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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -</style> -<title>THE SAN ROSARIO RANCH</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="The San Rosario Ranch" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Maud Howe" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1884" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="42283" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2013-03-09" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="The San Rosario Ranch" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="The San Rosario Ranch" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="rosario.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2013-03-09T19:07:22.313790+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42283" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Maud Howe" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2013-03-09" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -<style type="text/css"> -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="the-san-rosario-ranch"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">THE SAN ROSARIO RANCH</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> -included with this eBook or online at -</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: The San Rosario Ranch -<br /> -<br />Author: Maud Howe -<br /> -<br />Release Date: March 09, 2013 [EBook #42283] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>THE SAN ROSARIO RANCH</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container coverpage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 50%" id="figure-10"> -<img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover" src="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Cover</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">THE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="x-large">SAN ROSARIO RANCH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY -<br />MAUD HOWE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BOSTON -<br />ROBERTS BROTHERS -<br />1884</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">Copyright, 1884</em><span class="small">, -<br />BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">University Press: -<br />JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container dedication"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">TO -<br />My Beloved Sister, -<br />LAURA E. RICHARDS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-i"><span class="x-large">SAN ROSARIO RANCH.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CHAPTER I.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Scatter the blossoms under her feet!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The house was a large square building, simple -and hospitable in appearance. A wide -veranda ran about the four sides, heavily draped -by climbing roses and clematis. There were -indisputable evidences that visitors were expected. -Old Tip, the dog, knew it as well as everybody -else about the house. He had been routed out -from his favorite spot on the sunny side of the -piazza, by Ah Lam, who had given him a shower-bath -of water and soap-suds, because he did not -move away to make room for the scrubbing-brush -which the white-clad Celestial plied -vigorously. From earliest morning the inhabitants -of the simple house had been busied in making -it ready. The very kittens which played about -the steps of the piazza had licked an extra gloss -upon their shining coats in honor of the expected -guest. Only Tip, the old hunting-dog, the spoiled -child of the household, showed no interest in what -was going on, and with a cynical growl trotted -off to the woods behind the house, where he -might sleep safe from all fear of interruption.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the wide doorway, which stood hospitably -open, stepped a lady. At the first sight of -Barbara Deering, strangers were always strongly -impressed with the indisputable fact that she -was above and before all else a lady. A second -look,--and people were sure to take one,--and -it appeared that she was a young lady and a -beautiful one. She was tall, above the height -of ordinary women, and her carriage was -remarkably erect and commanding. She walked -with a quick, light step to the edge of the piazza, -and raising one hand to shade her eyes from -the rays of the setting sun, stood looking out -across the wide garden. Her figure was like -that of a Greek Diana, muscular and graceful, -indicating great strength and endurance. The -limbs were rounded but not languidly, as one -saw by the arm, from which the sleeve had -slipped back: it was white, firm, and hard. Her -hands were large and shapely, the tips of the -fingers red, and the texture of the skin showed -that they were used to other work than that of -the broidery-frame. Her head, with its crown -of pretty, curling flaxen hair, was habitually held -rather high, and her face wore an expression in -which a certain natural hauteur and imperiousness -seemed at war with a gentleness which was -more the result of education than a natural -trait. The forehead was wide and unlined, the -eyes brown and clear, the nose straight, and the -mouth small and rosy. The soft, white woollen -gown, with its breast-knot of red roses, suited the -young woman perfectly; and as she stood in the -sunset light, a spray of climbing rose hanging -overhead from the roof of the piazza, she made -an unconscious picture of grace and loveliness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the sound of a wagon on the driveway a -warm flush mantled her cheek and throat, and -stepping to the door of the house she called out -in a sweet, high voice, "Mamma, mamma! they -are coming!