 
 first angry gesture. " We want an end to 
 these airs and grimaces, and all this dandy 
 nigger business; we want an end to this 
 1 cake - walking ' through the wheat, and 
 flouting of the honest labor of your betters. 
 We want you and your ' de Fontanges ' to 
 climb down. And we want an end to this 
 roping-in of white folks to suit your little 
 game ; we want an end to your trying to 
 mix your nigger blood with any one here, 
 and we intend to stop it. We draw the line 
 at the major." 
 
 Lashed as she had been by those words 
 
220 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 apparently out of all semblance of her for- 
 mer social arrogance, a lower and more stub- 
 born resistance seemed to have sprung up in 
 her, as she sat sideways, watching him with 
 her set smile arid contracting eyes. 
 
 " Ah," she said dryly, " so she is here. I 
 thought so. Which of you is it, eh ? It 's 
 a good spec Mallory 's a rich man. She 's 
 not particular." 
 
 The man had stopped as if listening, his 
 head turned towards the road. Then he 
 turned carelessly, and facing her again, 
 waved his hand with a gesture of tired dis- 
 missal, and said, " Go ! You '11 find your 
 driver over there by the tool-shed. He has 
 heard nothing yet but I Ve given you fair 
 warning. Go ! " 
 
 He walked slowly back towards the shed, 
 as the woman, snatching up the reins, drove 
 violently off in the direction where the men 
 had disappeared. But she turned aside, 
 ignoring her waiting driver in her wild and 
 reckless abandonment of all her old conven- 
 tional attitudes, and lashing her horse for- 
 ward with the same set smile on her face, the 
 same odd relaxation of figure, and the same 
 squaring of her elbows. 
 
 Avoiding the main road, she pushed into 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 221 
 
 a narrow track that intersected another 
 nearer the scene of the accident to Rose's 
 buggy three weeks before. She had nearly 
 passed it when she was hailed by a strange 
 voice, and looking up, perceived a horseman 
 floundering in the mazes of the wheat to one 
 side of the track. Whatever mean thought 
 of her past life she was flying from, what- 
 ever mean purpose she was flying to, she 
 pulled up suddenly, and as suddenly re- 
 sumed her erect, aggressive stiffness. The 
 stranger was a middle-aged man ; in dress 
 and appearance a dweller of cities. He 
 lifted his hat as he perceived the occupant 
 of the wagon to be a lady. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, but I fear I 've lost 
 my way in trying to make a short cut to the 
 Excelsior Company's Ranch." 
 
 " You are in it now," said Mrs. Randolph, 
 quickly. 
 
 " Thank you, but where can I find the 
 farmhouse ? " 
 
 " There is none," she returned, with her 
 old superciliousness, " unless you choose to 
 give that name to the shanties and sheds 
 where the laborers and servants live, near 
 the road." 
 
 The stranger looked puzzled. " I 'm look- 
 
222 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 ing for a Mr. Dawson," he said reflectively, 
 " but I may have made some mistake. Do 
 you know Major Randolph's house here- 
 abouts ? " 
 
 " I do. I am Mrs. Randolph/' she said 
 stiffly. 
 
 The stranger's brow cleared, and he smiled 
 pleasantly. " Then this is a fortunate meet- 
 ing," he said, raising his hat again as he 
 reined in his horse beside the wagon, " for 
 I am Mr. Mallory, and I was looking for- 
 ward to the pleasure of presenting myself to 
 you an hour or two later. The fact is, an 
 old acquaintance, Mr. Dawson, telegraphed 
 me yesterday to meet him here on urgent 
 business, and I felt obliged to go there 
 first." 
 
 Mrs. Randolph's eyes sparkled with a 
 sudden gratified intelligence, but her manner 
 seemed rather to increase than abate its 
 grim precision. 
 
 " Our meeting this morning, Mr. Mallory, 
 is both fortunate and unfortunate, for I re- 
 gret to say that your daughter, who has not 
 been quite herself since the earthquake, was 
 missing early this morning and has not yet 
 been found, though we have searched every- 
 where. Understand me," she said, as the 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 223 
 
 stranger started, " I have no fear for her 
 personal safety, I am only concerned for 
 any indiscretion that she may commit in the 
 presence of these strangers whose company 
 she would seem to prefer to ours." 
 
 " But I don't understand you, madam,'* 
 said Mallory, sternly ; " you are speaking 
 of my daughter, and " 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Mallory," said Mrs. 
 Randolph, lifting her hand with her driest 
 deprecation and her most desiccating smile, 
 " I 'm not passing judgment or criticism. 
 I am of a foreign race, and consequently do 
 not understand the freedom of American 
 young ladies, and their familiarity with the 
 opposite sex. I make no charges, I only 
 wish to assure you that she will no doubt be 
 found in the company and under the protec- 
 tion of her own countrymen. There is," she 
 added with ironical distinctness, " a young 
 mechanic, or field hand, or 4 quack well- 
 doctor/ whom she seems to admire, and with 
 whom she appears to be on equal terms." 
 
 Mallory regarded her for a moment fix- 
 edly, arid then his sternness relaxed to a mis- 
 chievously complacent smile. " That must 
 be young Bent, of whom I 've heard," he 
 said with unabated cheerfulness. " And I 
 
224 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 don't know but what she may be with him, 
 after all. For now I think of it, a chuckle- 
 headed fellow, of whom a moment ago I in- 
 quired the way to your house, told me I 'd 
 better ask the young man and young woman 
 who were ' philandering through the wheat ' 
 yonder. Suppose we look for them. From 
 what I 've heard of Bent he 's too much 
 wrapped up in his inventions for flirtation, 
 but it would be a good joke to stumble upon 
 them." 
 
 Mrs. Randolph's eyes sparkled with a 
 mingling of gratified malice and undisguised 
 contempt for the fatuous father beside her. 
 But before she could accept or decline the 
 challenge, it had become useless. A mur- 
 mur of youthful voices struck her ear, and 
 she suddenly stood upright and transfixed in 
 the carriage. For lounging down slowly 
 towards them out of the dim green aisles of 
 the arbored wheat, lost in themselves and 
 the shimmering veil of their seclusion, came 
 the engineer, Thomas Bent, and on his arm, 
 gazing ingenuously into his face, the figure 
 of Adele, her own perfect daughter. 
 
 " I don't think, my dear," said Mr. Mai- 
 lory, as the anxious Rose flew into his arms 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 225 
 
 on his return to San Jose, a few hours later, 
 " that it will be necessary for you to go back 
 again to Major Randolph's before we leave. 
 I have said ' Good-by ' for you and thanked 
 them, and your trunks are packed and will 
 be sent here. The fact is, my dear, you see 
 this affair of the earthquake and the disaster 
 to the artesian well have upset all their ar- 
 rangements, and I am afraid that my little 
 girl would be only in their way just now." 
 
 " And you have seen Mr. Dawson and 
 you know why he sent for you ? " asked the 
 young girl, with nervous eagerness. 
 
 " Ah, yes," said Mr. Mallory thoughtfully, 
 " that was really important. You see, my 
 child," he continued, taking her hand in one 
 of his own and patting the back of it gently 
 with the other, " we think, Dawson and I, 
 of taking over the major's ranch and incor- 
 porating it with the Excelsior in one, to be 
 worked 011 shares like the Excelsior ; and as 
 Mrs. Randolph is very anxious to return to 
 the Atlantic States with her children, it is 
 quite possible. Mrs. Randolph, as you have 
 possibly noticed," Mr. Mallory went on, still 
 patting his daughter's hand, " does not feel 
 entirely at home here, and will consequently 
 leave the major free to rearrange, by himself, 
 
226 THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 
 
 the ranch on the new basis. In fact, as the 
 change must be made before the crops come 
 in, she talks of going next week. But if you 
 like the place, Rose, I 've no doubt the major 
 and Dawson will always find room for you 
 and me when we run down there for a little 
 fresh air." 
 
 " And did you have all that in your mind, 
 papa, when you came down here, and was 
 that what you and Mr. Dawson wanted to 
 talk about? " said the astonished Rose. 
 
 " Mainly, my dear, mainly. You see I 'm 
 a capitalist now, and the real value of capital 
 is to know how and when to apply it to cer- 
 tain conditions." 
 
 " And this Mr. Mr. Bent do you 
 think he will go on and find the water, 
 papa?" said Rose, hesitatingly. 
 
 "Ah! Bent Tom Bent oh, yes," said 
 Mallory, with great heartiness. " Capital 
 fellow, Bent ! and mighty ingenious ! Glad 
 you met him ! Well," thoughtfully but still 
 heartily, " he may not find it exactly where 
 he expected, but he '11 find it or something 
 better. We can't part with him, and he has 
 promised Dawson to stay. We 11 utilize 
 Awn, you may be sure." 
 
 It would seem that they did, and from cer- 
 
THROUGH THE SANTA CLARA WHEAT. 227 
 
 tain interviews and conversations that took 
 place between Mr. Bent and Miss Mallory 
 on a later visit, it would also appear that 
 her father had exercised a discreet reticence 
 in regard to a certain experiment of the 
 young inventor, of which he had been an 
 accidental witness. 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC 
 SLOPE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 As Mr. Robert Rushbrook, known to an 
 imaginative press as the " Mascenas of the 
 Pacific Slope," drove up to his country seat, 
 equally referred to as a " palatial villa," he 
 cast a quick but practical look at the pillared 
 pretensions of that enormous shell of wood 
 and paint and plaster. The statement, also 
 a reportorial one, that its site, the Canon of 
 Los Osos, " some three years ago was dis- 
 turbed only by the passing tread of bear and 
 wild-cat," had lost some of its freshness as a 
 picturesque apology, and already successive 
 improvements on the original building seem- 
 ingly cast the older part of the structure 
 back to a hoary antiquity. To many it 
 stood as a symbol of everything Robert 
 Rushbrook did or had done an improve- 
 ment of all previous performances ; it was 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 229 
 
 like his own life an exciting though irri- 
 tating state of transition to something better. 
 Yet the visible architectural result, as here 
 shown, was scarcely harmonious; indeed, 
 some of his friends and Maecenas had 
 many professed to classify the various im- 
 provements by the successive fortunate ven- 
 tures in their owner's financial career, which 
 had led to new additions, under the names 
 of "The Comstock Lode Period," "The 
 Union Pacific Kenaissance," "The Great 
 Wheat Corner," and " Water Front Gable 
 Style," a humorous trifling that did not, 
 however, prevent a few who were artists 
 from accepting MaBcenas's liberal compensa- 
 tion for their services in giving shape to 
 those ideas. 
 
