Chapter III.

by Bret Harte

　　Although the rays of an unclouded sun were hot in the Santa Clararoads and byways, and the dry, bleached dust had become animpalpable powder, the perspiring and parched pedestrian who rashlysought relief in the shade of the wayside oak was speedily chilledto the bone by the northwest trade-winds that on those Augustafternoons swept through the defiles of the Coast Range, and evenpenetrated the pastoral valley of San Jose. The anomaly of strawhats and overcoats with the occupants of buggies and station wagonswas thus accounted for, and even in the sheltered garden of "ElRosario" two young girls in light summer dresses had thrown wrapsover their shoulders as they lounged down a broad rose-alley atright angles with the deep, long veranda of the casa. Yet, inspite of the chill, the old Spanish house and gardens presented aluxurious, almost tropical, picture from the roadside. Banks,beds, and bowers of roses lent their name and color to the grounds;tree-like clusters of hanging fuchsias, mound-like masses ofvariegated verbena, and tangled thickets of ceanothus and spreadingheliotrope were set in boundaries of venerable olive, fig, and peartrees. The old house itself, a picturesque relief to the glaringnewness of the painted villas along the road, had been tastefullymodified to suit the needs and habits of a later civilization; thegalleries of the inner courtyard, or patio, had been transferred tothe outside walls in the form of deep verandas, while the old adobewalls themselves were hidden beneath flowing Cape jessamine orbestarred passion vines, and topped by roofs of cylindrical redtiles."Miss Yerba!" said a dry, masculine voice from the veranda.The taller young girl started, and drew herself suddenly behind alarge Castilian rose-tree, dragging her companion with her, andputting her finger imperatively upon a pretty but somewhatpassionate mouth. The other girl checked a laugh, and remainedwatching her friend's wickedly leveled brows in amused surprise.The call was repeated from the veranda. After a moment's pausethere was the sound of retreating footsteps, and all was quietagain."Why, for goodness' sake, didn't you answer, Yerba?" asked theshorter girl."Oh, I hate him!" responded Yerba. "He only wanted to bore me withhis stupid, formal, sham-parental talk. Because he's my officialguardian he thinks it necessary to assume this manner towards mewhen we meet, and treats me as if I were something between hisstepdaughter and an almshouse orphan or a police board. It'sperfectly ridiculous, for it's only put on while he is in office,and he knows it, and I know it, and I'm tired of making believe.Why, my dear, they change every election; I've had seven of them,all more or less of this kind, since I can remember.""But I thought there were two others, dear, that were notofficial," said her companion, coaxingly.Yerba sighed. "No; there was another, who was president of a bank,but that was also to be official if he died. I used to like him,he seemed to be the only gentleman among them; but it appears thathe is dreadfully improper; shoots people now and then for nothingat all, and burst up his bank--and, of course, he's impossible,and, as there's no more bank, when he dies there'll be no moretrustee.""And there's the third, you know--a stranger, who never appears?"suggested the younger girl."And who do you suppose he turns out to be? Do you remember thatconceited little wretch--that 'Baby Senator,' I think they calledhim--who was in the parlor of the Golden Gate the other morningsurrounded by his idiotic worshipers and toadies and ballot-boxstuffers? Well, if you please, that's Mr. Paul Hathaway--theHonorable Paul Hathaway, who washed his hands of me, my dear, atthe beginning!""But really, Yerba, I thought that he looked and acted"--"You thought of nothing at all, Milly," returned Yerba, withauthority. "I tell you he's a mass of conceit. What else can youexpect of a Man--toadied and fawned upon to that extent? It mademe sick! I could have just shaken them!"As if to emphasize her statement, she grasped one of the longwillowy branches of the enormous rose-bush where she stood, andshook it lightly. The action detached a few of the maturerblossoms, and sent down a shower of faded pink petals on her darkhair and yellow dress. "I can't bear conceit," she added."Oh, Yerba, just stand as you are! I do wish the girls could seeyou. You make the loveliest picture!"She certainly did look very pretty as she stood there--a few leaveslodged in her hair, clinging to her dress, and suggesting byreflection the color that her delicate satin skin would haveresented in its own texture. But she turned impatiently away--perhaps not before she had allowed this passing vision to impressthe mind of her devoted adherent--and said, "Come along, or thatdreadful man will be out on the veranda again.""But, if you dislike him so, why did you accept the invitation tomeet him here at luncheon?" said the curious Milly."I didn't accept; the Mother Superior did for me, because he's theMayor of San Francisco visiting your uncle, and she's alwaysanxious to placate the powers that be. And I thought he might havesome information that I could get out of him. And it was betterthan being in the convent all day. And I thought I could stand himif you were here."Milly gratefully accepted this doubtful proof of affection bysqueezing her companion's arm. "And you didn't get anyinformation, dear?""Of course not! The idiot knows only the old tradition of hisoffice--that I was a mysterious Trust left in Mayor Hammersley'shands. He actually informed me that 'Buena' meant 'Good'; that itwas likely the name of the captain of some whaler, that put intoSan Francisco in the early days, whose child I was, and that, if Ichose to call myself 'Miss Good,' he would allow it, and get a billpassed in the Legislature to legalize it. Think of it, my dear!'Miss Good,' like one of Mrs. Barbauld's stories, or a moralgoverness in the 'Primary Reader.'""'Miss Good,'" repeated Milly, innocently. "Yes, you might put ane at the end--G-double-o-d-e. There are Goodes in Philadelphia.And then you won't have to sacrifice that sweet pretty 'Yerba,'that's so stylish and musical, for you'd still be 'Yerba Good.'But," she added, as Yerba made an impatient gesture, "why do youworry yourself about that? You wouldn't keep your own name long,whatever it was. An heiress like you, dear,--lovely andaccomplished,--would have the best names as well as the best men inAmerica to choose from.""Now please don't repeat that idiot's words. That's what he says;that's what they all say!" returned Yerba, pettishly. "One wouldreally think it was necessary for me to get married to becomeanybody at all, or have any standing whatever. And, whatever youdo, don't go talking of me as if I were named after a vegetable.'Yerba Buena' is the name of an island in the bay just off SanFrancisco. I'm named after that.""But I don't see the difference, dear. The island was named afterthe vine that grows on it.""You don't see the difference?" said Yerba, darkly. "Well, I do.But what are you looking at?"Her companion had caught her arm, and was gazing intently at thehouse."Yerba," she said quickly, "there's the Mayor, and uncle, and astrange gentleman coming down the walk. They're looking for us.And, as I live, Yerb! the strange gentleman is that young senator,Mr. Hathaway!""Mr. Hathaway? Nonsense!""Look for yourself."Yerba glanced at the three gentlemen, who, a hundred yards distant,were slowly advancing in the direction of the ceanothus-hedge,behind which the girls had instinctively strayed during theirconversation."What are you going to do?" said Milly, eagerly. "They're comingstraight this way. Shall we stay here and let them pass, or make arun for the house?""No," said Yerba, to Milly's great surprise. "That would look asif we cared. Besides, I don't know that Mr. Hathaway has come tosee me. We'll stroll out and meet them accidentally."Milly was still more astonished. However, she said, "Wait amoment, dear!" and, with the instinctive deftness of her sex, inthree small tugs and a gentle hitch, shook Yerba's gown intoperfect folds, passed her fingers across her forehead and over herears, securing, however, with a hairpin on their passage three ofthe rose petals where they had fallen. Then, discharging theirfaces of any previous expression, these two charming hypocritessallied out