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A moment later and a large open vehicle came -into sight, drawn by two swift mules, which -were urged forward by the driver, a young man -in whose face the traits of the girl on the piazza -were reproduced, but somewhat roughly. On -the seat behind the driver was seen a female -figure closely enveloped in heavy travelling -wraps, her features concealed by a thick veil. -As the mules stopped before the entrance, the -young woman on the piazza came forward with -both hands outstretched, saying cordially but -half shyly,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Millicent, welcome to San Rosario! -Are you very, very tired? Let me help you out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So saying, Barbara Deering almost lifted the -new arrival from the wagon, and with her strong -arm supported her to a chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you so much!" said the new-comer, -speaking with a slightly foreign accent, and -lifting her veil; "and you are Barbara? I know you -from your picture, only you are much prettier."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor child, you must be terribly tired; you -shall come and speak to mamma, and then you -must go directly to your room and lie down. -Hal, you will go down for Millicent's luggage?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man nodded an assent, touched up -his steeds, and the wagon disappeared down the -red dusty road. The two young girls entered -the house, Barbara leading the stranger to a -large room on the upper story. In a low chair -sat a small woman, with a face which must have -once been beautiful, and which now shone with -an expression of simple sincerity and kindliness. -She held out her hand to Millicent, kissed her -on both cheeks, and warmly bade her welcome -to San Rosario. Millicent Almsford acknowledged -the greeting with a courteous grace, and -immediately after accepted Barbara's offer to -show her to her room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the door was shut upon her, and she -was for the first time in many days alone, she -seated herself at the window, and leaning her -head upon her hand, remained wrapped in -thought. She had travelled from the coast of -the Adriatic Sea to the shores of the Pacific -Ocean, with no companion save her maid and -her own painful thoughts. And now the long -journeying was at an end, and she found herself -in the far West, in California, amidst her -kindred, all strangers to her save by tradition and -some slight correspondence. She looked about -the strange room. It was exquisitely neat and -fresh, with its clean whitewashed walls and new -blue Kidderminster carpet, its black-walnut -"bedroom set," and comfortable lounge, which -had been newly covered in her honor. On the -bureau were blue and white mats and cushions, -a toilet-set which Barbara's busy fingers had -stolen time to make.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She marked all these little details, not one of -which escaped her eyes, even to the embroidered -towel-rack with her initials, and the worked -motto, "Welcome home." Again she looked out -from the window over a wide pleasant orchard, -filled with heavily fruited peach and plum trees; -over a garden gay with bright-hued flowers, and -beyond to the everlasting hills which close -about the happy valley wherein stands the house -of the San Rosario Ranch. Numbers of oxen -and cows were straying over the hills, with here -and there groups of sheep cropping the -sun-dried grass of the hills.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The landscape was a perfect symphony in -brown. The round shiny hills were golden in -color; the warm-hued earth in the ploughed fields -and the meadows, whose crop of grass had long -since been mowed, was of a deeper tint. The -house stood in an oasis of green. A great hedge -of rose-trees blushing with red blossoms marked -the boundary of the flower-garden, irrigated with -great care through the long summer months. -The sun, low-hanging over the hilltops, -suddenly dropped from sight; and as the room grew -dim, Millicent shivered slightly, and turning -from the window threw herself on the couch -and lay there quite still, too tired even to weep -out the pain and homesickness in her heart. -A tap on the door was followed by the entrance -of one of her trunks, brought in by two strong -Chinamen, at whose coppery faces Millicent -stared curiously. Six large boxes were placed -in a row and unstrapped by the younger -Chinaman, who, when he had completed his task, -approached the stranger land said in a -sympathetic voice, "Me solly you sick; Ah Lam bring -tea-cup?" The white Celestial smiled -benignantly and vanished, quickly reappearing with -the promised cup of tea, which proved most -grateful to the girl's tired nerves. The -creature's sympathy and attention brought tears to -her eyes; and when Barbara came in a few -minutes later, to help her in unpacking, she -found the traces of these tears on Millicent's cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not try to dress for tea, dear; you are too -tired. Where shall I find your dressing-case? -You must let me take the place of your maid, -now that she has left you so cruelly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So talking pleasantly, Barbara unpacked the -guest's dressing-bag, looked admiringly at the -silver-topped bottles with "M. A." engraven upon -them, the ivory brushes, and all the dainty </span><em class="italics">et -ceteras</em><span> which were necessities to the foreign girl, -with the long white hands and finger-nails which -shone like pale pink conch-pearls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, if you would help me a little -to-night, I shall quickly learn to do for myself. If -you will look in that largest trunk, you may give -me whatever gown lies at the top."