 Kelinquishing to a groom his fast-trotting 
 team, the second relay in his two hours' 
 drive from San Francisco, he leaped to the 
 ground to meet the architect, already await- 
 ing his orders in the courtyard. With his 
 eyes still fixed upon the irregular building 
 before him, he mingled his greeting and his 
 directions. 
 
 " Look here, Barker, we '11 have a wing 
 thrown out here, and a hundred-foot ball- 
 room. Something to hold a crowd ; some- 
 
230 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 thing that can be used for music sale ? 
 a concert, or a show." 
 
 "Have you thought of any style, Mr. 
 Rushbrook?" suggested the architect. 
 
 " No," said Kushbrook ; " I 've been think- 
 ing of the time thirty days, and every- 
 thing to be in. You '11 stop to dinner. I '11 
 have you sit near Jack Somers. You can 
 talk style to him. Say I told you." 
 
 " You wish it completed in thirty days ? " 
 repeated the architect, dubiously. 
 
 " Well, I should n't mind if it were less. 
 You can begin at once. There 's a telegraph 
 in the house. Patrick will take any message, 
 and you can send up to San Francisco and 
 fix things before dinner." 
 
 Before the man could reply, Rushbrook 
 was already giving a hurried interview to the 
 gardener and others on his way to the front 
 porch. In another moment he had entered 
 his own hall, a wonderful temple of white 
 and silver plaster, formal, yet friable like the 
 sugared erection of a wedding cake, where 
 his major-domo awaited him. 
 
 " Well, who 's here? " asked Rushbrook, 
 still advancing towards his apartments. 
 
 "Dinner is set for thirty, sir," said the 
 functionary, keeping step demurely with his 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 231 
 
 master, " but Mr. Appleby takes ten over to 
 San Mateo, and some may sleep there. The 
 char-Orbanc is still out and five saddle-horses, 
 to a picnic in Green Canon, and I can't pos- 
 itively say, but I should think you might 
 count on seeing about forty-five guests before 
 you go to town to-morrow. The opera troupe 
 seem to have not exactly understood the in- 
 vitation, sir." 
 
 " How ? I gave it myself." 
 
 " The chorus and supernumeraries thought 
 themselves invited too, sir, and have come, I 
 believe, sir. At least Signora Pegrelli and 
 Madame Denise said so, and that they would 
 speak to you about it, but that meantime I 
 could put them up anywhere." 
 
 " And you made no distinction, of course ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I put them in the corresponding 
 rooms opposite, sir. I don't think the prima 
 donnas like it." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Whatever was in their minds, the two 
 men never changed their steady, practical 
 gravity of manner. The major-domo's ap- 
 peared to be a subdued imitation of his mas- 
 ter's, worn, as he might have worn his 
 master's clothes, had he accepted, or Mr. 
 
232 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 Rushbrook permitted, such a degradation. 
 By this time they had reached the door of 
 Mr. Rushbrook's room, and the man paused. 
 " I did n't include some guests of Mr. Ley- 
 ton's, sir, that he brought over here to show 
 around the place, but he told me to tell you 
 he would take them away again, or leave 
 them, as you liked. They 're some Eastern 
 strangers stopping with him." 
 
 "All right," said Rushbrook, quietly, as 
 he entered his own apartment. It was dec- 
 orated as garishly as the hall, as staring and 
 vivid in color, but wholesomely new and 
 clean for all its paint, veneering, and plas- 
 ter. It was filled with heterogeneous splen- 
 dor all new and well kept, yet with so 
 much of the attitude of the show-room still 
 lingering about it that one almost expected 
 to see the various articles of furniture tick- 
 eted with their prices. A luxurious bed, 
 with satin hangings and Indian carved posts, 
 standing ostentatiously in a corner, kept up 
 this resemblance, for in a curtained recess 
 stood a worn camp bedstead, Rushbrook's 
 real couch, Spartan in its simplicity. 
 
 Mr. Rushbrook drew his watch from his 
 pocket, and deliberately divested himself of 
 his boots, coat, waistcoat, and cravat. Then 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 233 
 
 rolling himself in a fleecy, blanket-like rug 
 with something of the habitual dexterity of 
 a frontiersman, he threw himself on his 
 couch, closed his eyes, and went instantly to 
 sleep. Lying there, he appeared to be a 
 man comfortably middle-aged, with thick 
 iron-gray hair that might have curled had 
 he encouraged such inclination ; a skin 
 roughened and darkened by external hard- 
 ships and exposure, but free from taint of 
 inner vice or excess, and indistinctive fea- 
 tures redeemed by a singularly handsome 
 mouth. As the lower part of the face was 
 partly hidden by a dense but closely-cropped 
 beard, it is probable that the delicate out- 
 lines of his lips had gained something from 
 their framing. 
 
 He slept, through what seemed to be the 
 unnatural stillness of the large house, a 
 quiet that might have come from the linger- 
 ing influence of the still virgin solitude 
 around it, as if Nature had forgotten the 
 intrusion, or were stealthily retaking her 
 own; and later, through the rattle of re- 
 turning wheels or the sound of voices, which 
 were, however, promptly absorbed in that 
 deep and masterful silence which was the 
 unabdicating genius of the canon. For it 
 
234 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 was remarkable that even the various ar- 
 tists, musicians, orators, and poets whom 
 Maecenas had gathered in his cool business 
 fashion under that roof, all seemed to be- 
 come, by contrast with surrounding Nature, 
 as new and artificial as the house, and as 
 powerless to assert themselves against its 
 influence. 
 
 He was still sleeping when James re- 
 entered the room, but awoke promptly at 
 the sound of his voice. In a few moments 
 he had rearranged his scarcely disordered 
 toilette, and stepped out refreshed and ob- 
 servant into the hall. The guests were still 
 absent from that part of the building, and 
 he walked leisurely past the carelessly opened 
 doors of the rooms they had left. Every- 
 where he met the same glaring ornamenta- 
 tion and color, the same garishness of treat- 
 ment, the same inharmonious extravagance 
 of furniture, and everywhere the same trou- 
 bled acceptance of it by the inmates, or 
 the same sense of temporary and restricted 
 tenancy. Dresses were hung over eheval 
 glasses ; clothes piled up on chairs to avoid 
 the use of doubtful and over ornamented 
 wardrobes, and in some cases more practical 
 guests had apparently encamped in a corner 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 235 
 
 of their apartment. A gentleman from Sis- 
 kyou sole proprietor of a mill patent now 
 being considered by Maecenas had con- 
 fined himself to a rocking-chair and clothes- 
 horse as being trustworthy and familiar ; a 
 bolder spirit from Yreka in treaty for cap- 
 ital to start an independent journal devoted 
 to Mascenas's interests had got a good deal 
 out of, and indeed all he had into, a Louis 
 XVI. armoire ; while a young painter from 
 Sacramento had simply retired into his ad- 
 joining bath-room, leaving the glories of his 
 bedroom untarnished. Suddenly he paused. 
 He had turned into a smaller passage in 
 order to make a shorter cut through one of 
 the deserted suites of apartments that should 
 bring him to that part of the building where 
 he designed to make his projected improve- 
 ment, when his feet were arrested on the 
 threshold of a sitting-room. Although it 
 contained the same decoration and furniture 
 as the other rooms, it looked totally differ- 
 ent! It was tasteful, luxurious, comfort- 
 able, and habitable. The furniture seemed 
 to have fallen into harmonious position ; 
 even the staring decorations of the walls and ' 
 ceiling were toned down by sprays of laurel 
 and red-stained manzanito boughs with their 
 
236 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 berries, apparently fresh plucked from the 
 near canon. But he was more unexpectedly 
 impressed to see that the room was at that 
 moment occupied by a tall, handsome girl, 
 who had paused to take breath, with her 
 hand still on the heavy centre-table she was 
 moving. Standing there, graceful, glowing, 
 and animated, she looked the living genius 
 of the recreated apartment. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 MR. KUSHBROOK glanced rapidly at his 
 unknown guest. " Excuse me," he said, with 
 respectful business brevity, *' but I thought 
 every one was out," and he stepped back- 
 ward quickly. 
 
 " I 've only just come," she said without 
 embarrassment, "and would you mind, as you 
 are here, giving me a lift with this table ? " 
 
 " Certainly," replied Rushbrook, and un- 
 der the young girl's direction the millionaire 
 moved the table to one side. 
 
 During the operation he was trying to 
 determine which of his unrecognized guests 
 the fair occupant was. Possibly one of the 
 Leyton party, that James had spoken of as 
 impending. 
 
 " Then you have changed all the furniture, 
 and put up these things ? " he asked, point- 
 ing to the laurel. 
 
 " Yes, the room was really something 
 too awful. It looks better now, don't you 
 think?" 
 
238 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 " A hundred per cent.," said Rushbrook, 
 promptly. " Look here, I '11 tell you what 
 you 've done. You 've set the furniture to 
 work I It was simply lying still with no 
 return to anybody on the investment." 
 
 The young girl opened her gray eyes at 
 this, and then smiled. The intruder seemed 
 to be characteristic of California. As for 
 Rushbrook, he regretted that he did not 
 know her better ; he would at once have 
 asked her to rearrange all the rooms, and 
 have managed in some way liberally to re- 
 ward her for it. A girl like that had no 
 nonsense about her. 
 
 " Yes," she said, "I wonder Mr. Rushbrook 
 don't look at it in that way. It is a shame 
 that all these pretty things and you know 
 they are really good and valuable should 
 n't show what they are. But I suppose 
 everybody here accepts the fact that this 
 man simply buys them because they are val- 
 uable, and nobody interferes, and is content 
 to humor him, laugh at him, and feel supe- 
 rior. It don't strike me as quite fair, does 
 it you?" 
 