innocently into the walk. Nothing could be morenatural than their manner: if a criticism might be ventured upon,it was that their elbows were slightly drawn inwards and beforethem, leaving their hands gracefully advanced in the line of theirfigures, an attitude accepted throughout the civilized world ofdeportment as indicating fastidious refinement not unmingled withpermissible hauteur.The three gentlemen lifted their hats at this ravishing apparition,and halted. The Mayor advanced with great politeness."I feared you didn't hear me call you, Miss Yerba, so we venturedto seek you. As the two girls exchanged almost infantile glancesof surprise, he continued: "Mr. Paul Hathaway has done us the honorof seeking you here, as he did not find you at the convent. Youmay have forgotten that Mr. Hathaway is the third one of yourtrustees.""And so inefficient and worthless that I fear he doesn't count,"said Paul, "but," raising his eyes to Yerba's, "I fancy that I havealready had the pleasure of seeing you, and, I fear, themortification of having disturbed you and your friends in theparlor of the Golden Gate Hotel yesterday."The two girls looked at each other with the same childlikesurprise. Yerba broke the silence by suddenly turning to Milly."Certainly, you remember how greatly interested we were in theconversation of a party of gentlemen who were there when we camein. I am afraid our foolish prattle must have disturbed you. Iknow that we were struck with the intelligent and eloquent devotionof your friends.""Oh, perfectly," chimed in the loyal but somewhat infelix Milly,"and it was so kind and thoughtful of Mr. Hathaway to take themaway as he did.""I felt the more embarrassed," continued Hathaway, smiling, butstill critically examining Yerba for an indication of somethingcharacteristic, beyond this palpable conventionality, "as Iunfortunately must present my credentials from a gentleman as muchof a stranger as myself--Colonel Pendleton."The trade-wind was evidently making itself felt even in thispastoral retreat, for the two gentlemen appeared to shrink slightlywithin themselves, and a chill seemed to have passed over thegroup. The Mayor coughed. The avuncular Woods gazed abstractedlyat a large cactus. Even Paul, prepared by previous experience,stopped short."Colonel Pendleton! Oh, do tell me all about him!" flashed outYerba, suddenly, with clasped hands and eager girlish breath.Paul cast a quick grateful glance at the girl. Whether assumed ornot, her enthusiastic outburst was effective. The Mayor lookeduneasily at Woods, and turned to Paul."Ah, yes! You and he are original co-trustees. I believePendleton is in reduced circumstances. Never quite got over thatbank trouble.""That is only a question of legislative investigation and relief,"said Paul lightly, yet with purposely vague official mystery ofmanner. Then, turning quickly to Yerba, as if replying to the onlyreal question at issue, he continued pointedly, "I am sorry to saythe colonel's health is so poor that it keeps him quite a recluse.I have a letter from him and a message for you." His bright eyesadded plainly--"as soon as we can get rid of those people.""Then you think that a bill"--began the Mayor, eagerly."I think, my dear sir," said Paul plaintively, "that I and myfriends have already tried the patience of these two young ladiesquite enough yesterday with politics and law-making. I have tocatch the six-o'clock train to San Francisco this evening, and havealready lost the time I hoped to spend with Miss Yerba by missingher at the convent. Let me stroll on here, if you like, and if Iventure to monopolize the attention of this young lady for half anhour, you, my dear Mr. Mayor, who have more frequent access to her,I know, will not begrudge it to me."He placed himself beside Yerba and Milly, and began anentertaining, although, I fear, slightly exaggerated, account ofhis reception by the Lady Superior, and her evident doubts of hisidentity with the trustee mentioned in Pendleton's letter ofintroduction. "I confess she frightened me," he continued, "whenshe remarked that, according to my statement, I could have beenonly eighteen years old when I became your guardian, and as much inwant of one as you were. I think that only her belief that Mr.Woods and the Mayor would detect me as an impostor provoked her atlast to tell me your whereabouts.""But why did they ever make you a trustee, for goodness' sake?"said Milly, naively. "Was there no one grown up at that time thatthey could have called upon?""Those were the early days of California," responded Paul, withgreat gravity, although he was conscious that Yerba was regardinghim narrowly, "and I probably looked older and more intelligentthan I really was. For, candidly," with the consciousness ofYerba's eyes still upon him, "I remember very little about it. Idare say I was selected, as you kindly suggest, 'for goodness'sake.'""After all," said the volatile Milly, who seemed inclined, aschaperone, to direct the conversation, "there was something prettyand romantic about it. You two poor young things taking care ofeach other, for of course there were no women here in those days.""Of course there were women here" interrupted Yerba, quickly, witha half-meaning, half-interrogative glance at Paul that made himinstinctively uneasy. "You later comers"--to Milly--"always seemto think that there was nothing here before you!" She paused, andthen added, with a naive mixture of reproach and coquetry that wasas charming as it was unexpected, "As to taking care of each other,Mr. Hathaway very quickly got rid of me, I believe.""But I left you in better hands, Miss Yerba; and let me thank younow," he added in a lower tone, "for recognizing it as you did amoment ago. I'm glad that you instinctively liked ColonelPendleton. Had you known him better, you would have seen howtruthful that instinct was. His chief fault in the eyes of ourworthy friends is that he reminds them of a great deal they can'tperpetuate and much they would like to forget." He checked himselfabruptly. "But here is your letter," he resumed, drawing ColonelPendleton's missive from his pocket, "perhaps you would like toread it now, in case you have any message to return by me. MissWoods and I will excuse you."They had reached the end of the rose-alley, where a summer-housethat was in itself a rose-bower partly disclosed itself. The othergentlemen had lagged behind. "I will amuse myself, and consoleyour other guardian, dear," said the vivacious Milly, with a rapidexchange of glances with Yerba, "until this horrid business isover. Besides," she added with cheerful vagueness, "after so longa separation you must have a great deal to say to each other."Paul smiled as she rustled away, and Yerba, entering the summer-house, sat down and opened the letter. The young man remainedleaning against the rustic archway, occasionally glancing at herand at the moving figures in the gardens. He was conscious of anodd excitement which he could trace to no particular cause. It wastrue that he had been annoyed at not finding the young girl at theconvent, and at having to justify himself to the Lady Superior forwhat he conceived to be an act of gratuitous kindness; nor was heblind to the fact that his persistence in following her was more anact of aggression against the enemies of Pendleton than of concernfor Yerba. She was certainly pretty, he could not remember hermother sufficiently to trace any likeness, and he had never admiredthe mother's pronounced beauty. She had flashed out for an instantinto what seemed originality and feeling. But it had passed, andshe had asked no further questions in regard to the colonel.She had hurriedly skimmed through the letter, which seemed to becomposed of certain figures and accounts. "I suppose it's allright," she said; "at least you can say so if he asks you. It'sonly an explanation why he has transferred my money from the bankto Rothschild's agent years ago. I don't see why it shouldinterest me now."Paul made no doubt that it was the same transfer that hadshipwrecked the colonel's fortune and alienated his friends, andcould not help replying somewhat pointedly, "But I think it should,Miss Yerba. I don't know what the colonel explained to you--doubtless, not the whole truth, for he is not a man to praisehimself; but, the fact is, the bank was in difficulties at the timeof that transfer, and, to make it, he sacrificed his