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barbara unfolded as she was bid a sea-green -cashmere dress, in which the stranger quickly -clad her slender figure. Manifold strings of tiny -seed-pearls she wound about her white throat -and wrists, performing all the details of her -dressing with a careful precision which seemed part -of her nature. The pink nails received an extra -polish, though the tea-bell had twice summoned -the inmates of the house to the evening repast. -With a peculiarly graceful motion, like the -undulation of a swift but quiet stream, she moved -about the room and finally down the stairway to -the dining-room below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Millicent, will you sit here, on my right? Hal -shall have the pleasure of occupying the place -beside you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The speaker was the lady whose gentle, firm -hand swayed the small realm of the San Rosario -Ranch during the long absence of its master, -Mr. Ralph Almsford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Almsford had been a widower for the past -ten years. On the death of his beloved wife, -her mother Mrs. Deering had continued at his -earnest request to make his house her home. -Her two younger children, Barbara and Henry -Deering, remembered no other home, and it -seemed but natural to them that they should -continue to live with their brother-in-law. The -family life was a particularly happy one, and the -tie between Ralph Almsford and the Deerings -was closer than that which exists between many -blood relations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The advent of the young heiress Millicent -Almsford, the half-sister of Ralph, was an event -of great importance in the household, and had -been eagerly anticipated by Mrs. Deering and -her daughter for several weeks. Henry Deering--or -as he was always called Hal--displayed an -absolute indifference concerning the "strange -girl" who was coming to make her home among -them for a year. What Ralph Almsford felt -about his guest no one of the household could -divine. He was a quiet, reticent man, entirely -absorbed in his business, which of late had often -taken him from home for months at a time. He -had written to his half-sister, urging her to visit -the ranch; and his letter, the first one of the kind -she had ever received, had so moved the girl that -she had telegraphed her departure, and forthwith -started on her long journey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her brother met her in San Francisco, where -they passed one day together,--a business -engagement calling him away on the morrow, as he -hoped for a few days only.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent took the place assigned her by -Mrs. Deering, and supper was enlivened by -conversation about the journey she had just achieved, -which she described as the most terrible ordeal -that it was possible for a human being to -undergo. The guest was entirely at her ease, -though her position might have been to many -people an embarrassing one. Arriving alone in -a household of near connections, who were as yet -absolute strangers to her, and with whom it had -been decided that the next year of her life should -be passed, most girls in her place would have -experienced some sensation of awkwardness; -but Millicent was entirely mistress of the -situation. She spoke principally to Hal Deering, a -jolly-looking fellow of twenty-five, who puzzled her -with the bits of dialect, perfectly unintelligible to -her, which he introduced into his conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After supper Mrs. Deering led the way into -the drawing-room, saying to her guest,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you join us at prayers in the library, -Millicent? Or would you prefer waiting here for us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see that you already know that I am an -unorthodox person, Mrs. Deering. Frankly, I would -prefer not coming, if you will allow me. Being -an agnostic, I should hardly be in sympathy -with your service. If you will kindly excuse me, -I will await you here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent's refusal to join the family at their -devotions was accompanied with a smile so -exquisite and winning that the offence was -forgiven, although forgiveness had not been asked. -Hal, the great six-foot giant, more than forgave -the graceful girl her ungraciousness, and would -have a thousand times preferred remaining with -her to joining his mother and sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On being left to herself, Millicent moved to the -piano which stood open near the window, and -seating herself let her white fingers stray gently -over the keys. Strange hands were Millicent's, -of a whiteness that made her pale cheek look -brown by comparison. The fingers were long -and taper, at the tip of each a drop as of water -ready to fall from the pink digits. The wrists -were round and very slender. On the fifth -finger of the left hand she wore a strange, small -old ring of an Etruscan pattern, which had been -stripped from the fleshless hand of a princess, -whose sanctuary had been rifled by some -nineteenth-century robber of graves. The setting -enclosed a small green intaglio exquisitely carved, -representing a Psyche with new-found wings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had a strange, white luminous face whose -beauty shone from within and lit the dark gray -eyes with a rare and tender loveliness. The -large mouth was more exquisitely refined than -the mere rosebud tininess of Barbara Deering's. -The teeth were very white and perfect, and the -veil of soft, golden bronze hair, in which she -could have clothed herself like Mary in the -desert, was deftly massed into a great dusky knot -at the nape of her white neck. Her arms and -bosom, veiled by half transparent draperies, were -white as marble from Carrara, and as finely yet -generously chiselled as those of a goddess of -Phidias. She was very tall, though her grace -of movement concealed her height; her small -feet in their velvet sandals were not disproportionate -to her size. Her features were beautiful, -and her hair and eyes the delight of every artist -who looked upon her. And yet that which made -her so remarkable among women had nothing to -do with delicate contours or harmonious tints. -Her body seemed like a screen through which -shone a flame, at times white and gentle, again -rosy and passionate. She was like the twin opals -which clasped her girdle, and was as sensitive -as they to every passing influence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the words of the ritual, grown to be meaningless -to him by their frequent repetition, fell -upon the ears of Henry Deering he heeded them -not, and failed to make the proper responses: -other sounds had struck his ear, and soft, solemn -strains of music made an under prayer to the -evening service. To these strange chords his -heart made answer, and his thoughts were raised -by them far higher than was usual at that hour, -when it was their wont to run riot over the -business in hand for the next day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the family re-entered the drawing-room, -Millicent remained seated at the piano, now -striking louder chords, and finally ending the long -rhapsody with a brilliant waltz of Chopin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, dear," said Barbara, as Millicent -left the piano; "I am so glad that you are -musical. I find very little sympathy for my music in -the family; we will have great pleasure in -practising together. I have some very good four-hand -music."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon after, the newly arrived guest bade -good-night to the family, and went to her room -accompanied by Barbara.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is a little like Ralph," said Mrs. Deering, -"only infinitely handsomer. How did she please -you, my son?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she handsome? I hardly noticed. It was -her voice that struck me; it has the sound of -laughing waters. And can't she play, though! I -never heard such music in my life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very glad for Barbara's sake that she is -musical," answered his mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; I hope that Barbara and Miss Almsford -</span><em class="italics">will</em><span> get on together. But I have my doubts," -said Hal, dubiously pulling his straw-colored -mustache.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>This is San Rosario to-day. Shall we go back -a hundred years? It has a history worth a word -or two. To one who is familiar with the -beautiful country which lies about the old Mission of -San Rosario, it is not a little strange that the -place has as yet no prominence either in history -or literature. Santa Barbara and the Mission -Dolores have been celebrated in prose and verse. -San Miguel and San Fernando Rey are not -forgotten; while San Rafael and San Francisco, -now grown to be important cities, will be -remembered as long as Plymouth or Manhattan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The venerable President of the missions of -Upper California, Father Junipero Serra, founded -the San Rosario Mission in 1784, the last year -of his life. It is possible that the judgment of -the enthusiastic priest was already failing when -he chose this site, for the Mission was never -prosperous, and was abandoned early in the -present century. While standing among the -ruins of the old church, it is not difficult to see -in fancy a picturesque scene enacted on the -spot a century ago, on the morning of the -consecration of the Mission.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little band of priests and soldiers have -come to the end of their journey; the pleasant -valley set in sheltering green hills has been -chosen for the site of the new Mission. The -tall thin figure of Father Junipero first strikes -the eye. In spite of his great age, and the -mortal disease with which he is afflicted, it is his -hand that tugs lustily at the rope which swings -the great bronze bell, hung in the arms of a -gigantic redwood. It is he who shouts aloud -the summons, "Hear, hear! all ye Gentiles! come -to the holy Church!" Close to the -President stand two priests,--one, a middle-aged man -with a head which indicates great power and a -dogged persistence; the other, a delicate looking -youth with the face of an enthusiast, beautiful -and dreamy. The handful of soldiers who serve -the Fathers as an escort are making fast the -slight church tent which they have just set -up. From the neighboring thicket the cries of -the startled birds mingle with the earnest tones -of Father Junipero and the deep notes of the -bronze bell. Hardly less timorous than the -wood creatures are the Indians, who peer -cautiously from behind the great trees at the strange -spectacle before them. They are invited to -draw near, and the bolder ones come close to -the black-robed figures, and stare curiously at -the simple ceremonials with which the ground -is consecrated to the service of the heavenly kingdom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Through the indefatigable energy of the -President and the two priests, the few buildings of -the Mission were completed within a year. The -adobe church was unusually large and well built, -as one can see to-day. The tower, the base of -which is strongly fortified, is still standing, -though the roof of the church has long since -fallen to the earthen floor. Little trace now -remains of the less important buildings, for the -Mission was abandoned thirty years after its -establishment, and the property passed into the -hands of its present owner, Mr. Ralph Almsford, -some fifteen years before the opening of our story.