 Rushbi*ook was pleased. Without the 
 vanity that would be either annoyed at this 
 revelation of his reputation, or gratified at 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 239 
 
 her defense of it, he was simply glad to dis- 
 cover that she had not recognized him as her 
 host, and could continue the conversation 
 unreservedly. " Have you seen the ladies' 
 boudoir ? " he asked. " You know, the room 
 fitted with knick-knacks and pretty things 
 some of 'em bought from old collections 
 in Europe, by fellows who knew what they 
 were ; but perhaps," he added, looking into 
 her eyes for the first time, " did n't know 
 exactly what ladies cared for." 
 
 "I merely glanced in there when I first 
 came, for there was such a queer lot of 
 women I 'm told he is n't very particular 
 in that way that I did n't stay." 
 
 " And you did n't think they might be just 
 as valuable and good as some of the furni- 
 ture, if they could have been pulled around 
 and put into shape, or set in a corner, eh? " 
 
 The young girl smiled ; she thought her 
 fellow-guest rather amusing, none the less 
 so, perhaps, for catching up her own ideas, 
 but nevertheless she slightly shrugged her 
 shoulders with that hopeless skepticism which 
 women reserve for their own sex. " Some 
 of them looked as if they had been pulled 
 around, as you say, and had n't been im- 
 proved by it." 
 
240 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 " There 's no one there now," said Rush- 
 brook, with practical directness ; " come and 
 take a look at it." She complied without 
 hesitation, walking by his side, tall, easy, 
 and self-possessed, apparently accepting 
 without self-consciousness his half paternal, 
 half comrade -like informality. The bou- 
 doir was a large room, repeating on a bigger 
 scale the incongruousness and ill-fitting 
 splendor of the others. When she had of 
 her own accord recognized and pointed out 
 the more admirable articles, he said, gravely 
 looking at his watch, "We Ve just about 
 seven minutes yet ; if you 'd like to pull 
 and haul these things around, I '11 help 
 you." 
 
 The young girl smiled. " I 'm quite con- 
 tent with what I Ve done in my own room, 
 where I have no one's taste to consult but 
 my own. I hardly know how Mr. Rush- 
 brook, or his lady friends, might like my 
 operating here." Then recognizing with 
 feminine tact the snub that might seem 
 implied in her refusal, she said quickly, 
 "Tell me something about our host but 
 first look ! is n't that pretty ? " 
 
 She had stopped before the window that 
 looked upon the dim blue abyss of the canon, 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 241 
 
 and was leaning out to gaze upon it. Rush- 
 brook joined her. 
 
 " There is n't much to be changed down 
 there, is there?" he said, half interroga- 
 tively. 
 
 " No, not unless Mr. Rushbrook took it 
 into his head to roof it in, and somebody 
 was ready with a contract to do it. But 
 what do you know of him? Remember, 
 I 'm quite a stranger here." 
 
 " You came with Charley Leyton?" 
 
 "With Mrs. Ley ton's party," said the 
 young girl, with a half -smiling emphasis. 
 " But it seems that we don't know whether 
 Mr. Rushbrook wants us here or not, till he 
 comes. And the drollest thing about it is 
 that they 're all so perfectly frank in saying 
 so." 
 
 "Charley and he are old friends, and 
 you '11 do well to trust to their judgment." 
 
 This was hardly the kind of response that 
 the handsome and clever society girl before 
 him had been in the habit of receiving, but 
 it amused her. Her fellow-guest was de- 
 cidedly original. But he hadn't told her 
 about Rushbrook, and it struck her that his 
 opinion would be independent, at least. She 
 reminded him of it. 
 
242 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 " Look here," said Rushbrook, " you '11 
 meet a man here to-night or he '11 be sure 
 to meet you who '11 tell you all about 
 Rushbrook. He 's a smart chap, knows 
 everybody and talks well. His name is 
 Jack Somers ; he is a great ladies' man. 
 He can talk to you about these sort of things, 
 too," indicating the furniture with a half 
 tolerant, half contemptuous gesture, that 
 struck her as inconsistent with what seemed 
 to be his previous interest, "just as well as 
 he can talk of people. Been in Europe, too." 
 
 The young girl's eye brightened with a 
 quick vivacity at the name, but a moment 
 after became reflective and slightly embar- 
 rassed. " I know him I met him at Mr. 
 Leyton's. He has already talked of Mr. 
 Rushbrook, but," she added, avoiding any 
 conclusion, with a pretty pout, " I 'd like 
 to have the opinion of others. Yours, now, 
 I fancy would be quite independent." 
 
 " You stick to what Jack Somers has said, 
 good or bad, and you won't be far wrong," 
 he said assuringly. He stopped; his quick 
 ear had heard approaching voices; he re- 
 turned to her and held out his hand. As it 
 seemed to her that in California everybody 
 shook hands with everybody else on the 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 243 
 
 slightest occasions, sometimes to save fur- 
 ther conversation, she gave him her own. 
 He shook it, less forcibly than she had feared, 
 and abruptly left her. For a moment she 
 was piqued at this superior and somewhat 
 brusque way of ignoring her request, but 
 reflecting that it might be the awkwardness 
 of an untrained man, she dismissed it from 
 her mind. The voices of her friends in the 
 already resounding passages also recalled 
 her to the fact that she had been wandering 
 about the house with a stranger, and she re- 
 joined them a little self-consciously. 
 
 " Well, my dear," said Mrs. Leyton, 
 gayly, " it seems we are to stay. Leyton 
 says Rushbrook won't hear of our going." 
 
 " Does that mean that your husband takes 
 the whole opera troupe over to your house 
 in exchange ? " 
 
 " Don't be satirical, but congratulate 
 yourself on your opportunity of seeing an 
 awfully funny gathering. I would n't have 
 you miss it for the world. It 's the most 
 characteristic thing out." 
 
 " Characteristic of what?" 
 
 " Of Rushbrook, of course. Nobody else 
 would conceive of getting together such a lot 
 of queer people," 
 
244 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 " But don't it strike you that we 're a part 
 of the lot?" 
 
 " Perhaps," returned the lively Mrs. Ley- 
 ton. " No doubt that 's the reason why Jack 
 Somers is coming over, and is so anxious 
 that you should stay. I can't imagine why 
 else he should rave about Miss Grace Nevil 
 as he does. Come, Grace, no New York or 
 Philadelphia airs, here ! Consider your un- 
 cle's interests with this capitalist, to say 
 nothing of ours. Because you 're a million- 
 aire and have been accustomed to riches 
 from your birth, don't turn up your nose at 
 our unpampered appetites. Besides, Jack 
 Somers is Rushbrook's particular friend, and 
 he may think your criticisms unkind." 
 
 " But is Mr. Somers such a great friend 
 of Mr. Rushbrook's ? " asked Grace Nevil. 
 
 " Why, of course. Rushbrook consults 
 him about all these things ; gives him carte 
 blanche to invite whom he likes and order 
 what he likes, and trusts his taste and judg- 
 ment implicitly." 
 
 " Then this gathering is Mr. Somers's 
 selection?" 
 
 " How preposterous you are, Grace. Of 
 course not. Only Somers's idea of what is 
 pleasing to Rushbrook, gotten up with a 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 245 
 
 taste and discretion all his own. You know 
 Somers is a gentleman, educated at West 
 Point traveled all over Europe you 
 might have met him there ; and Rushbrook 
 well, you have only to see him to know 
 what he is. Don't you understand ? " 
 
 A slight seriousness ; the same shadow 
 that once before darkened the girl's charm- 
 ing face gave way to a mischievous knitting 
 of her brows as she said naively, " No." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 GRACE NEVIL had quite recovered her 
 equanimity when the indispensable Mr. 
 Somers, handsome, well-bred, and self -re- 
 strained, approached her later in the crowded 
 drawing-room. Blended with his subdued 
 personal admiration was a certain ostenta- 
 tion of respect as of a tribute to a distin- 
 guished guest that struck her. " I am to 
 have the pleasure of taking you in, Miss 
 Nevil," he said. " It 's my one compensation 
 for the dreadful responsibility just thrust 
 upon me. Our host has been suddenly called 
 away, and I am left to take his place." 
 
 Miss Nevil was slightly startled. Never- 
 theless, she smiled graciously. " From what 
 I hear this is no new function of yours ; that 
 is, if there really is a Mr. Rushbrook. I 
 am inclined to think him a myth." 
 
 "You make me wish he were," retorted 
 Somers, gallantly ; " but as I could n't reign 
 at all, except in his stead, I shall look to you 
 to lend your rightful grace to my borrowed 
 dignity." 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 247 
 
 The more general announcement to the 
 company was received with a few perfidious 
 regrets from the more polite, but with only 
 amused surprise by the majority. Indeed, 
 many considered it " characteristic " " so 
 like Bob Rushbrook," and a few enthusiastic 
 friends looked upon it as a crowning and 
 intentional stroke of humor. It remained, 
 however, for the gentleman from Siskyou to 
 give the incident a subtlety that struck Miss 
 Nevil's fancy. " It reminds me," he said in 
 her hearing, k 'of ole Kernel Frisbee, of 
 Robertson County, one of the purlitest men 
 I ever struck. When he knew a feller was 
 very dry, he 'd jest set the decanter afore 
 him, and managed to be called outer the 
 room on bus' ness. Now, Bob Rushbrook 's 
 about as white a man as that. He 's jest the 
 feller, who, knowing you and me might feel 
 kinder restrained about indulging our appe- 
 tites afore him, kinder drops out easy, and 
 leaves us alone." And she was impressed 
 by an instinct that the speaker really felt 
 the delicacy he spoke of, and that it left no 
 sense of inferiority behind. 
 
 The dinner, served in a large, brilliantly- 
 lit saloon, that in floral decoration and 
 gilded columns suggested an ingenious 
 
248 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 blending of a steamboat table d'hote and 
 " harvest home," was perfect in its cuisine, 
 even if somewhat extravagant in its propor- 
 tions. 
 
 "I should be glad to receive the salary 
 that Kushbrook pays his chef, and still hap- 
 pier to know how to earn it as fairly," said 
 Soniers to his fair companion. 
 
 " But is his skill entirely appreciated 
 here ? " she asked. 
 