personalfortune, and, I think, awakened some of that ill-feeling you havejust noticed." He checked himself too late: he had again lost notonly his tact and self-control, but had nearly betrayed himself.He was surprised that the girl's justifiable ignorance should haveirritated him. Yet she had evidently not noticed, or misunderstoodit, for she said, with a certain precision that was almoststudied:--"Yes, I suppose it would have been a terrible thing to him to havebeen suspected of misappropriating a Trust confided to him byparties who had already paid him the high compliment of confidingto his care a secret and a fortune."Paul glanced at her quickly with astonishment. Was this ignorance,or suspicion? Her manner, however, suddenly changed, with thecharming capriciousness of youth and conscious beauty. "He speaksof you in this letter," she said, letting her dark eyes rest on himprovokingly."That accounts for your lack of interest then," said Paul gayly,relieved to turn a conversation fraught with so much danger."But he speaks very flatteringly," she went on. "He seems to beanother one of your admirers. I'm sure, Mr. Hathaway, after thatscene in the hotel parlor yesterday, you, at least, cannot complainof having been misrepresented before me. To tell you the truth, Ithink I hated you a little for it.""You were quite right," returned Paul. "I must have beeninsufferable! And I admit that I was slightly piqued against youfor the idolatries showered upon you at the same moment by yourfriends."Usually, when two young people have reached the point ofconfidingly exchanging their first impressions of each other, someprogress has been made in first acquaintance. But it did notstrike Paul in that way, and Yerba's next remark was discouraging."But I'm rather disappointed, for all that. Colonel Pendletontells me you know nothing of my family or of the secret."Paul was this time quite prepared, and withstood the girl'sscrutiny calmly. "Do you think," he asked lightly, "that even heknows?""Of course he does," she returned quickly. "Do you suppose hewould have taken all that trouble you have just talked about if hedidn't know it? And feared the consequences, perhaps?" she added,with a slight return of her previous expressive manner.Again Paul was puzzled and irritated, he knew not why. But he onlysaid pleasantly, "I differ from you there. I am afraid that such athing as fear never entered into Colonel Pendleton's calculationson any subject. I think he would act the same towards the highestand the lowest, the powerful or the most weak." As she glanced athim quickly and mischievously, he added, "I am quite willing tobelieve that his knowledge of you made his duty pleasanter."He was again quite sincere, and his slight sympathy had thatirresistible quality of tone and look which made him so dangerous.For he was struck with the pretty, soothed self-complacency thathad shone in her face since he had spoken of Pendleton's equaldisinterestedness. It seemed, too, as if what he had taken forpassion or petulance in her manner had been only a resistance tosome continual aggression of condition. With that remainder heldin check, a certain latent nobility was apparent, as of her trueself. In this moment of pleased abstraction she had drawn throughthe lattice-work of one of the windows a spray of roses clinging tothe vine, and with her graceful head a little on one side, wassoftly caressing her cheek with it. She certainly was very pretty.From the crown of her dark little head to the narrow rosettedslippers that had been idly tapping the ground, but now seemed topress it more proudly, with arched insteps and small ankles, shewas pleasant to look upon."But you surely have something else to think about, Miss Yerba?"said the young man, with conviction. "In a few months you will beof age, and rid of those dreadfully stupid guardians; with your"--The loosened rose-spray flew from her hand out of the window as shemade a gesture, half real, half assumed, of imploring supplication."Oh, please, Mr. Hathaway, for Heaven's sake don't you begin too!You are going to say that, with my wealth, my accomplishments, mybeauty, my friends, what more can I want? What do I care about asecret that can neither add to them nor take them away? Yes, youwere! It's the regular thing to say--everybody says it. Why, Ishould have thought 'the youngest senator' could afford to havebeen more original.""I plead guilty to all the weaknesses of humanity," said Paul,warmly, again beginning to believe that he had been most unjust toher independence."Well, I forgive you, because you have forgotten to say that, if Idon't like the name of Yerba Buena, I could so easily change thattoo.""But you do like it," said Paul, touched with this first hearing ofher name in her own musical accents, "or would like it if you heardyourself pronounce it." It suddenly recurred to him, with astrange thrill of pleasure, that he himself had given it to her.It was as if he had created some musical instrument to which shehad just given voice. In his enthusiasm he had thrown himself onthe bench beside her in an attitude that, I fear, was not asdignified as became his elderly office."But you don't think that is my name," said the girl, quickly."I beg your pardon?" said Paul, hesitatingly."You don't think that anybody would have been so utterly idiotic asto call me after a ground-vine--a vegetable?" she continuedpetulantly."Eh?" stammered Paul."A name that could be so easily translated," she went on, halfscornfully, "and when translated, was no possible title foranybody? Think of it--Miss Good Herb! It is too ridiculous foranything."Paul was not usually wanting in self-possession in an emergency, orin skill to meet attack. But he was so convinced of the truth ofthe girl's accusation, and now recalled so vividly his ownconsternation on hearing the result of his youthful and romanticsponsorship for the first time from Pendleton, that he was struckwith confusion."But what do you suppose it was intended for?" he said at last,vaguely. "It was certainly 'Yerba Buena' in the Trust. At least,I suppose so," he corrected himself hurriedly."It is only a supposition," she said quietly, "for you know itcannot be proved. The Trust was never recorded, and the only copycould not be found among Mr. Hammersley's papers. It is only partof the name, of which the first is lost.""Part of the name?" repeated Paul, uneasily."Part of it. It is a corruption of de la Yerba Buena,--of theYerba Buena,--and refers to the island of Yerba Buena in the bay,and not to the plant. That island was part of the property of myfamily--the Arguellos--you will find it so recorded in the Spanishgrants. My name is Arguello de la Yerba Buena."It is impossible to describe the timid yet triumphant, the half-appealing yet complacent, conviction of the girl's utterance. Amoment before, Paul would have believed it impossible for him tohave kept his gravity and his respect for his companion under thisegregious illusion. But he kept both. For a sudden convictionthat she suspected the truth, and had taken this audacious andoriginal plan of crushing it, overpowered all other sense. TheArguellos, it flashed upon him, were an old Spanish family, formerowners of Yerba Buena Island, who had in the last years becomeextinct. There had been a story that one of them had eloped withan American ship captain's wife at Monterey. The legendary historyof early Spanish California was filled with more remarkableincidents, corroborated with little difficulty from Spanishauthorities, who, it was alleged, lent themselves readily to anyfabrication or forgery. There was no racial pride: on thecontrary, they had shown an eager alacrity to ally themselves withtheir conquerors. The friends of the Arguellos would be proud torecognize and remember in the American heiress the descendant oftheir countrymen. All this passed rapidly through his mind afterthe first moment of surprise; all this must have been thedeliberate reasoning of this girl of seventeen, whose dark eyeswere bent upon him. Whether she was seeking corroboration orcomplicity he could not tell."Have you found this out yourself?" he asked, after a pause."Yes. One of my friends at the convent was Josita Castro; she knewall the history of the Arguellos. She is perfectly satisfied."For an instant Paul wondered if it was a joint conception of thetwo schoolgirls. But, on reflection, he was persuaded that