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A century has elapsed since that day when -the Fathers planted the cross amidst the stately -aisles of madrone trees; the Mission is now -almost forgotten, but the San Rosario Ranch is -well known for its famous breed of cattle, and -for its fine dairy, which supplies the San -Francisco market with choice butter and cream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two priests--he of the hard-favored -countenance, and he of the gentle eyes--lie side by -side at the foot of the crumbling altar. The -Indians who were reclaimed by them from -barbarism have gone to their happy hunting-grounds, -and the brilliant future prophesied by Father -Junipero is proven to be a dream and nothing more.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-ii"><span class="large">CHAPTER II.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Look to yourselves, ye polished gentlemen!</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>No city airs or arts pass current here.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Your rank is all reversed: let men of cloth</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Bow to the stalwart churls in overalls."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Millicent Almsford awoke early on the -morning after her arrival. "What is the -matter?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No one answering her question, she put another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do we not go on, what are we stopping -for?" this still in a semi-somnolent voice. On -opening her eyes and finding that she was not in -the berth of the palace car, where she had for a -week past always found herself, she laughed -outright and then gave a deep sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her long journey, from the Palazzo Fortunio -in Venice to the San Rosario Ranch in California, -was at an end; and here she was, to use her -own phrase, "planted in the wilderness for a year -to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heavens! how can I bear it?" she cried, tossing -restlessly to the other side of her wide bed; -"it is all so new, so raw, so crude, so terrible,--just -like this cotton sheet, which has chafed my -chin so badly that I would rather have slept -without one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon a loud bell broke the silence of the -morning. Millicent did not heed it, but looked about -the room to find a means of summoning assistance. -Happily she found the bell quite near her, -and, after twice ringing, a tap at her door was -heard. In answer to her "Come in," Ah Lam -opened the door cautiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Missie call Ah Lam?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want my breakfast now," said Millicent, -somewhat dismayed at the attendant she had -summoned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon Barbara came, carrying the breakfast tray -in her strong arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am so sorry you don't feel well this -morning, Millicent. What can I do for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I feel perfectly well. Do I look so badly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, dear; but we were afraid, not seeing you--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear Barbara, you must excuse my strange -foreign habits. You know I have been only a -week in your country. I did not realize that you -all came downstairs to breakfast. What time is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After seven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you have been up since--?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since six o'clock only. Hal is the early riser. -Half-past four sees him overlooking the milking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent shuddered; she had indeed come to a -strange land.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will try to learn the customs of your country," -she said rather piteously, taking up her cup -of coffee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only learn those that please you, dear. As -for our early breakfast, which I see shocks you, -think no more about it. I will gladly bring it -up to you every day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall unpack some of my boxes this morning, -Barbara; and later we will try some of your -duets, if you like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The unpacking of her Penates gave Millicent -a certain satisfaction, which was, however, -tempered by the sad recollections they brought to -her mind, of her own apartment with its three -pretty rooms in the corner of the great Palazzo -Fortunio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent Almsford was the daughter of an -American gentleman who had lived in Venice -since before the birth of his daughter. Here the -greater portion of her life had been spent, with -the interruption only of one long visit made to a -relative in England.