 " Perfectly," responded Somers. " Our 
 friend from Siskyou over there appreciates 
 that pate which he cannot name as well as I 
 do. Kushbrook himself is the only excep- 
 tion, yet I fancy that even his simplicity and 
 regularity in feeding is as much a matter of 
 business with him as any defect in his earlier 
 education. In his eyes, his chef's greatest 
 qualification is his promptness and fertility. 
 Have you noticed that ornament before 
 you ? " pointing to an elaborate confection. 
 " It bears your initials, you see. It was con- 
 ceived and executed since you arrived 
 rather, I should say, since it was known that 
 you would honor us with your company. 
 The greatest difficulty encountered was to 
 find out what your initials were." 
 
 " And I suppose," mischievously added 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 249 
 
 the young girl to her acknowledgments, 
 "that the same fertile mind which con- 
 ceived the design eventually provided the 
 initials?" 
 
 " That is our secret," responded Somers, 
 with affected gravity. 
 
 The wines were of characteristic expen- 
 siveness, and provoked the same general 
 comment. Rushbrook seldom drank wine ; 
 Somers had selected it. But the barbaric 
 opulence of the entertainment culminated in 
 the Californian fruits, piled in pyramids on 
 silver dishes, gorgeous and unreal in their 
 size and painted beauty, and the two Divas 
 smiled over a basket of grapes and peaches 
 as outrageous in dimensions and glaring 
 color as any pasteboard banquet at which 
 they had professionally assisted. As the 
 courses succeeded each other, under the ex- 
 altation of wine, conversation became more 
 general as regarded participation, but more 
 local and private as regarded the subject, 
 until Miss Nevil could no longer follow it. 
 The interests of that one, the hopes of an- 
 other, the claims of a third, in affairs that 
 were otherwise uninteresting, were all dis- 
 cussed with singular youthfulness of trust 
 that to her alone seemed remarkable. Not 
 
250 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 that she lacked entertainment from the con- 
 versation of her clever companion, whose 
 confidences and criticisms were very pleas- 
 ant to her ; but she had a gentlewoman's in- 
 stinct that he talked to her too much, and 
 more than was consistent with his duties as 
 the general host. She looked around the table 
 for her singular acquaintance of an hour be- 
 fore, but she had not seen him since. She 
 would have spoken about him to Somers, but 
 she had an instinctive idea that the latter 
 would be antipathetic, in spite of the stran- 
 ger's flattering commendation. So she found 
 herself again following Somers's cynical but 
 good-humored description of the various 
 guests, and, I fear, seeing with his eyes, 
 listening with his ears, and occasionally 
 participating in his superior attitude. The 
 " fearful joy " she had found in the novelty 
 of the situation and the originality of the 
 actors seemed now quite right from this crit- 
 ical point of view. So she learned how the 
 guest with the long hair was an unknown 
 painter, to whom Rushbrook had given a 
 commission for three hundred yards of 
 painted canvas, to be cut up and framed as 
 occasion and space required, in Rushbrook's 
 new hotel in San Francisco ; how the gray- 
 
A M^CENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 251 
 
 bearded foreigner near him was an accom- 
 plished bibliophile who was furnishing Mr. 
 Rushbrook's library from spoils of foreign 
 collections, and had suffered unheard - of 
 agonies from the millionaire's insisting upon 
 a handsome uniform binding that should de- 
 prive certain precious but musty tomes of 
 their crumbling, worm-eaten coverings ; how 
 the very gentle, clerical-looking stranger, 
 mildest of a noisy, disputing crowd at the 
 other table, was a notorious duelist and dead 
 shot ; how the only gentleman at the table 
 who retained a flannel shirt and high boots 
 was not a late-coming mountaineer, but a 
 well-known English baronet on his travels ; 
 how the man who told a somewhat florid 
 and emphatic anecdote was a popular East- 
 ern clergyman ; how the one querulous, dis- 
 contented face in a laughing group was the 
 famous humorist who had just convulsed it ; 
 and how a pale, handsome young fellow, who 
 ate and drank sparingly and disregarded the 
 coquettish advances of the prettiest Diva 
 with the cold abstraction of a student, was a 
 notorious roue and gambler. But there was 
 a sudden and unlooked-for change of criti- 
 cism and critic. 
 
 The festivity had reached that stage when 
 
252 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 the guests were more or less accessible to 
 emotion, and more or less touched by the 
 astounding fact that every one was enjoying 
 himself. This phenomenon, which is apt to 
 burst into song or dance among other races, 
 is constrained to voice itself in an Anglo- 
 Saxon gathering by some explanation, 
 apology, or moral known as an after-din- 
 ner speech. Thus it was that the gentle- 
 man from Siskyou, who had been from time 
 to time casting glances at Somers and his 
 fair companion at the head of the table, now 
 rose to his feet, albeit unsteadily, pushed 
 back his chair, and began : 
 
 " Tears to me, ladies and gentlemen, and 
 feller pardners, that on an occasion like this, 
 suthin' oughter be said of the man who got 
 it up whose money paid for it, and who 
 ain't here to speak for himself, except by 
 deputy. Yet you all know that 's Bob Rush- 
 brook's style he ain't here, because he 's 
 full of some other plan or improvements 
 and it 's like him to start suthin' of this kind, 
 give it its aim and purpose, and then stand 
 aside to let somebody else run it for him. 
 There ain't no man livin' ez hez, so to speak, 
 more fast horses ready saddled for riding, 
 and more fast men ready spurred to ride 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 253 
 
 'em, whether to win his races or run his 
 errands. There ain't no man livin' ez knows 
 better how to make other men's games his, 
 or his game seem to be other men's. And 
 from Jack Somers smilin' over there, ez 
 knows where to get the best wine that Bob 
 pays for, and knows how to run this yer 
 show for Bob, at Bob's expense we 're all 
 contented. Ladies and gentlemen, we 're 
 all contented. We stand, so to speak, on 
 the cards he 's dealt us. What may be his 
 little game, it ain't for us to say ; but what- 
 ever it is, we 're in it. Gentlemen and la- 
 dies, we '11 drink Bob's health ! " 
 
 There was a somewhat sensational pause, 
 followed by good-natured laughter and ap- 
 plause, in which Somers joined ; yet not 
 without a certain constraint that did not 
 escape the quick sympathy of the shocked 
 and unsmiling Miss Nevil. It was with a 
 feeling of relief that she caught the chaper- 
 oning eye of Mrs. Leyton, who was entreat- 
 ing her in the usual mysterious signal to the 
 other ladies to rise and follow her. When 
 she reached the drawing-room, a little behind 
 the others, she was somewhat surprised to 
 observe that the stranger whom she had 
 missed during the evening was approaching 
 her with Mrs. Leyton. 
 
254 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 " Mr. Rushbrook returned sooner than he 
 expected, but unfortunately, as he always 
 retires early, he has only time to say ' good- 
 night ' to you before he goes." 
 
 For an instant Grace Nevil was more an- 
 gry than disconcerted. Then came the con- 
 viction that she was stupid not to have sus- 
 pected the truth before. Who else would 
 that brusque stranger develop into but this 
 rude host ? She bowed formally. 
 
 Mr. Rushbrook looked at her with the 
 faintest smile on his handsome mouth. 
 " Well, Miss Nevil, I hope Jack Somers 
 satisfied your curiosity ? " 
 
 With a sudden recollection of the Siskyou 
 gentleman's speech, and a swift suspicion 
 that in some way she had been made use of 
 with the others by this forceful-looking man 
 before her, she answered pertly : 
 
 " Yes ; but there was a speech by a gen- 
 tleman from Siskyou that struck me as being 
 nearer to the purpose." 
 
 " That 's so, I heard it as I came in," 
 said Mr. Rushbrook, calmly. " I don't know 
 but you 're right." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Six months had passed. The Villa of 
 Maecenas was closed at Los Osos Canon, 
 and the southwest trade-winds were slanting 
 the rains of the wet season against its shut 
 windows and barred doors. Within that 
 hollow, deserted shell, its aspect save for 
 a single exception was unchanged ; the 
 furniture and decorations preserved their 
 eternal youth undimmed by time ; the rig- 
 idly-arranged rooms, now closed to life and 
 light, developed more than ever their resem- 
 blance to a furniture warehouse. The single 
 exception was the room which Grace Nevil 
 had rearranged for herself ; and that, oddly 
 enough, was stripped and bare even to its 
 paper and mouldings. 
 
 In other respects, the sealed treasures of 
 Rushbrook's villa, far from provoking any 
 sentimentality, seemed only to give truth to 
 the current rumor that it was merely waiting 
 to be transformed into a gorgeous watering- 
 place hotel under Rushbrook's direction ; 
 
256 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 that, with its new ball-room changed into an 
 elaborate dining-hall, it would undergo still 
 further improvement, the inevitable end and 
 object of all Kushbrook's enterprise ; and 
 that its former proprietor had already be- 
 gun another villa whose magnificence should 
 eclipse the last. There certainly appeared 
 to be no limit to the millionaire's success in 
 all that he personally undertook, or in his 
 fortunate complicity with the enterprise and 
 invention of others. His name was asso- 
 ciated with the oldest and safest schemes, as 
 well as the newest and boldest with an 
 equal guarantee of security. A few, it was 
 true, looked doubtingly upon this " one man 
 power," but could not refute the fact that 
 others had largely benefited by association 
 with him, and that he shared his pro'fits 
 with a royal hand. Some objected on higher 
 grounds to his brutalizing the influence of 
 wealth by his material and extravagantly 
 practical processes, instead of the gentler 
 suggestions of education and personal exam- 
 ple, and were impelled to point out the fact 
 that he and his patronage were vulgar. It 
 was felt, however, by those who received his 
 benefits, that a proper sense of this inferior- 
 ity was all that ethics demanded of them. 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 257 
 
 One could still accept Rushbrook's barbaric 
 gifts by humorously recognizing the fact 
 that he did n't know any better, and that it 
 pleased him, as long as they resented any 
 higher pretensions. 
 