Yerbawould commit herself to no accomplice--of her own sex. She mighthave dominated the girl, and would make her a firm partisan, whilethe girl would be convinced of it herself, and believe herself afree agent. He had had such experience with men himself."But why have you not spoken of it before--and to ColonelPendleton?""He did not choose to tell me," said Yerba, with femininedexterity. "I have preferred to keep it myself a secret till I amof age.""When Colonel Pendleton and some of the other trustees have noright to say anything," thought Paul quickly. She had evidentlytrusted him. Yet, fascinated as he had been by her audacity, hedid not know whether to be pleased, or the reverse. He would havepreferred to be placed on an equal footing with Josita Castro. Sheanticipated his thoughts by saying, with half-raised eyelids:--"What do you think of it?""It seems to be so natural and obvious an explanation of themystery that I only wonder it was not thought of before," saidPaul, with that perfect sincerity that made his sympathy soeffective."You see,"--still under her pretty eyelids, and the tender promiseof a smile parting her little mouth,--"I'm believing that you tellthe truth when you say you don't know anything about it."It was a desperate moment with Paul, but his sympathetic instincts,and possibly his luck, triumphed. His momentary hesitation easilysimulated the caution of a conscientious man; his knit eyebrows andbright eyes, lowered in an effort of memory, did the rest. "Iremember it all so indistinctly," he said, with literaltruthfulness; "there was a veiled lady present, tall and dark, towhom Mayor Hammersley and the colonel showed a singular, and, itstruck me, as an almost superstitious, respect. I remember now,distinctly, I was impressed with the reverential way they bothaccompanied her to the door at the end of the interview." Heraised his eyes slightly; the young girl's red lips were parted;that illumination of the skin, which was her nearest approach tocolor, had quite transfigured her face. He felt, suddenly, thatshe believed it, yet he had no sense of remorse. He half believedit himself; at least, he remembered the nobility of the mother'sself-renunciation and its effect upon the two men. Why should notthe daughter preserve this truthful picture of her mother'smomentary exaltation? Which was the most truthful--that, or thedegrading facts? "You speak of a secret," he added. "I canremember little more than that the Mayor asked me to forget fromthat moment the whole occurrence. I did not know at the time howcompletely I should fulfill his request. You must remember, MissYerba, as your Lady Superior has, that I was absurdly young at thetime. I don't know but that I may have thought, in my youthfulinexperience, that this sort of thing was of common occurrence.And then, I had my own future to make--and youth is brutallyselfish. I was quite friendless and unknown when I left SanFrancisco for the mines, at the time you entered the convent asYerba Buena."She smiled, and made a slight impulsive gesture, as if she wouldhave drawn nearer to him, but checked herself, still smiling, andwithout embarrassment. It may have been a movement of youthfulcamaraderie, and that occasional maternal rather than sisterlyinstinct which sometimes influences a young girl's masculinefriendship, and elevates the favored friend to the plane of thedoll she has outgrown. As he turned towards her, however, sherose, shook out her yellow dress, and said with pretty petulance:--"Then you must go so soon--and this your first and last visit as myguardian?""No one could regret that more than I," looking at her withundefined meaning."Yes," she said, with a tantalizing coquetry that might havesuggested an underlying seriousness. "I think you have lost a gooddeal. Perhaps, so have I. We might have been good friends in allthese years. But that is past.""Why? Surely, I hope, my shortcomings with Miss Yerba Buena willnot be remembered by Miss Arguello?" sail Paul, earnestly."Ah! She may be a very different person.""I hope not," said the young man, warmly. "But how different?""Well, she may not put herself in the way of receiving such point-blank compliments as that," said the young girl, demurely."Not from her guardian?""She will have no guardian then." She said this gravely, butalmost at the same moment turned and sat down again, throwing herlinked hands over her knee, and looked at him mischievously. "Yousee what you have lost, sir.""I see," said Paul, but with all the gravity that she had dropped."No; but you don't see all. I had no brother--no friend. Youmight have been both. You might have made me what you liked. Youmight have educated me far better than these teachers, or, at leastgiven me some pride in my studies. There were so many things Iwanted to know that they couldn't teach me; so many times I wantedadvice from some one that I could trust. Colonel Pendleton wasvery good to me when he came; he always treated me like a princesseven when I wore short frocks. It was his manner that first mademe think he knew my family; but I never felt as if I could tell himanything, and I don't think, with all his chivalrous respect, heever understood me. As to the others--the Mayors--well, you mayjudge from Mr. Henderson. It is a wonder that I did not run awayor do something desperate. Now, are you not a little sorry?"Her voice, which had as many capricious changes as her manner, hadbeen alternately coquettish, petulant, and serious, had now becomeplayful again. But, like the rest of her sex, she was evidentlymore alert to her surroundings at such a moment than her companion,for before he could make any reply, she said, without apparentlylooking, "But there is a deputation coming for you, Mr. Hathaway.You see, the case is hopeless. You never would be able to give toone what is claimed by the many."Paul glanced down the rose-alley, and saw that the deputation inquestion was composed of the Mayor, Mr. Woods, a thin, delicate-looking woman,--evidently Mrs. Woods,--and Milly. The lattermanaged to reach the summer-house first, with apparently youthfulalacrity, but really to exchange, in a single glance, somemysterious feminine signal with Yerba. Then she said withbreathless infelicity:--"Before you two get bored with each other now, I must tell youthere's a chance of you having more time. Aunty has promised tosend off a note excusing you to the Reverend Mother, if she canpersuade Mr. Hathaway to stay over to-night. But here they are.[To Yerba] Aunty is most anxious, and won't hear of his going."Indeed, it seemed as if Mrs. Woods was, after a refined fashion,most concerned that a distinguished visitor like Mr. Hathawayshould have to use her house as a mere accidental meeting-placewith his ward, without deigning to accept her hospitality. She wasreinforced by Mr. Woods, who enunciated the same idea with moremasculine vigor; and by the Mayor, who expressed his convictionthat a slight of this kind to Rosario would be felt in the SantaClara valley. "After dinner, my dear Hathaway," concluded Mr.Woods, "a few of our neighbors may drop in, who would be glad toshake you by the hand--no formal meeting, my boy--but, hang it!They expect it."Paul looked around for Yerba. There was really no reason why heshouldn't accept, although an hour ago the idea had never enteredhis mind. Yet, if he did, he would like the girl to know that itwas for her sake. Unfortunately, far from exhibiting any concernin the matter, she seemed to be preoccupied with Milly, and onlythe charming back of her head was visible behind Mrs. Woods. Heaccepted, however, with a hesitation that took some of thegraciousness from his yielding, and a sense that he was giving astrange importance to a trivial circumstance.The necessity of attaching himself to his hostess, and making amore extended tour of the grounds, for a while diverted him from anuneasy consideration of his past interview. Mrs. Woods had knownYerba through the school friendship of Milly, and, as far as thereligious rules of the convent would allow, had always beendelighted to show her any hospitality. She was a beautiful girl--did not Mr. Hathaway think so?