Chapter IX.

by Bret Harte

　　It was only the third time they had ever met--did Paul considerthat when he thought her cold? Did he know now why she had notunderstood him at Rosario? Did he understand now how calculatingand selfish he had seemed to her that night? Could he look her inthe face now--no, he must be quiet--they were so near the house,and everybody could see them!--and say that he had ever believedher capable of making up that story of the Arguellos? Could he nothave guessed that she had some memory of that name in her childishrecollections, how or where she knew not? Was it strange that adaughter should have an instinct of her father? Was it kind to herto know all this himself and yet reveal nothing? Because hermother and father had quarreled, and her mother had run away withsomebody and left her a ward to strangers--was that to be concealedfrom her, and she left without a name? This, and much more,tenderly reproachful, bewildering and sweetly illogical, yetinexpressibly dear to Paul, as they walked on in the gloaming.More to the purpose, however, the fact that Briones, as far as sheknew, did not know her mother, and never before the night atStrudle Bad had ever spoken of her. Still more to the purpose,that he had disappeared after an interview with the colonel thatnight, and that she believed always that the colonel had bought himoff. It was not with her money. She had sometimes thought thatthe colonel and he were in confidence, and that was why she hadlately distrusted Pendleton. But she had refused to take the nameof Arguello again after that scene, and had called herself only bythe name he had given her--would he forgive her for ever speakingof it as she had?--Yerba Buena. But on shipboard, at Milly'ssuggestion, and to keep away from Briones, her name had appeared onthe passenger list as Miss Good, and they had come, not to NewYork, but Boston.It was possible that the colonel had extracted the information hesent her from Briones. They had parted from Pendleton in London,as he was grumpy and queer, and, as Milly thought, becoming verymiserly and avaricious as he grew older, for he was alwaysquarreling over the hotel bills. But he had Mrs. Woods's New Yorkaddress at Under Cliff, and, of course, guessed where she was.There was no address on his letter: he had said he would writeagain.Thus much until they reached the steps of the veranda, and Milly,flying down, was ostentatiously overwhelmed with the unexpectedappearance of Mr. Paul Hathaway and Yerba, whom she had beenwatching from the window for the last ten minutes. Then theappearance of Mr. Woods, Californian and reminiscent, and Mrs.Woods, metropolitan, languid, and forgetful, and the sudden andformal retirement of the girls. An arch and indefinable mystery inthe air whenever Paul and Yerba appeared together--of which eventhe servants were discreetly conscious.At dinner Mr. Woods again became retrospective and Californian, anddwelt upon the changes he had noticed. It appeared the oldpioneers had in few cases attained a comfortable fortune for theirold age. "I know," he added, "that your friend Colonel Pendletonhas dropped a good deal of money over in Europe. Somebody told methat he actually was reduced to take a steerage passage home. Itlooks as if he might gamble--it's an old Californian complaint."As Paul, who had become suddenly grave again, did not speak, Mrs.Woods reminded them that she had always doubted the colonel's moralprinciples. Old as he was, he had never got over that freedom oflife and social opinion which he had imbibed in early days. Forher part, she was very glad he had not returned from Europe withthe girls, though, of course, the presence of Don Caesar and hissister during their European sojourn was a corrective. As Paul'sface grew darker during this languid criticism, Yerba, who had beenwatching it with a new and absorbing sympathy, seized the firstmoment when they left the table to interrogate him withheartbreaking eyes."You don't think, Paul, that the colonel is really poor?""God only knows," said Paul. "I tremble to think how thatscoundrel may have bled him.""And all for me! Paul, dear, you know you were saying in the woodsthat you would never, never touch my money. What"--exultingly--"ifwe gave it to him?"What answer Paul made did not transpire, for it seemed to have beenindicated by an interval of profound silence.But the next morning, as he and Mr. Woods were closeted in thelibrary, Yerba broke in upon them with a pathetic face and atelegram in her hand. "Oh, Paul--Mr. Hathaway--it's true!"Paul seized the telegram quickly: it had no signature, only theline: "Colonel Pendleton is dangerously ill at St. John'sHospital.""I must go at once," said Paul, rising."Oh, Paul"--imploringly---"let me go with you! I should neverforgive myself if--and it's addressed to me, and what would hethink if I didn't come?"Paul hesitated. "Mrs. Woods will let Milly go with us and she canstay at the hotel. Say yes," she continued, seeking his eyeseagerly.He consented, and in half an hour they were in the train for NewYork. Leaving Milly at the hotel, ostensibly