 The rain-beaten windows of Rushbrook's 
 town house, however, were cheerfully lit that 
 December evening. Mr. Rushbrook seldom 
 dined alone ; in fact, it was popularly alleged 
 that very often the unfinished business of the 
 day was concluded over his bountiful and 
 perfect board. He was dressing as James 
 entered the room. 
 
 " Mr. Leyton is in your study, sir ; he will 
 stay to dinner." 
 
 "All right." 
 
 " I think, sir," added James, with respect- 
 ful suggestiveness, " he wants to talk. At 
 least, sir, he asked me if you would likely 
 come downstairs before your company ar- 
 rived." 
 
 " Ah ! Well, tell the others I 'm dining 
 on business, and set dinner for two in the 
 blue room." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Leyton a man of Rush- 
 brook's age, but not so fresh and vigorous- 
 looking had thrown himself in a chair 
 
258 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 beside the study fire, after a glance around 
 the handsome and familiar room. For the 
 house had belonged to a brother millionaire ; 
 it had changed hands with certain shares of 
 " Water Front," as some of Rushbrook's 
 dealings had the true barbaric absence of 
 money detail, and was elegantly and taste- 
 fully furnished. The cuckoo had, however, 
 already laid a few characteristic eggs in this 
 adopted nest, and a white marble statue of 
 a nude and ill-fed Virtue, sent over by Rush- 
 brook's Paris agent, and unpacked that morn- 
 ing, stood in one corner, and materially 
 brought down the temperature. A Japanese 
 praying-throne of pure ivory, and, above it, 
 a few yards of improper, colored exposure 
 by an old master, equalized each other. 
 
 " And what is all this affair about the 
 dinner?" suddenly asked a tartly-pitched 
 female voice with a foreign accent. 
 
 Mr. Leyton turned quickly, and was just 
 conscious of a faint shriek, the rustle of a 
 skirt, and the swift vanishing of a woman's 
 figure from the doorway. Mr. Leyton turned 
 red. Rushbrook lived en garqon, with fem- 
 inine possibilities ; Leyton was a married 
 man and a deacon. The incident which, to 
 a man of the world, would have brought 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 259 
 
 only a smile, fired the inexperienced Leyton 
 with those exaggerated ideas and intense 
 credulity regarding vice common to some 
 very good men. He walked on tip-toe to 
 the door, and peered into the passage. At 
 that moment Kushbrook entered from the 
 opposite door of the room. 
 
 " "Well," said Eushbrook, with his usual 
 practical directness, " what do you think of 
 her?" 
 
 Leyton, still flushed, and with eyebrows 
 slightly knit, said, awkwardly, that he had 
 scarcely seen her. 
 
 " She cost me already ten thousand dol- 
 lars, and I suppose I '11 have to eventually 
 fix up a separate room for her somewhere," 
 continued Rushbrook. 
 
 " I should certainly advise it," said Ley- 
 ton, quickly, " for really, Rushbrook, you 
 know that something is due to the respect- 
 able people who come here, and any of them 
 are likely to see " 
 
 " Ah ! " interrupted Rushbrook, seriously, 
 " you think she has n't got on clothes enough. 
 Why, look here, old man she 's one of the 
 Virtues, and that 's the rig in which they 
 always travel. She J s a 4 Temperance ' or a 
 1 Charity ' or a ' Resignation,' or something 
 
260 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 of that kind. You '11 find her name there 
 in French somewhere at the foot of the 
 marble." 
 
 Leyton saw his mistake, but felt as 
 others sometimes felt a doubt whether this 
 smileless man was not inwardly laughing at 
 him. He replied, with a keen, rapid glance 
 at his host : 
 
 "I was referring to some woman who 
 stood in that doorway just now, and ad- 
 dressed me rather familiarly, thinking it was 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, the Signora," said Rushbrook, with 
 undisturbed directness ; " well, you saw her 
 at Los Osos last summer. Likely she did 
 think you were me." 
 
 The cool ignoring of any ulterior thought 
 in Leyton's objection forced the guest to be 
 equally practical in his reply. 
 
 " Yes, but the fact is that Miss Nevil had 
 talked of coming here with me this evening 
 to see you on her own affairs, and it would n't 
 have been exactly the thing for her to meet 
 that woman." 
 
 " She would n't," said Rushbrook, prompt- 
 ly ; " nor would you, if you had gone into 
 the parlor as Miss Nevil would have done. 
 But look here! If that's the reason why 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 261 
 
 you did n't bring her, send for her at once ; 
 my coachman can take a card from you; 
 the brougham 's all ready to fetch her, and 
 there you are. She '11 see only you and 
 me." He was already moving towards the 
 bell, when Ley ton stopped him. 
 
 " No matter now. I can tell you her busi- 
 ness, I fancy ; and in fact, I came here to 
 speak of it, quite independently of her." 
 
 "That won't do, Leyton," interrupted 
 Rushbrook, with crisp decision. " One or 
 the other interview is unnecessary ; it wastes 
 time, and is n't business. Better have her 
 present, even if she don'i say a word." 
 
 " Yes, but not in this matter," responded 
 Leyton ; " it 's about Somers. You know 
 he 's been very attentive to her ever since 
 her uncle left her here to recruit her health, 
 and I think she fancies him. Well, although 
 she 's independent and her own mistress, as 
 you know, Mrs. Leyton and I are somewhat 
 responsible for her acquaintance with Som- 
 ers, and for that matter so are you ; and 
 as my wife thinks it means a marriage, we 
 ought to know something more positive 
 about Somers's prospects. Now, all we 
 really know is that he 's a great friend of 
 yours ; that you trust a good deal to him ; 
 
262 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 that he manages your social affairs; that 
 you treat him as a son or nephew, and it 's 
 generally believed that he 's as good as pro- 
 vided for by you eh ? Did you speak ? " 
 
 " No," said Rushbrook, quietly regarding 
 the statue as if taking its measurement for 
 a suitable apartment for it. " Go on." 
 
 " Well," said Leyton, a little impatiently, 
 " that 's the belief everybody has, and you 've 
 not contradicted it. And on that we Ve 
 taken the responsibility of not interfering 
 with Somers's attentions." 
 
 " Well? " said Rushbrook, interrogatively. 
 
 " Well," replied Leyton, emphatically, 
 " you see I must ask you positively if you 
 have done anything, or are you going to do 
 anything for him ? " 
 
 " Well," replied Eushbrook, with exas- 
 perating coolness, " what do you call this 
 marriage?" 
 
 " I don't understand you," said Leyton. 
 
 "Look here, Leyton," said Rushbrook, 
 suddenly and abruptly facing him; "Jack 
 Somers has brains, knowledge of society, 
 tact, accomplishments, and good looks: 
 that 's his capital as much as mine is 
 money. I employ him : that 's his adver- 
 tisement, recommendation, and credit. Now, 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 263 
 
 on the strength of this, as you say, Miss 
 Nevil is willing to invest in him ; I don't see 
 what more can be done." 
 
 " But if her uncle don't think it enough ? " 
 
 *' She 's independent, and has money for 
 both." 
 
 " But if she thinks she 's been deceived, 
 and changes her mind ? " 
 
 "Leyton, you don't know Miss Nevil. 
 Whatever that girl undertakes she 's weighed 
 fully, and goes through with. If she 's 
 trusted him enough to marry him, money 
 won't stop her ; if she thinks she 's been 
 deceived, you 'II never know it." 
 
 The enthusiasm and conviction were so 
 unlike Rushbrook's usual cynical toleration 
 of the sex that Leyton stared at him. 
 
 " That 's odd," he returned. " That 's 
 what she says of you." 
 
 " Of me ; you mean Somers ? " 
 
 "No, of you. Come, Rushbrook, don't 
 pretend you don't know that Miss Nevil is a 
 great partisan of yours, swears by you, says 
 you 're misunderstood by people, and, what 's 
 infernally odd in a woman who don't belong 
 to the class you fancy, don't talk of your 
 habits. That 's why she wants to consult 
 you about Somers, I suppose, and that's 
 
264 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 why, knowing you might influence her, I 
 came here first to warn you." 
 
 " And I Ve told you that whatever I might 
 say or do would n't influence her. So we '11 
 drop the subject." 
 
 " Not yet ; for you 're bound to see Miss 
 Nevil sooner or later. Now, if she knows 
 that you 've done nothing for this man. your 
 friend and her lover, won't she be justified 
 in thinking that you would have a reason 
 for it?" 
 
 " Yes. I should give it." 
 
 " What reason ? " 
 
 " That I knew she 'd be more contented 
 to have him speculate with her money than 
 mine." 
 
 " Then you think that he is n't a business 
 man?" 
 
 "I think that she thinks so, or she 
 would n't marry him ; it 's part of the at- 
 traction. But come, James has been for five 
 minutes discreetly waiting outside the door 
 to tell us dinner is ready, and the coast clear 
 of all other company. But look here," he 
 said, suddenly stopping, with his arm in 
 Leyton's, " you 're through your talk, I sup- 
 pose ; perhaps you 'd rather we 'd dine with 
 the Signora and the others than alone? " 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 265 
 
 For an instant Leyton thrilled with the 
 fascination of what he firmly believed was a 
 guilty temptation. Rushbrook, perceiving 
 his hesitation, added : 
 
 " By the way, Somers is of the party, and 
 one or two others you know." 
 
 Mr. Leyton opened his eyes widely at this ; 
 either the temptation had passed, or the idea 
 of being seen in doubtful company by a 
 younger man was distasteful, for he hur- 
 riedly disclaimed any preference. " But," 
 he added with half-significant politeness, 
 " perhaps I 'm keeping you from them ? " 
 
 " It makes not the slightest difference to 
 me," calmly returned Rushbrook, with such 
 evident truthfulness that Leyton was both 
 convinced and chagrined. 
 