--and a girl of great character. Itwas a pity, of course, that she had never known a mother's care,and that the present routine of a boarding-school had usurped thetender influences of home. She believed, too, that the singularrotation of guardianship had left the girl practically without acounseling friend to rely upon, except, perhaps, Colonel Pendleton;and while she, Mrs. Woods, did not for a moment doubt that thecolonel might be a good friend and a pleasant companion of men,really he, Mr. Hathaway, must admit that, with his reputation andhabits, he was hardly a fit associate for a young lady. Indeed,Mr. Woods would have never allowed Milly to invite Yerba here ifColonel Pendleton was to have been her escort. Of course, the poorgirl could not choose her own guardian, but Mr. Woods said he had aright to choose who should be his niece's company. Perhaps Mr.Woods was prejudiced,--most men were,--yet surely Mr. Hathaway,although a loyal friend of Colonel Pendleton's, must admit thatwhen it was an open scandal that the colonel had fought a duelabout a notoriously common woman, and even blasphemously defendedher before a party of gentlemen, it was high time, as Mr. Woodssaid, that he should be remanded to their company exclusively. No;Mrs. Woods could not admit that this was owing to the injustice ofher own sex! Men are really the ones who make the fuss over thosethings, just as they, as Mr. Hathaway well knew, made the laws!No; it was a great pity, as she and her husband had just agreed,that Mr. Hathaway, of all the guardians, could not have been alwaysthe help and counselor--in fact, the elder brother--of poor Yerba!Paul was conscious that he winced slightly, consistently andconscientiously, at the recollection of certain passages of hisyouth; inconsistently and meanly, at this suggestion of a jointrelationship with Yerba's mother."I think, too," continued Mrs. Woods, "she has worried foolishlyabout this ridiculous mystery of her parentage--as if it could makethe slightest difference to a girl with a quarter of a million, oras if that didn't show quite conclusively that she was somebody!""Certainly," said Paul, quickly, with a relief that he neverthelessfelt was ridiculous."And, of course, I dare say it will all come out when she is ofage. I suppose you know if any of the family are still living?""I really do not.""I beg your pardon," said Mrs. Woods, with a smile. "I forgot it'sa profound secret until then. But here we are at the house; I seethe girls have walked over to our neighbors'. Perhaps you wouldlike to have a few moments to yourself before you dress for dinner,and your portmanteau, which has been sent for, comes from yourhotel. You must be tired of seeing so many people."Paul was glad to accept any excuse for being alone, and, thankinghis hostess, followed a servant to his room--a low-ceilinged butluxuriously furnished apartment on the first floor. Here he threwhimself on a cushioned lounge that filled the angle of the deepembrasure--the thickness of the old adobe walls--that formed a partof the wooden-latticed window. A Cape jessamine climbing beside itfilled the room with its subtle, intoxicating perfume. It was sostrong, and he felt himself so irresistibly overpowered andimpelled towards a merely idle reverie, that, in order to thinkmore clearly and shut out some strange and unreasoning enthrallmentof his senses, he rose and sharply closed the window. Then he satdown and reflected.What was he doing here? and what was the meaning of all this? Hehad come simply to fulfill a duty to his past, and please ahelpless and misunderstood old acquaintance. He had performed thatduty. But he had incidentally learned a certain fact that might beimportant to this friend, and clearly his duty was simply to goback and report it. He would gain nothing more in the way ofcorroboration of it by staying now, if further corroboration wererequired. Colonel Pendleton had already been uselessly andabsurdly perplexed about the possible discovery of the girl'sparentage, and its effect upon her fortunes and herself. She hadjust settled that of her own accord, and, without committingherself or others, had suggested a really sensible plan by whichall trouble would be avoided in future. That was the common-senseway of looking at it. He would lay the plan before the colonel,have him judge of its expediency and its ethics--and even thequestion whether she already knew the real truth, or was self-deceived. That done, he would return to his own affairs inSacramento. There was nothing difficult in this, or that needworry him, only he could have done it just as well an hour ago.He opened the window again. The scent of the jessamine came in asbefore, but mingled with the cooler breath of the roses. There wasnothing intoxicating or unreal in it now; rather it seemed a gentlearomatic stimulant--of thought. Long shadows of unseen poplarsbeyond barred the garden lanes and alleys with bands of black andyellow. A slanting pencil of sunshine through the trees was for amoment focussed on a bed of waxen callas before a hedge ofceanothus, and struck into dazzling relief the cold white chalicesof the flowers and the vivid shining green of their background.Presently it slid beyond to a tiny fountain, before invisible, andwrought a blinding miracle out of its flashing and leaping spray.Yet even as he gazed the fountain seemed to vanish slowly, thesunbeam slipped on, and beyond it moved the shimmer of white andyellow dresses. It was Yerba and Milly returning to the house.Well, he would not interrupt his reflections by idly watching them;he would, probably, see a great deal of Yerba that evening, and bythat time he would have come to some conclusion in regard to her.But he had not taken into consideration her voice, which, alwaysmusical in its Southern intonation and quite audible in the quietgarden, struck him now as being full of joyous sweetness. Well,she was certainly very happy--or very thoughtless. She wasactually romping with Milly, and was now evidently being chaseddown the rose-alley by that volatile young woman. Then these swiftCamillas apparently neared the house, there was the rapid rustle ofskirts, the skurrying of little feet on the veranda, a stumble, amouse-like shriek from Milly, and her voice, exhausted, dying,happy, broken with half-hushed laughter, rose to him on the breathof the jessamine and rose.Surely she was a child, and, if a child, how he had misjudged her!What if all that he had believed was mature deliberation was onlythe innocent imaginings of a romantic girl, all that he had takenseriously only a school-girl's foolish dream! Instead of combatingit, instead of reasoning with her, instead of trying to interesther in other things, he had even helped on her illusions. He hadtreated her as if the taint of her mother's worldliness andknowledge of evil was in her pure young flesh. He had recognizedher as the daughter of an adventuress, and not as his ward,appealing to his chivalry through her very ignorance--it might beher very childish vanity. He had brought to a question of tenderand pathetic interest only his selfish opinion of the world and theweaknesses of mankind. The blood came to his cheeks--with all hisexperienced self-control, he had not lost the youthful trick ofblushing--and he turned away from the window as if it had breatheda reproach.But ought he have even contented himself with destroying herillusions--ought he not have gone farther and told her the wholetruth? Ought he not first have won her confidence--he rememberedbitterly, now, how she had intimated that she had no one to confidein--and, after revealing her mother's history, have still pledgedhimself to keep the secret from all others, and assisted her in herplan? It would not have altered the state of affairs, except sofar as she was concerned; they could have combined together; hisready wit would have helped him; and his sympathy would havesustained her; but--How and in what way could he have told her? Leaving out thedelicate and difficult periphrase by which her mother's shame wouldhave to be explained to an innocent school-girl--what right couldhe have assumed to tell it? As the guardian who had nevercounseled or protected her? As an acquaintance of hardly an hourago? Who would have such a right? A lover--on whose lips it wouldonly seem a tacit appeal to her gratitude or her fears, and whom nosensitive girl could accept thereafter? No. A husband? Yes! Heremembered, with a sudden start, what Pendleton had said to him.Good Heavens! Had Pendleton that idea in his mind? And yet--itseemed the only solution.A knock at his door was followed by the appearance of Mr. Woods.Mr. Hathaway's