in deference to theWoods's prejudices, but really to save the presence of a thirdparty at this meeting, Paul drove with Yerba rapidly to thehospital. They were admitted to an anteroom. The house surgeonreceived them respectfully, but doubtingly. The patient was alittle better this morning, but very weak. There was a lady nowwith him--a member of a religious and charitable guild, who hadtaken the greatest interest in him--indeed, she had wished to takehim to her own home--but he had declined at first, and now he wastoo weak to be removed."But I received this telegram: it must have been sent at hisrequest," protested Yerba.The house surgeon looked at the beautiful face. He was mortal. Hewould see if the patient was able to stand another interview;possibly the regular visitor might withdraw.When he had gone, an attendant volunteered the information that theold gentleman was perhaps a little excited at times. He was awonderful man; he had seen a great deal; he talked much ofCalifornia and the early days; he was very interesting. Ah, itwould be all right now if the doctor found him well enough, for thelady was already going--that was she, coming through the hall.She came slowly towards them--erect, gray, grim--a still handsomeapparition. Paul started. To his horror, Yerba ran impulsivelyforward, and said eagerly: "Is he better? Can he see us now?"The woman halted an instant, seemed to gather the prayer-book andreticule she was carrying closer to her breast, but was otherwiseunchanged. Replying to Paul rather than the young girl, she saidrigidly: "The patient is able to see Mr. Hathaway and Miss YerbaBuena," and passed slowly on. But as she reached the door sheunloosed her black mourning veil from her bonnet, and seemed todrop it across her face with the gesture that Paul remembered shehad used twelve years ago."She frightens me!" said Yerba, turning a suddenly startled face onPaul. "Oh, Paul, I hope it isn't an omen, but she looked like someone from the grave!""Hush!" said Paul, turning away a face that was whiter than herown. "They are coming now."The house surgeon had returned a trifle graver. They might see himnow, but they must be warned that he wandered at times a little;and, if he might suggest, if it was anything of family importance,they had better make the most of their time and his lucidintervals. Perhaps if they were old friends--very old friends--hewould recognize them. He was wandering much in the past--always inthe past.They found him in the end of the ward, but so carefully protectedand partitioned off by screens that the space around his cot hadall the privacy and security of an apartment. He was very muchchanged; they would scarcely have known him, but for the delicatelycurved aquiline profile and the long white moustache--now so faintand etherealized as to seem a mere spirit wing that rested on hispillow. To their surprise he opened his eyes with a smile ofperfect recognition, and, with thin fingers beyond the coverlid,beckoned to them to approach. Yet there was still a shadow of hisold reserve in his reception of Paul, and, although one handinterlocked the fingers of Yerba--who had at first rushedimpulsively forward and fallen on her knees beside the bed--and theother softly placed itself upon her head, his eyes were fixed uponthe young man's with the ceremoniousness due to a stranger."I am glad to see, sir," he began in a slow, broken, but perfectlyaudible voice, "that now you are--satisfied with the right--of thisyoung lady--to bear the name of--Arguello--and her relationship--sir--to one of the oldest"--"But, my dear old friend," broke out Paul, earnestly, "I nevercared for that--I beg you to believe"--"He never--never--cared for it--dear, dear colonel," sobbed Yerba,passionately: "it was all my fault--he thought only of me--youwrong him!""I think otherwise," said the colonel, with grim and relentlessdeliberation. "I have a vivid--impression--sir--of an--interview Ihad with you--at the St. Charles--where you said"-- He was silentfor a moment, and then in a quite different voice called faintly--"George!"Paul and Yerba glanced quickly at each other."George, set out some refreshment for the Honorable Paul Hathaway.The best, sir--you understand. . . . A good nigger, sir--a goodboy; and he never leaves me, sir. Only, by gad! sir, he willstarve himself and his family to be with me. I brought him with meto California away back in the fall of 'forty-nine. Those were theearly days, sir--the early days."His head had fallen back quite easily on the pillow now; but aslight film seemed to be closing over his dark eyes, like the innerlid of an eagle when it gazes upon the sun."They were the old days, sir--the days of Men--when a man's wordwas enough for anything, and his trigger-finger settled any doubt.When the Trust that he took from Man, Woman, or Child was neverbroken. When the tide, sir, that swept through the Golden Gatecame up as far as Montgomery Street."He did not speak again. But they who stood beside him knew thatthe tide had once more come up to Montgomery Street, and wascarrying Harry Pendleton away with it.