 Preceded by the grave and ubiquitous 
 James, they crossed the large hall, and en- 
 tered through a smaller passage a charming 
 apartment hung with blue damask, which 
 might have been a boudoir, study, or small 
 reception-room, yet had the air of never hav- 
 ing been anything continuously. It would 
 seem that Rushbrook's habit of "camping 
 out " in different parts of his mansion ob- 
 tained here as at Los Osos, and with the ex- 
 ception of a small closet which contained 
 
266 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 his Spartan bed, the rooms were used sepa- 
 rately or in suites, as occasion or his friends 
 required. It is recorded that an Eastern 
 guest, newly arrived with letters to Rush- 
 brook, after a tedious journey, expressed 
 himself pleased with this same blue room, 
 in which he had sumptuously dined with his 
 host, and subsequently fell asleep in his 
 chair. Without disturbing his guest, Rush- 
 brook had the table removed, a bed, wash- 
 stand, and bureau brought in, the sleeping 
 man delicately laid upon the former, and 
 left to awaken to an Arabian night's real- 
 ization of his wish. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 JAMES had barely disposed of his master 
 and Mr. Leyton, and left them to the minis- 
 trations of two of his underlings, before he 
 was confronted with one of those difficult 
 problems that it was part of his functions to 
 solve. The porter informed him that a 
 young lady had just driven up in a carriage 
 ostensibly to see Mr. Rushbrook, and James, 
 descending to the outer vestibule, found him- 
 self face to face with Miss Grace Nevil. 
 Happily, that young lady, with her usual 
 tact, spared him some embarrassment. 
 
 " Oh ! James," she said sweetly, " do you 
 think that I could see Mr. Rushbrook for a 
 few moments if I waited for the oppor- 
 tunity ? You understand, I don't wish to 
 disturb him or his company by being regu- 
 larly announced." 
 
 The young girl's practical intelligence ap- 
 peared to increase the usual respect which 
 James had always shown her. " I under- 
 stand, miss." He thought for a moment, 
 
268 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 and said : " Would you mind, then, follow- 
 ing me where you could wait quietly and 
 alone ? " As she quickly assented, he pre- 
 ceded her up the staircase, past the study 
 and drawing-room, which he did not enter, 
 and stopped before a small door at the end 
 of the passage. Then, handing her a key 
 which he took from his pocket, he said : 
 " This is the only room in the house that is 
 strictly reserved for Mr. Eushbrook, and 
 even he rarely uses it. You can wait here 
 without anybody knowing it until I can com- 
 municate with him and bring you to his 
 study unobserved. And," he hesitated, " if 
 you wouldn't mind locking the door when 
 you are in, miss, you would be more secure, 
 and I will knock when I come for you." 
 
 Grace Nevil smiled at the man's prudence, 
 and entered the room. But to her great 
 surprise, she had scarcely shut the door when 
 she was instantly struck with a singular 
 memory which the apartment recalled. It 
 was exactly like the room she had altered in 
 Rushbrook's villa at Los Osos ! More than 
 that, on close examination it proved to be 
 the very same furniture, arranged as she 
 remembered to have arranged it, even to the 
 flowers and grasses, now, alas ! faded and 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 269 
 
 withered on the walls. There could be no 
 mistake. There was the open ebony escri- 
 toire with the satin blotter open, and its 
 leaves still bearing the marks of her own 
 handwriting. So complete to her mind was 
 the idea of her own tenancy in this bache- 
 lor's mansion, that she looked around with 
 a half indignant alarm for the photograph 
 or portrait of herself that might further in- 
 dicate it. But there was no other exposition. 
 The only thing that had been added was a 
 gilt legend on the satin case of the blotter, 
 - " Los Osos, August 20, 186-," the day 
 she had occupied the room. 
 
 She was pleased, astonished, but more 
 than all, disturbed. The only man who 
 might claim a right to this figurative pos- 
 session of her tastes and habits was the one 
 whom she had quietly, reflectively, and un- 
 derstandingly half accepted as her lover, and 
 on whose account she had come to consult 
 Rushbrook. But Somers was not a senti- 
 mentalist ; in fact, as a young girl, forced 
 by her independent position to somewhat 
 critically scrutinize masculine weaknesses, 
 this had always been a point in his favor ; 
 yet even if he had joined with his friend 
 Rushbrook to perpetuate the memory of 
 
270 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 their first acquaintanceship, his taste merely 
 would not have selected a chambre de gar- 
 yon in Mr. Rushbrook's home for its exhibi- 
 tion. Her conception of the opposite char- 
 acters of the two men was singularly distinct 
 and real, and this momentary confusion of 
 them was disagreeable to her woman's sense. 
 But at this moment James came to release 
 her and conduct her to Rushbrook's study, 
 where he would join her at once. Every- 
 thing had been arranged as she had wished. 
 
 Even a more practical man than Rush- 
 brook might have lingered over the picture 
 of the tall, graceful figure of Miss Nevil, 
 quietly enthroned in a large armchair by 
 the fire, her scarlet, satin-lined cloak thrown 
 over its back, and her chin resting on her 
 hand. But the millionaire walked directly 
 towards her with his usual frankness of con- 
 scious but restrained power, and she felt, as 
 she always did, perfectly at her ease in his 
 presence. Even as she took his outstretched 
 hand, its straightforward grasp seemed to 
 endow her with its own confidence. 
 
 " You '11 excuse my coming here so ab- 
 ruptly," she smiled, " but I wanted to get 
 before Mr. Leyton, who, I believe, wishes to 
 see you on the same business as myself." 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 271 
 
 " He is here already, and dining with me," 
 said Kushbrook. 
 
 "Ah! does he know I am here?" asked 
 the girl, quietly. 
 
 " No ; as he said you had thought of com- 
 ing with him and didn't, I presumed you 
 did n't care to have him know you had come 
 alone." 
 
 " Not exactly that, Mr. Rushbrook," she 
 said, fixing her beautiful eyes on him in 
 bright and trustful confidence, " but I hap- 
 pen to have a fuller knowledge of this busi- 
 ness than he has, and yet, as it is not alto- 
 gether my own secret, I was not permitted 
 to divulge it to him. Nor would I tell it to 
 you, only I cannot bear that you should 
 think that I had anything to do with this 
 wretched inquisition into Mr. Somers's pros- 
 pects. Knowing as well as you do how per- 
 fectly independent I am, you would think 
 it strange, would n't you ? But you would 
 think it still more surprising when you found 
 out that I and my uncle already know how 
 liberally and generously you had provided 
 for Mr. Somers in the future." 
 
 " How I had provided for Mr. Somers in 
 the future ? " repeated Mr. Rtfshbrook, look- 
 ing at the fire, "eh?" 
 
272 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 " Yes," said the young girl, indifferently, 
 " how you were to put him in to succeed you 
 in the Water Front Trust, and all that. He 
 told it to me and my uncle at the outset of 
 our acquaintance, confidentially, of course, 
 and I dare say with an honorable delicacy 
 that was like him, but I suppose now you 
 will think me foolish all the while I 'd 
 rather he had not." 
 
 " You 'd rather he had not," repeated Mr. 
 Rushbrook, slowly. 
 
 " Yes," continued Grace, leaning forward 
 with her rounded elbows on her knees, and 
 her slim, arched feet on the fender. " Now 
 you are going to laugh at me, Mr. Rush- 
 brook, but all this seemed to me to spoil any 
 spontaneous feeling I might have towards 
 him, and limit my independence in a thing 
 that should be a matter of free will alone. 
 It seemed too much like a business proposi- 
 tion ! There, my kind friend ! " she added, 
 looking up and trying to read his face with 
 a half girlish pout, followed, however, by a 
 maturer sigh, " I ? m bothering you with a 
 woman's foolishness instead of talking busi- 
 ness. And " another sigh "I suppose 
 it is business for my uncle, who has, it 
 seems, bought into this Trust on these possi- 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 273 
 
 ble contingencies, has, perhaps, been asking 
 questions of Mr. Leyton. But I don't want 
 you to think that I approve of them, or 
 advise your answering them. But you are 
 not listening." 
 
 " I had forgotten something," said Rush- 
 brook, with an odd preoccupation. " Excuse 
 me a moment I will return at once." 
 
 He left the room quite as abstractedly, 
 and when he reached the passage, he appar- 
 ently could not remember what he had for- 
 gotten, as he walked deliberately to the end 
 window, where, with his arms folded behind 
 his back, he remained looking out into the 
 street. A passer-by, glancing up, might 
 have said he had seen the pale, stern ghost 
 of Mr. Rushbrook, framed like a stony por- 
 trait in the window. But he presently 
 turned away, and reentered the room, going 
 up to Grace, who was still sitting by the fire, 
 in his usual strong and direct fashion. 
 
 " Well ! Now let me see what you want. 
 I think this would do." 
 
 He took a seat at his open desk, and rap- 
 idly wrote a few lines. 
 
 " There," he continued, " when you write 
 to your uncle, inclose that." 
 
 Grace took it, and read : 
 
274 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 DEAK Miss NEVIL, Pray assure your 
 uncle from me that I am quite ready to guar- 
 antee, in any form that he may require, the 
 undertaking represented to him by Mr. John 
 Somers. Yours very truly, 
 
 EGBERT RUSHBROOK. 
 
 A quick flush mounted to the young girl's 
 cheeks. " But this is a security, Mr. Rush- 
 brook," she said proudly, handing him back 
 the paper, " and my uncle does not require 
 that. Nor shall I insult him or you by send- 
 ing it." 
 
 " It is business, Miss Nevil," said Rush- 
 brook, gravely. He stopped, and fixed his 
 eyes upon her animated face and sparkling 
 eyes. " You can send it to him or not, as 
 you like. But " a rare smile came to his 
 handsome mouth " as this is a letter to 
 you, you must not insult me by not accept- 
 ing it." 
 
 Replying to his smile rather than the 
 words that accompanied it, Miss Nevil 
 smiled, too. Nevertheless, she was uneasy 
 and disturbed. The interview, whatever she 
 might have vaguely expected from it, had 
 resolved itself simply into a business in- 
 dorsement of her lover, which she had not 
 
A M&CENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 275 
 
 sought, and which gave her no satisfaction. 
 Yet there was the same potent and indefin- 
 ably protecting presence before her which 
 she had sought, but whose omniscience and 
 whose help she seemed to have lost the spell 
 and courage to put to the test. He relieved 
 her in his abrupt but not unkindly fashion. 
 "Well, when is it to be?" 
 
 "It?" 
 
 " Your marriage." 
 
 " Oh, not for some time. There 's no 
 hurry." 
 