portmanteau had come, and Mrs. Woods had sent amessage, saying that in view of the limited time that Mr. Hathawaywould have with his ward, Mrs. Woods would forego her right to keephim at her side at dinner, and yield her place to Yerba. Paulthanked him with a grave inward smile. What if he made hisdramatic disclosure to her confidentially over the soup and fish?Yet, in his constantly recurring conviction of the girl'sindependence, he made no doubt she would have met his brutalitywith unflinching pride and self-possession. He began to dressslowly, at times almost forgetting himself in a new kind ofpleasant apathy, which he attributed to the odor of the flowers,and the softer hush of twilight that had come on with the dyingaway of the trade winds, and the restful spice of the bay-treesnear his window. He presently found himself not so much thinkingof Yerba as of seeing her. A picture of her in the summer-housecaressing her cheek with the roses seemed to stand out from theshadows of the blank wall opposite him. When he passed into thedressing-room beyond, it was not his own face he saw in the glass,but hers. It was with a start, as if he had heard her voice, thathe found upon his dressing-table a small vase containing a flowerfor his coat, with the penciled words on a card in a school-girl'shand, "From Yerba, with thanks for staying." It must have beenplaced there by a servant while he was musing at the window.Half a dozen people were already in the drawing-room when Pauldescended. It appeared that Mr. Woods had invited certain of hisneighbors--among them a Judge Baker and his wife, and Don CaesarBriones, of the adjacent Rancho of Los Pajaros, and his sister, theDona Anna. Milly and Yerba had not yet appeared. Don Caesar, ayoung man of a toreador build, roundly bland in face and murky ineye, seemed to notice their absence, and kept his glances towardsthe door, while Paul engaged in conversation with Dona Anna--ifthat word could convey an impression of a conventionality whichthat good-humored young lady converted into an animated flirtationat the second sentence with a single glance and two shakes of herfan. And then Milly fluttered in--a vision of school-girlfreshness and white tulle, and a moment later--with a pause ofexpectation--a tall, graceful figure, that at first Paul scarcelyrecognized.It is a popular conceit of our sex that we are superior to anyeffect of feminine adornment, and that a pretty girl is equallypretty in the simplest frock. Yet there was not a man in the roomwho did not believe that Yerba in her present attire was not onlyfar prettier than before, but that she indicated a new and moredelicate form of beauty. It was not the mere revelation of contourand color of an ordinary decollete dress, it was a perfectpresentment of pure symmetry and carriage. In this black grenadinedress, trimmed with jet, not only was the delicate satin sheen ofher skin made clearer by contrast, but she looked every inch herfull height, with an ideal exaltation of breeding and culture. Shewore no jewelry except a small necklace of pearls--so small itmight have been a child's--that fitted her slender throat sotightly that it could scarcely be told from the flesh that itclasped. Paul did not know that it was the gift of the mother tothe child that she had forsworn only a few weeks before she partedfrom her forever; but he had a vague feeling that, in that sabledress that seemed like mourning, she walked at the funeral of hermother's past. A few white flowers in her corsage, the companionsof the solitary one in his button-hole, were the only relief.Their eyes met for a single moment, the look of admiration inPaul's being answered by the naive consciousness in Yerba's of awoman looking her best; but the next moment she appearedpreoccupied with the others, and the eager advances of Don Caesar."Your brother seems to admire Miss Yerba," said Paul."Ah, ye--es," returned Dona Anna. "And you?""Oh!" said Paul, gayly, "I? I am her guardian--with me it issimple egotism, you know.""Ah!" returned the arch Dona Anna, "you are then already so certainof her? Good! I shall warn him."A precaution that did seem necessary; as later, when Paul, at asignal from his hostess, offered his arm to Yerba, the youngSpaniard regarded him with a look of startled curiosity."I thank you for selecting me to wear your colors," said Paul witha glance at the flowers in her corsage, as they sat at table, "andI think I deserve them, since, but for you, I should have been onmy way to San Francisco at this moment. Shall I have anopportunity of talking to you a few minutes later in the evening?"he added, in a lower tone."Why not now?" returned Yerba, mischievously. "We are set hereexpressly for that purpose.""Surely not to talk of our own business--I should say, of ourfamily affairs," said Paul, looking at her with equal playfulness;"though I believe your friend Don Caesar, opposite, would be morepleased if he were sure that was all we did.""And you think his sister would share in that pleasure?" retortedYerba. "I warn you, Mr. Hathaway, that you have been quitejustifying the Reverend Mother's doubts about your venerablepretensions. Everybody is staring at you now."Paul looked up mechanically. It was true. Whether from someoccult sympathy, from a human tendency to admire obvious fitnessand symmetry, or the innocent love with which the world regardsinnocent lovers, they were all observing Yerba and himself withundisguised attention. A good talker, he quickly led theconversation to other topics. It was then that he discovered thatYerba was not only accomplished, but that this convent-bred girlhad acquired a singular breadth of knowledge apart from theordinary routine of the school curriculum. She spoke and thoughtwith independent perceptions and clearness, yet without thetactlessness and masculine abruptness that is apt to detract fromfeminine originality of reflection. By some tacit understandingthat had the charm of mutual confidence, they both exertedthemselves to please the company rather than each other, and Paul,in the interchange of sallies with Dona Anna, had a certainpleasure in hearing Yerba converse in Spanish with Don Caesar. Butin a few moments he observed, with some uneasiness, that they weretalking of the old Spanish occupation, and presently of the oldSpanish families. Would she prematurely expose an ignorance thatmight be hereafter remembered against her, or invite some dreadfulgenealogical reminiscence that would destroy her hopes and raze herSpanish castles? Or was she simply collecting information? Headmired the dexterity with which, without committing herself, shemade Don Caesar openly and even confidentially communicative. Andyet he was on thorns; at times it seemed as if he himself wereplaying a part in this imposture of Yerba's. He was aware that hiswandering attention was noticed by the quick-witted Dona Anna, whenhe regained his self-possession by what appeared to be a happydiversion. It was the voice of Mrs. Judge Baker calling across thetable to Yerba. By one of the peculiar accidents of generalconversation, it was the one apparently trivial remark that in apause challenged the ears of all."We were admiring your necklace, Miss Yerba."Every eye was turned upon the slender throat of the handsome girl.The excuse was so natural.Yerba put her hand to her neck with a smile. "You are joking, Mrs.Baker. I know it is ridiculously small, but it is a child'snecklace, and I wear it because it was a gift from my mother."Paul's heart sank again with consternation. It was the first timehe had heard the girl distinctly connect herself with her actualmother, and for an instant he felt as startled as if the forgottenOutcast herself had returned and taken a seat at the board."I told you it couldn't be so?" remarked Mrs. Baker, to herhusband.Everybody naturally looked inquiringly upon the couple, and Mrs.Baker explained with a smile: "Bob thinks he's seen it before; menare so obstinate.""Pardon me, Miss Yerba," said the Judge, blandly, "would you mindshowing it to me, if it is not too much trouble?""Not at all," said Yerba, smiling, and detaching the circlet fromher neck. "I'm afraid you'll find it rather old-fashioned.""That's just what I hope to find it," said Judge Baker, with atriumphant glance at his wife. "It was eight years ago when I sawit in Tucker's jewelry shop. I wanted to buy it for my littleMinnie, but as the