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A month previous to the opening of our story -her father, widowed at her birth, had married for -the third time, his wife being a young and -uninteresting Italian woman of the middle class. -The marriage, to which Millicent was strongly -opposed, had led her to accept the invitation of -her half-brother to make him an extended visit -in his California home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the great cases she lifted, with the help -of Ah Lam, the household treasures which she -had been unwilling to leave behind, in the home -which knew her as its mistress no longer. A -motley collection of articles had the great trunks -enclosed: pictures, books, a large Eastern carpet, -a parchment missal of the fifteenth century with -beautiful illuminations, a guitar, a little majolica -shrine with a figure of San Antonio very much -the worse for the journey, a set of delicately -wrought silken window and bed hangings of pale -sea color, a pair of heavy silver candelabra, with -a ponderous packet of wax tapers, and innumerable -other knick-knacks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With the willing and ingenious assistance of -Ah Lam, this </span><em class="italics">roba</em><span>, to borrow the untranslatable -Italian phrase, was disposed about the large room. -The neat Nottingham lace curtains, at which -Millicent had looked askance, were now hidden -beneath the blue-green draperies, embroidered -by the hands of the mother whose face she had -never seen. The pictures were hung upon the -walls, and a deep-hued Egyptian scarf disguised -the pasteboard motto, with its friendly welcome. -A book-case was improvised by the Chinaman -from some old boxes, and covered by Millicent, -who unhesitatingly cut to pieces a heavy woollen -gown whose color struck her as appropriate to -that end. Beside the bed she hung the little -shrine of San Antonio, with much grief that the -long journey had damaged his saintly toes and -fingers. On a table were ranged the candlesticks -and the missal, and an old copy of Dante -with a mouse-gnawed cover, and Lear's -"Nonsense Book,"--this last because it was an old -friend from childhood, which she, being a -creature of habit, had forgotten to discard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The complete metamorphosis of the apartment -was a work of several days; and only when it -was entirely accomplished were Mrs. Deering -and her daughter admitted to see the change. -Poor Barbara! All the pains and trouble she -had taken, all the careful stitches she had set, -were unavailing. The new carpet she had bought -with her own pocket money was entirely covered -by old rugs, some of which were very faded and -worn; none of them were as bright and clean as -the Kidderminster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The warm knitted afghan had disappeared from -the bed, which was covered by a white quilt -embroidered in strange floral designs. The very -toilet set had been replaced, and the pretty -painted candles had been banished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have made it a little like Venice," cried -Millicent excitedly, "only the walls in my -bedroom there are hung in silk and all painted in -water-color, and the rooms are so high,--you -remember the green room in the Palazzo -Fortunio, Mrs. Deering, with the nymphs, the sea gods, -and the green hobgoblins painted all over it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed, Millicent. What a change you -have wrought in the spare bedroom. Ralph -would hardly recognize it. I see now what was -contained in the boxes which so aroused Hal's -curiosity. I am afraid you have made your room -too attractive, dear, and that we shall find -difficulty in coaxing you out of it into our more -prosaic apartments."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I always live the greater part of my -life between my own four walls: I am not a -sociable person, I am afraid. At least so Barbara -thinks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barbara said nothing; she was hurt and disappointed. -The room, with its strange furnishing, -was unnatural to her. She felt, as she looked -at Millicent with this new setting which suited -her so perfectly, that neither in the room nor in -the life of Millicent Almsford was there a place -for her. She had eagerly anticipated the advent -of this unknown girl, sisterless like herself, who -should grow to be so much to her, and in whom -she should find the sympathetic friend of whom -she had greatly felt the need; and now that she -had come, Barbara was bitterly disappointed. -Millicent was gracious, winning, full of attractive -qualities, intellectually sympathetic to a degree -which she had never before known. And yet -the tall daughter of the Ranch was cruelly disturbed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can be nothing to her; she is complete -without me," she had said to her mother; and herein -lay the reason for all her disappointment. -Living among people to whom her beauty, her talent, -and her warmth of heart had been the most -poetic features of their lives, Barbara Deering had -grown to value men and women according to the -amount of good or pleasure she could impart to -them. Her life had been one wherein the tears -and sighs had been stifled, or hidden in the -darkness of her chamber; the laughter and smiles, -the bright cheery face, the helping hand always -meeting those about her. Children loved her, and -old people blessed her for her sympathy and -kindness. To her mother and brother she was -sun, moon, and stars; and to them every hour of -her life was consecrated. Naturally endowed -with certain tastes which would have somewhat -interfered with the quiet plan of life laid out for -her, she had systematically neglected these gifts, -sacrificing herself to an imaginary duty which -was always before her eyes. She had avoided -such pursuits as might have led her aside from -the common life of the family; and happiness for -her was found in the happiness she could afford -to others. Enjoyment to her, unless her dear -ones were included in it, was something like a -sin; and the pleasure she took in her music gave -her pangs of conscience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One morning, about a week after her arrival, -Millicent was awakened by the sharp sound of a -horse's hoofs clattering down the stony road -which led to the orchard from the hill behind the -house. She sprang up, and throwing wide the -shutters, looked out to see whence the sound -came. It was still very early. The sun had not -yet clambered over the tops of the high hills; but -the sky was bright, and the shadows lay like a -misty garment over the