 It might have struck the practical Mr. 
 Rushbrook that, even considered as a desir- 
 able business affair, the prospective comple- 
 tion of this contract provoked neither frank 
 satisfaction nor conventional dissimulation on 
 the part of the young lady, for he regarded her 
 calm but slightly wearied expression fixedly. 
 But he only said : " Then I shall say noth- 
 ing of this interview to Mr. Leyton ? " 
 
 " As you please. It really matters little. 
 Indeed, I suppose I was rather foolish in 
 coming at all, and wasting your valuable 
 time for nothing." 
 
 She had risen, as if taking his last ques- 
 tion in the significance of a parting sugges- 
 tion, and was straightening her tall figure, 
 
276 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 preparatory to putting on her cloak. As she 
 reached it, he stepped forward, and lifted it 
 from the chair to assist her. The act was 
 so unprecedented, as Mr. Rushbrook never 
 indulged in those minor masculine courtesies, 
 that she was momentarily as confused as a 
 younger girl at the gallantry of a younger 
 man. In their previous friendship he had 
 seldom drawn near her except to shake her 
 hand a circumstance that had always re- 
 curred to her when his free and familiar life 
 had been the subject of gossip. But she 
 now had a more frightened consciousness 
 that her nerves were strangely responding 
 to his powerful propinquity, and she invol- 
 untarily contracted her pretty shoulders as he 
 gently laid the cloak upon them. Yet even 
 when the act was completed, she had a super- 
 stitious instinct that the significance of this 
 rare courtesy was that it -was final, and that 
 he had helped her to interpose something 
 that shut him out from her forever. 
 
 She was turning away with a heightened 
 color, when the sound of light, hurried foot- 
 steps, and the rustle of a woman's dress was 
 heard in the hall. A swift recollection of 
 her companion's infelicitous reputation now 
 returned to her, and Grace Nevil, with a 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 277 
 
 slight stiffening of her whole frame, became 
 coldly herself again. Mr. Rushbrook be- 
 trayed neither surprise nor agitation. Beg- 
 ging her to wait a moment until he could 
 arrange for her to pass to her carriage un- 
 noticed, he left the room. 
 
 Yet it seemed that the cause of the dis- 
 turbance was unsuspected by Mr. Rush- 
 brook. Mr. Leyton, although left to the 
 consolation of cigars and liquors in the 
 blue room, had become slightly weary of his 
 companion's prolonged absence. Satisfied 
 in his mind that Rushbrook had joined the 
 gayer party, and that he was even now pay- 
 ing gallant court to the Signora, he became 
 again curious and uneasy. At last the un- 
 mistakable sound of whispering voices in 
 the passage got the better of his sense of 
 courtesy as a guest, and he rose from his 
 seat, and slightly opened the door. As he 
 did so the figures of a man and woman, con- 
 versing in earnest whispers, passed the open- 
 ing. The man's arm was round the woman's 
 waist ; the woman was as he had suspected 
 the one who had stood in the doorway, 
 the Signora but the man was not Rush- 
 brook. Mr. Leyton drew back this time in 
 unaffected horror. It was none other than 
 Jack Somers ! 
 
278 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 Some warning instinct must at that mo- 
 ment have struck the woman, for with a 
 stifled cry she disengaged herself from 
 Somers's arm, and dashed rapidly down 
 the hall. Somers, evidently unaware of the 
 cause, stood irresolute for a moment, and 
 then more silently but swiftly disappeared 
 into a side corridor as if to intercept her. It 
 was the rapid passage of the Signora that 
 had attracted the attention of Grace and 
 Rushbrook in the study, and it was the mo- 
 ment after it that Mr. Rushbrook left. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 VAGUELY uneasy, and still perplexed with 
 her previous agitation, as Mr. Rushbrook 
 closed the door behind him, Grace, follow- 
 ing some feminine instinct rather than any 
 definite reason, walked to the door and 
 placed her hand upon the lock to prevent 
 any intrusion until he returned. Her cau- 
 tion seemed to be justified a moment later, 
 for a heavier but stealthier footstep halted 
 outside. The handle of the door was turned, 
 but she resisted it with the fullest strength 
 of her small hand until a voice, which 
 startled her, called in a hurried whisper : 
 
 " Open quick, 't is I." 
 
 She stepped back quickly, flung the door 
 open, and beheld Somers on the threshold ! 
 
 The astonishment, agitation, and above all, 
 the awkward confusion of this usually self- 
 possessed and ready man, was so unlike him, 
 and withal so painful, that Grace hurried to 
 put an end to it, and for an instant forgot 
 her own surprise at seeing him. She smiled 
 assuringly, and extended her hand. 
 
280 A MAC EN AS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 " Grace Miss Nevil I beg your par- 
 don I did n't imagine " he began with 
 a forced laugh. " I mean, of course I 
 cannot but " . He stopped, and then 
 assuming a peculiar expression, said: "But 
 what are you doing here ? " 
 
 At any other moment the girl would have 
 resented the tone, which was as new to her 
 as his previous agitation, but in her present 
 self-consciousness her situation seemed to re- 
 quire some explanation. " I came here," she 
 said, " to see Mr. Rushbrook on business. 
 Your business our business," she added, 
 with a charming smile, using for the first 
 time the pronoun that seemed to indicate 
 their unity and interest, and yet fully aware 
 of a vague insincerity in doing so. 
 
 " Our business ? " he repeated, ignoring 
 her gentler meaning with a changed empha- 
 sis and a look of suspicion. 
 
 "Yes," said Grace, a little impatiently. 
 " Mr. Leyton thought he ought to write to 
 my uncle something positive as to your pros- 
 pects with Mr. Rushbrook, and " - 
 
 "You came here to inquire?" said the 
 young man, sharply. 
 
 " I came here to stop any inquiry," said 
 Grace, indignantly. "I came here to say I 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 281 
 
 was satisfied with what you had confided to 
 me of Mr. Rushbrook's generosity, and that 
 was enough ! " 
 
 " With what I had confided to you ? You 
 dared say that ? " 
 
 Grace stopped, and instantly faced him. 
 But any indignation she might have felt at 
 his speech and manner was swallowed up in 
 the revulsion and horror that overtook her 
 with the sudden revelation she saw in his 
 white and frightened face. Leyton's strange 
 inquiry, Rushbrook's cold composure and 
 scornful acceptance of her own credulous- 
 ness, came to her in a flash of shameful intel- 
 ligence. Somers had lied ! The insufferable 
 meanness of it ! A lie, whose very useless- 
 ness and ignobility had defeated its purpose 
 a lie that implied the basest suspicion of 
 her own independence and truthfulness 
 such a lie now stood out as plainly before her 
 as his guilty face. 
 
 " Forgive my speaking so rudely," he said 
 with a forced smile and attempt to recover 
 his self-control, " but you have ruined me 
 unless you deny that I told you anything. 
 It was a joke an extravagance that I had 
 forgotten ; at least, it was a confidence be- 
 tween you and me that you have foolishly 
 
282 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 violated. Say that you misunderstood me 
 that it was a fancy of your own. Say any- 
 thing he trusts you he '11 believe any- 
 thing you say." 
 
 " He has believed me," said Grace, almost 
 fiercely, turning upon him with the paper 
 that Rushbrook had given her in her out- 
 stretched hand. " Read that ! " 
 
 He read it. Had he blushed, had he stam- 
 mered, had he even kept up his former fran- 
 tic and pitiable attitude, she might at that 
 supreme moment have forgiven him. But to 
 her astonishment his face changed, his hand- 
 some brow cleared, his careless, happy smile 
 returned, his graceful confidence came back 
 he stood before her the elegant, courtly, 
 and accomplished gentleman she had known. 
 He returned her the paper, and advancing 
 with extended hand, said triumphantly : 
 
 " Superb ! Splendid ! No one but a 
 woman could think of that ! And only one 
 woman achieve it. You have tricked the 
 great Rushbrook. You are indeed worthy 
 of being a financier's wife ! " 
 
 "No," she said passionately, tearing up 
 the paper and throwing it at his feet ; " not 
 as you understand it and never yours ! 
 You have debased and polluted everything 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 283 
 
 connected with it, as you would have debased 
 and polluted me. Out of my presence that 
 you are insulting out of the room of the 
 man whose magnanimity you cannot under- 
 stand ! " 
 
 The destruction of the guarantee appar- 
 ently stung him more than the words that 
 accompanied it. He did not relapse again 
 into his former shamefaced terror, but as a 
 malignant glitter came into his eyes, he re- 
 gained his coolness. 
 
 " It may not be so difficult for others to 
 understand, Miss Nevil," he said, with pol- 
 ished insolence, " and as Bob Rushbrook's 
 generosity to pretty women is already a mat- 
 ter of suspicion, perhaps you are wise to de- 
 stroy that record of it." 
 
 " Coward ! " said Grace, " stand aside and 
 let me pass ! " She swept by him to the 
 door. But it opened upon Rushbrook's re- 
 entrance. He stood for an instant glancing 
 at the pair, and then on the fragments of 
 the paper that strewed the floor. Then, 
 still holding the door in his hand, he said 
 quietly : 
 
 " One moment before you go, Miss Nevil. 
 If this is the result of any misunderstanding 
 as to the presence of another woman here, in 
 
284 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 company with Mr. Somers, it is only fair to 
 him to say that that woman is here as a 
 friend of mine, not of his, and I alone am 
 responsible." 
 
 Grace halted, and turned the cold steel of 
 her proud eyes on the two men. As they 
 rested on Kushbrook they quivered slightly. 
 "I can already bear witness," she said coldly, 
 " to the generosity of Mr. Rushbrook in a 
 matter which then touched me. But there 
 certainly is no necessity for him to show it 
 now in a matter in which I have not the 
 slightest concern." 
 
 As she swept out of the room and was 
 received in the respectable shadow of the 
 waiting James, Rushbrook turned to Somers. 
 
 " And Pm afraid it won't do for Ley- 
 ton saw you," he said curtly. " Now, then, 
 shut that door, for you and I, Jack Somers, 
 have a word to say to each other." 
 