price was steep I hesitated, and when I did makeup my mind he had disposed of it to another customer. Yes," headded, examining the necklace which Yerba had handed to him. "I amcertain it is the same: it was unique, like this. Odd, isn't it?"Everybody said it was odd, and looked upon the occurrence with thatunreasoning satisfaction with which average humanity receives themost trivial and unmeaning coincidences. It was left to Don Caesarto give it a gallant application."I have not-a the pleasure of knowing-a the Miss Minnie, but thejewelry, when she arrives, to the throat-a of Miss Yerba, she hasnot lost the value--the beauty--the charm.""No," said Woods, cheerily. "The fact is, Baker, you were tooslow. Miss Yerba's folks gobbled up the necklace while you werethinking. You were a new-comer. Old 'forty-niners' did nothesitate over a thing they wanted.""You never knew who was your successful rival, eh?" said Dona Anna,turning to Judge Baker with a curious glance at Paul's pale face inpassing."No," said Baker, "but"--he stopped with a hesitating laugh andsome little confusion. "No, I've mixed it up with something else.It's so long ago. I never knew, or if I did I've forgotten. Butthe necklace I remember." He handed it back to Yerba with a bow,and the incident ended.Paul had not looked at Yerba during this conversation, anunreasoning instinct that he might confuse her, an equallyunreasoning dread that he might see her confused by others,possessing him. And when he did glance at her calm, untroubledface, that seemed only a little surprised at his own singularcoldness, he was by no means relieved. He was only convinced ofone thing. In the last five minutes he had settled upon theirrevocable determination that his present relations with the girlcould exist no longer. He must either tell her everything, or seeher no more. There was no middle course. She was on the brink ofan exposure at any moment, either through her ignorance or herunhappy pretension. In his intolerable position, he was equallyunable to contemplate her peril, accept her defense, or himselfdefend her.As if, with some feminine instinct, she had attributed his silenceto some jealousy of Don Caesar's attentions, she more than onceturned from the Spaniard to Paul with an assuring smile. In hisanxiety, he half accepted the rather humiliating suggestion, andmanaged to say to her, in a lower tone:--"On this last visit of your American guardian, one would think, youneed not already anticipate your Spanish relations."He was thrilled with the mischievous yet faintly tender pleasurethat sparkled in her eyes as she said,--"You forget it is my American guardian's first visit, as well ashis last.""And as your guardian," he went on, with half-veiled seriousness,"I protest against your allowing your treasures, the property ofthe Trust," he gazed directly into her beautiful eyes, "beinghandled and commented upon by everybody."When the ladies had left the table, he was, for a moment, relieved.But only for a moment. Judge Baker drew his chair beside Paul's,and, taking his cigar from his lips, said, with a perfunctorylaugh:--"I say, Hathaway, I pulled up just in time to save myself frommaking an awful speech, just now, to your ward."Paul looked at him with cold curiosity."Yes. Gad! Do you know who was my rival in that necklacetransaction?""No," said Paul, with frigid carelessness."Why, Kate Howard! Fact, sir. She bought it right under my nose--and overbid me, too."Paul did not lose his self-possession. Thanks to the fact thatYerba was not present, and that Don Caesar, who had overheard thespeech, moved forward with a suggestive and unpleasant smile, hisagitation congealed into a coldly placid fury."And I suppose," he returned, with perfect calmness, "that, afterthe usual habit of this class of women, the necklace very soonfound its way back, through the pawnbroker, to the jeweler again.It's a common fate.""Yes, of course," said Judge Baker, cheerfully. "You're quiteright. That's undoubtedly the solution of it. But," with a laugh,"I had a narrow escape from saying something--eh?""A very narrow escape from an apparently gratuitous insult," saidPaul, gravely, but fixing his eyes, now more luminous than everwith anger, not on the speakers but on the face of Don Caesar, whowas standing at his side. "you were about to say,"--"Eh--oh--ah! this Kate Howard? So! I have heard of her--yees!And Miss Yerba--ah--she is of my country--I think. Yes--we shallclaim her--of a truth--yes.""Your countrymen, I believe, are in the habit of making claims thatare more often founded on profit than verity," said Paul, withsmileless and insulting deliberation. He knew perfectly what hewas saying, and the result he expected. Only twenty-four hoursbefore he had smiled at Pendleton's idea of averting scandal anddiscovery by fighting, yet he was endeavoring to pick a quarrelwith a man, merely on suspicion, for the same purpose, and he sawnothing strange in it. A vague idea, too, that this wouldirrevocably confirm him in opposition to Yerba's illusions probablydetermined him.But Don Caesar, albeit smiling lividly, did not seem inclined topick up the gauntlet, and Woods interfered hastily. "Don Caesarmeans that your ward has some idea herself that she is of Spanishorigin--at least, Milly says so. But of course, as one of theoldest trustees, you know the facts."In another moment Paul would have committed himself. "I thinkwe'll leave Miss Yerba out of the question," he said, coldly. "Myremark was a general one, although, of course, I am responsible forany personal application of it.""Spoken like a politician, Hathaway," said Judge Baker, with aneffusive enthusiasm, which he hoped would atone for the alarmingresults of his infelicitous speech. "That's right, gentlemen! Youcan't get the facts from him before he is ready to give them. Keepyour secret, Mr. Hathaway, the court is with you."Nevertheless, as they passed out of the room to join the ladies,the Mayor lingered a little behind with Woods. "It's easy to seethe influence of that Pendleton on our young friend," he said,significantly. "Somebody ought to tell him that it's played outdown here--as Pendleton is. It's quite enough to ruin his career."Paul was too observant not to notice this, but it brought him nosense of remorse; and his youthful belief in himself and his powerkept him from concern. He felt as if he had done something, ifonly to show Don Caesar that the girl's weakness or ignorance couldnot be traded upon with impunity. But he was still undecided as tothe course he should pursue. But he should determine that to-night. At present there seemed no chance of talking to her alone--she was unconcernedly conversing with Milly and Mrs. Woods, andalready the visitors who had been invited to this hurried levee inhis honor were arriving. In view of his late indiscretion, henervously exerted his fullest powers, and in a very few minutes wassurrounded by a breathless and admiring group of worshipers. Aludicrous resemblance to the scene in the Golden Gate Hotel passedthrough his mind; he involuntarily turned his eyes to seek Yerba inthe half-fear, half-expectation of meeting her mischievous smile.Their glances met; to his surprise hers was smileless, andinstantly withdrawn, but not until he had been thrilled by anunconscious prepossession in its luminous depths that he scarcelydared to dwell upon. What mattered now this passage with DonCaesar or the plaudits of his friends? She was proud of him!Yet, after that glance, she was shy, preoccupying herself withMilly, or even listening sweetly to Judge Baker's somewhatpractical and unromantic reminiscences of the deprivations and thehardships of California early days, as if to condone his pastinfelicity. She was pleasantly unaffected with Don Caesar,although she managed to draw Dona Anna into the conversation; shewas unconventional, Paul fancied, to all but himself. Once ortwice, when he had artfully drawn her towards the open Frenchwindow that led to the moonlit garden and shadowed veranda, she hadmanaged to link Milly's arm in her own, and he was confident that asuggestion to stroll with him in the open air would be followed byher invitation to Milly to accompany them. Disappointed andmortified as he was, he found some solace in her manner, which hestill believed suggested the hope that she might be made accessibleto his persuasions. Persuasions to what? He did not know.The last guest had departed; he lingered on the veranda with acigar, begging his host and hostess not to trouble themselves tokeep him company. Milly and Yerba had retired to the former'sboudoir, but, as they had not yet formally bade him good night,there was a chance of their returning. He still stayed on in thishope for half an hour, and then, accepting Yerba's continuedabsence as a tacit refusal of his request, he turned abruptly away.But as he glanced around the garden before reentering the house, hewas struck by a singular circumstance--a white patch, like aforgotten shawl, which he had observed on the distant ceanothushedge, and which had at first thrilled him with expectation, hadcertainly changed its position. Before, it seemed to be near thesummer-house; now it was, undoubtedly, farther away. Could they,or she alone, have slipped from the house and be awaiting himthere? With a muttered exclamation at his stupidity he steppedhastily from the veranda and walked towards it. But he hadscarcely proceeded a dozen yards before it disappeared. He reachedthe summer-house--it was empty; he followed the line of hedge--noone was there. It could not have been her, or she would havewaited, unless he were the victim of a practical joke. He turnedimpatiently back to the house, reentered the drawing-room by theFrench window, and was crossing the half-lit apartment, when heheard a slight rustle in the shadow of the window. He lookedaround quickly, and saw that it was Yerba, in a white, loose gown,for which she had already exchanged her black evening dress,leaning back composedly on the sofa, her hands clasped behind hershapely head."I am waiting for Milly," she said, with a faint smile on her lips.He fancied, in the moonlight that streamed upon her, that herbeautiful face was pale. "She has gone to the other wing to seeone of the servants who is ill. We thought you were on the verandasmoking and I should have company, until I saw you start off, andrush up and down the hedge like mad."Paul felt that he was losing his self-possession, and becomingnervous in her presence. "I thought it was you," he stammered."Me! Out in the garden at this hour, alone, and in the broadmoonlight? What are you thinking of, Mr. Hathaway? Do you knowanything of convent rules, or is that your idea of your ward'seducation?"He fancied that, though she smiled faintly, her voice was astremulous as his own."I want to speak with you," he said, with awkward directness. "Ieven thought of asking you to stroll with me in the garden.""Why not talk here?" she returned, changing her position, pointingto the other end of the sofa, and drawing the whole overflow of herskirt to one side. "It is not so very late, and Milly will returnin a few moments."Her face was in shadow now, but there was a glow-worm light in herbeautiful eyes that seemed faintly to illuminate her whole face.He sank down on the sofa at her side, no longer the brilliant andambitious politician, but, it seemed to him, as hopelessly adreaming, inexperienced boy as when he had given her the name thatnow was all he could think of, and the only word that rose to hisfeverish lips."Yerba!""I like to hear you say it," she said quickly, as if to gloss overhis first omission of her formal prefix, and leaning a littleforward, with her eyes on his. "One would think you had createdit. You almost make me regret to lose it."He stopped. He felt that the last sentence had saved him. "It isof that I want to speak," he broke out suddenly and almost rudely."Are you satisfied that it means nothing, and can mean nothing, toyou? Does it awaken no memory in your mind--recall nothing youcare to know? Think! I beg you, I implore you to be frank withme!"She looked at him with surprise."I have told you already that my present name must be some absurdblunder, or some intentional concealment. But why do you want toknow now?" she continued, adding her faint smile to the emphasis."To help you!" he said, eagerly. "For that alone! To do all I canto assist you, if you really believe, and want to believe, that youhave another. To ask you to confide in me; to tell me all you havebeen told, all that you know, think you know, or want to know aboutyour relationship to the Arguellos--or to--any one. And then todevote myself entirely to proving what you shall say is yourdesire. You see, I am frank with you, Yerba. I only ask you to beas frank with me; to let me know your doubts, that I may counselyou; your fears, that I may give you courage.""Is that all you came here to tell me?" she asked quietly."No, Yerba," he said, eagerly, taking her unresisting butindifferent hand, "not all; but all that I must say, all that Ihave the right to say, all that you, Yerba, would permit me to tellyou now. But let me hope that the day is not far distant when Ican tell you all, when you will understand that this silence hasbeen the hardest sacrifice of the man who now speaks to you.""And yet not unworthy of a rising politician," she added, quicklywithdrawing her hand. "I agree," she went on, looking towards thedoor, yet without appearing to avoid his eager eyes, "and when Ihave settled upon 'a local habitation and a name' we shall renewthis interesting conversation. Until then, as my fourth officialguardian used to say--he was a lawyer, Mr. Hathaway, like yourself--when he was winding up his conjectures on the subject--all thathas passed is to be considered 'without prejudice.'""But Yerba"--began Paul, bitterly.She slightly raised her hand as if to check him with a warninggesture. "Yes, dear," she said suddenly, lifting her musicalvoice, with a mischievous side-glance at Paul, as if to indicateher conception of the irony of a possible application, "this way.Here we are waiting for you." Her listening ear had detectedMilly's step in the passage, and in another moment that cheerfulyoung woman discreetly stopped on the threshold of the room, withevery expression of apologetic indiscretion in her face."We have finished our talk, and Mr. Hathaway has been so concernedabout my having no real name that he has been promising meeverything, but his own, for a suitable one. Haven't you, Mr.Hathaway?" She rose slowly and, going over to Milly, put her armaround her waist and stood for one instant gazing at him betweenthe curtains of the doorway. "Good night. My very proper chaperonis dreadfully shocked at this midnight interview, and is taking meaway. Only think of it, Milly; he actually proposed to me to walkin the garden with him! Good night, or, as my ancestors--don'tforget, my ancestors--used to say: 'Buena noche--hasta manana!'"She lingered over the Spanish syllables with an imitation of DonaAnna's lisp, and with another smile, but more faint and moreghostlike than before; vanished with her companion.At eight o'clock the next morning Paul was standing beside hisportmanteau on the veranda."But this is a sudden resolution of yours, Hathaway," said Mr.Woods. "Can you not possibly wait for the next train? The girlswill be down then, and you can breakfast comfortably.""I have much to do--more than I imagined--in San Francisco before Ireturn," said Paul, quickly. "You must make my excuses to them andto your wife.""I hope," said Woods, with an uneasy laugh, "you have had no morewords with Don Caesar, or he with you?""No," said Paul, with a reassuring smile, "nothing more, I assureyou.""For you know you're a devilish quick fellow, Hathaway," continuedWoods, "quite as quick as your friend Pendleton. And, by the way,Baker is awfully cut up about that absurd speech of his, you know.Came to me last night and wondered if anybody could think it wasintentional. I told him it was d--d stupid, that was all. I guesshis wife had been at him. Ha! ha! You see, he remembers the oldtimes, when everybody talked of these things, and that woman Howardwas quite a character. I'm told she went off to the States yearsago.""Possibly," said Paul, carelessly. After a pause, as the carriagedrove up to the door, he turned to his host. "By the way, Woods,have you a ghost here?""The house is old enough for one. But no. Why?""I'll swear I saw a figure moving yonder, in the shrubbery, latelast evening; and when I came up to it, it most unaccountablydisappeared.""One of Don Caesar's servants, I dare say. There is one of them,an Indian, prowling about here, I've been told, at all hours. I'llput a stop to it. Well, you must go then? Dreadfully sorry youcouldn't stop longer! Good-by!"