 What that word was, and how it was said 
 and received, is not a part of this record. 
 But it is told that it was the beginning of 
 that mighty Iliad, still remembered of men, 
 which shook the financial camps of San 
 Francisco, and divided them into bitter con- 
 tending parties. For when it became known 
 the next day that Somers had suddenly 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 285 
 
 abandoned Rushbrook, and carried over to 
 a powerful foreign capitalist the secret meth- 
 ods, and even, it was believed, the luck of 
 his late employer, it was certain that there 
 would be war to the knife, and that it was 
 no longer a struggle of rival enterprise, but 
 of vindictive men. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FOR a year the battle between the Somers 
 faction and the giant but solitary Eushbrook 
 raged fiercely, with varying success. I grieve 
 to say that the proteges and parasites of 
 Maecenas deserted him in a body ; nay, they 
 openly alleged that it was the true artistic 
 nature and refinement of Somers that had 
 always attracted them, and that a man like 
 Rushbrook, who bought pictures by the yard, 
 equally of the unknown struggling artist 
 and the famous masters, was no true pa- 
 tron of Art. Rushbrook made no attempt 
 to recover his lost prestige, and once, when 
 squeezed into a tight " corner," and forced 
 to realize on his treasures, he put them up at 
 auction and the people called them " daubs ; " 
 their rage knew no bounds. It was then 
 that an unfettered press discovered that 
 Rushbrook never was a Maecenas at all, 
 grimly deprecated his assumption of that 
 title, and even doubted if he were truly a 
 millionaire. It was at this time that a few 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 287 
 
 stood by him notably, the mill inventor 
 from Siskyou, grown plethoric with success, 
 but eventually ground between the upper 
 and nether millstone of the Somers and 
 Rushbrook party. Miss Nevil had returned 
 to the Atlantic States with Mrs. Ley ton. 
 While rumors had played freely with the 
 relations of Somers and the Signora as the 
 possible cause of the rupture between him 
 and Rushbrook, no mention had ever been 
 made of the name of Miss Nevil. 
 
 It was raining heavily one afternoon, when 
 Mr. Rushbrook drove from his office to his 
 San Francisco house. The fierce struggle 
 in which he was engaged left him little time 
 for hospitality, and for the last two weeks his 
 house had been comparatively deserted. He 
 passed through the empty rooms, changed in 
 little except the absence of some valuable 
 monstrosities which had gone to replenish 
 his capital. When he reached his bedroom, 
 he paused a moment at the open door. 
 
 " James ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said James, appearing out of 
 the shadow. 
 
 " What are you waiting for ? " 
 
 " I thought you might be wanting some- 
 thing, sir.'* 
 
288 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 " You were waiting there this morning ; 
 you were in the ante-room of my study while 
 I was writing. You were outside the blue 
 room while I sat at breakfast. You were at 
 my elbow in the drawing-room late last night. 
 Now, James," continued Mr. Rushbrook, 
 with his usual grave directness, " I don't in- 
 tend to commit suicide ; I can't afford it, so 
 keep your time and your rest for yourself 
 you want it that 's a good fellow." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " James ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Rushbrook extended his hand. There 
 was that faint, rare smile on his handsome 
 mouth, for which James would at any time 
 have laid down his life. But he only silently 
 grasped his master's hand, and the two men 
 remained looking into each other's eyes with- 
 out a word. Then Mr. Rushbrook entered 
 his room, lay down, and went to sleep, and 
 James vanished in the shadow. 
 
 At the end of an hour Mr. Rushbrook 
 awoke refreshed, and even James, who came 
 to call him, appeared to have brightened in 
 the interval. " I have ordered a fire, sir, in 
 the reserved room, the one fitted up from 
 Los Osos, as your study has had no chance 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 289 
 
 of being cleaned these two weeks. It will 
 be a change for you, sir. I hope you '11 ex- 
 cuse my not waking you to consult you 
 about it." 
 
 Rushbrook remained so silent that James, 
 fancying he had not heard him, was about 
 to repeat himself when his master said 
 quickly, "Very well, come for me there 
 when dinner is ready," and entered the pas- 
 sage leading to the room. James did not 
 follow him, and when Mr. Rushbrook, open- 
 ing the door, started back with an exclama- 
 tion, no one but the inmate heard the word 
 that rose to his lips. 
 
 For there, seated before the glow of the 
 blazing fire, was Miss Grace Nevil. She 
 had evidently just arrived, for her mantle 
 was barely loosened around her neck, and 
 upon the fringe of brown hair between her 
 bonnet and her broad, low forehead a few 
 drops of rain still sparkled. As she lifted 
 her long lashes quickly towards the door, it 
 seemed as if they, too, had caught a little 
 of that moisture. Rushbrook moved impa- 
 tiently forward, and then stopped. Grace 
 rose unhesitatingly to her feet, and met him 
 half-way with frankly outstretched hands. 
 " First of all," she said, with a half nervous 
 
290 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 laugh, " don't scold James ; it 's all my fault ; 
 I forbade him to announce me, lest you 
 should drive me away, for I heard that dur- 
 ing this excitement you came here for rest, 
 and saw no one. Even the intrusion into 
 this room is all my own. I confess now that 
 I saw it the last night I was here ; I was 
 anxious to know if it was unchanged, and 
 made James bring me here. I did not un- 
 derstand it then. I do now and thank 
 
 you." 
 
 Her face must have shown that she was 
 conscious that he was still holding her hand, 
 for he suddenly released it. With a height- 
 ened color and a half girlish naivete, that 
 was the more charming for its contrast with 
 her tall figure and air of thoroughbred re- 
 pose, she turned back to her chair, and 
 lightly motioned him to take the one before 
 her. " I am here on business ; otherwise I 
 should not have dared to look in upon you 
 at all." 
 
 She stopped, drew off her gloves with a 
 provoking deliberation, which was none the 
 less fascinating that it implied a demure 
 consciousness of inducing some impatience" 
 in the breast of her companion, stretched 
 them out carefully by the fingers, laid them 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 291 
 
 down neatly on the table, placed her elbows 
 on her knees, slightly clasped her hands 
 together, and bending forward, lifted her 
 honest, handsome eyes to the man before 
 her. 
 
 " Mr. Rushbrook, I have got between four 
 and five hundred thousand dollars that I 
 have no use for; I can control securities 
 which can be converted, if necessary, into a 
 hundred thousand more in ten days. I am 
 free and my own mistress. It is generally 
 considered that I know what I am about 
 you admitted as much when I was your 
 pupil. I have come here to place this sum 
 in your hands, at your free disposal. You 
 know why and for what purpose." 
 
 " But what do you know of my affairs ? " 
 asked Rushbrook, quickly. 
 
 " Everything, and I know you, which is 
 better. Call it an investment if you like 
 for I know you will succeed and let me 
 share your profits. Call it if you please 
 restitution, for I am the miserable cause 
 of your rupture with that man. Or call it 
 revenge if you like,'* she said with a faint 
 smile, " and let me fight at your side against 
 our common enemy ! Please, Mr. Rush- 
 brook, don't deny me this. I have come 
 
292 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 three thousand miles for it; I could have 
 sent it to you or written but I feared 
 you would not understand it. You are smil- 
 ing you will take it ? " 
 
 " I cannot," said Rushbrook, gravely. 
 
 " Then you force me to go into the Stock 
 Market myself, and fight for you, and, un- 
 aided by your genius, perhaps lose it with- 
 out benefiting you." 
 
 Rushbrook did not reply. 
 
 " At least, then, tell me why you ' can- 
 not.' " 
 
 Rushbrook rose, and looking into her face, 
 said quietly with his old directness : 
 
 " Because I love you, Miss Nevil." 
 
 A sudden instinct to rise and move away, 
 a greater one to remain and hear him speak 
 again, and a still greater one to keep back 
 the blood that she felt was returning all too 
 quickly to her cheek after the first shock, 
 kept her silent. But she dropped her eyes. 
 
 " I loved you ever since I first saw you at 
 Los Osos," he went on quickly ; " I said to 
 myself even then, that if there was a woman 
 that would fill my life, and make me what 
 she wished me to be, it was you. I even 
 fancied that day that you understood me 
 better than any woman, or even any man, 
 
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 293 
 
 that I had ever met before. I loved you 
 through all that miserable business with that 
 man, even when my failure to make you 
 happy with another brought me no nearer to 
 you. I have loved you always. I shall love 
 you always. I love you more for this fool- 
 ish kindness that brings you beneath my 
 roof once more, and gives me a chance to 
 speak my heart to you, if only once and for 
 the last time, than all the fortune that you 
 could put at my disposal. But I could not 
 accept what you would offer me from any 
 woman who was not my wife - and I could 
 not marry any woman that did not love 
 me. I am perhaps past the age when I 
 could inspire a young girl's affection ; but 
 I have not reached the age when I would ac- 
 cept anything less." He stopped abruptly. 
 Grace did not look up. There was a tear 
 glistening upon her long eyelashes, albeit a 
 faint smile played upon her lips. 
 
 " Do you call this business, Mr. Rush- 
 brook ? " she said softly. 
 
 "Business?" 
 
 " To assume a proposal declined before it 
 has been offered." 
 
 " Grace my darling tell me is it 
 possible?" 
 
294 A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 
 
 It was too late for her to rise now, as his 
 hands held both hers, and his handsome 
 mouth was smiling level with her own. So 
 it really seemed to a dispassionate spectator 
 that it was possible, and before she had left 
 the room, it even appeared to be the most 
 probable thing in the world. 
 
 The union of Grace Nevil and Robert 
 Rushbrook was recorded by local history as 
 the crown to his victory over the Ring. But 
 only he and his wife knew that it was the 
 cause. 
 
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12 Morfetf of JFictton 
 
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of Jfictton 13 
 
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14 Motfetf of jFtctton 
 
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of JFietton 19 
 
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of JFiction 21 
 
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22 Morfes of jftction 
 
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Worfetf of JFtctton 23 
 
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24 Motto of JFiction 
 
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of JFictton 25 
 
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of JFtctfon 27 
 
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28 
 
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Morfea of fiction 29 
 
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of Jftctton 31 
 
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32 Morfesf of JFtcttcn 
 
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of jfiction 33 
 
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34 OTorktf of jftetion 
 
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of ^Fiction 35 
 
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