happy valley, locked in -its circle of hills. The great bull Jupiter, the -terror of the Ranch, stood near the house, -sniffing the cool morning air, and giving thunderous -snorts of pleasure. The bars had been left down, -and he had gained access to the green orchard, -forbidden ground to him. The hedge of roses -was hung with a wondrous garlanding of -dewdrops, and the dark-red lilies were just -awakening to the draught which the night winds had -distilled in their chalices. From every blade -of grass and leaf of clover sparkled a diamond. -The fair valley had arrayed itself in jewels and -fragance for another day of light and love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sound of the horse's hoofs grew nearer; -and as Millicent looked expectantly along the -bridle-path that descends from the mountain, -there came into sight, parting the wet boughs of -the fruit trees, a horseman mounted on a gray -mustang. The rider was a strong man, who sat -his steed with the air of one to the manner born. -He was dressed in corduroy breeches, high -top-boots, and flannel shirt. He had no hat. In his -belt shone a long hunting knife, and over his -shoulder was slung a rifle. Before him on the -saddle lay a stag whose heavy antlers hardly -cleared the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The first rays of the sun, just peeping over -the hill-tops, touched his thick brown hair, giving -it a glint of bronze, shone on the wide white -forehead, flashed into the eyes, and showed her for -an instant a stern profile, exceedingly beautiful. -Then she lost his face as he turned the corner -of the piazza. Here he dismounted, and lifting -the deer from the horse laid it on the grass. -Perhaps the beauty of the dead creature struck -a chord of remorse in the breast of the hunter, -for he gave a sigh and turned it so that a gaping -wound in the neck was not visible. Then -drawing a pencil and a bit of paper from his pocket, -he wrote something, and fastening the billet to -the horns of the deer, he mounted his horse, and -giving him the rein returned slowly by the same -road. As he drew near again Millicent saw that -the mustache which hid the upper lip was -golden-brown, that the throat was white and shapely, -that the mouth smiled not untenderly, while the -eyes smiled not at all. These details were noted -with an artist's love of beauty: and as she -watched him out of sight, she wondered with all -a woman's curiosity who he might be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Since Millicent's arrival there had been many -visitors at the Ranch. All the friends of the -Deering family who were within calling distance -had either come to make the acquaintance of -Miss Almsford, or had signified their intention -of shortly doing so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Calling distance in California may be said to -extend not over fifty miles. The neighbor who -lives half a hundred miles from you will make -a call, or in other words will come to pass the day. -Calling terms cease beyond these limits, and visits -of not less than twenty-four hours are exchanged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In none of the people whom she had met had -Millicent felt or manifested the least interest. -She had received them graciously, but with a -cordiality of manner only. Not one man or -woman among the circle of friends who were on -familiar terms at the Ranch awoke in her a -desire for further acquaintance. But this one who -had called at six o'clock in the morning, and had -left his visiting card pinned to the antlers of a -stag, piqued the curiosity of the indifferent young -lady. Wrapping herself in a soft gray woollen -dressing-gown, she ran downstairs in the liveliest -manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a splendid animal, fine as the buck -described by Browning in "Donald." Alas, the -slender legs would carry his noble body and -stately head no further; the branching horns -would never again clash against the antlers of a -rival. Millicent touched the beautiful dead -creature tenderly between the horns, and tried -to close the dim eyes. At that moment she -heard a step upon the piazza, and Hal Deering -joined her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Miss Almsford, what does this mean? -You to be up and dressed"--he hesitated, -"well, yes, you are dressed, and very becomingly -too; I like that loose gown--at six in the -morning! sighing over the fine piece of venison, -and performing the last kind offices of friendship -too. Don't believe you would do as much for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man looked at the deer approvingly, -and perceiving the note, took it from the -antler and deliberately read it aloud:--</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>HONORED MISTRESS DEERING,--I lay myself -at your feet, and with myself a pretty bit of game -I have just killed, thinking that the fair Venetian -might fancy a venison steak for her breakfast. -I kiss your hand, dear my lady, and am your -most unworthy but loyal servitor,</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>JOHN GRAHAM.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Of course, knew it was Graham, queer -creature. Wonder why he did not stop and take -breakfast with us. He is an unaccountable fellow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you call him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Graham; his full name is John Douglass -Graham. Just like a hero's in a novel. But -Graham never does anything very heroic, I fancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall you cut off his skin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whose? Graham's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How foolish, Mr. Deering. I mean the -deer's fur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh no, certainly not; in America we always -serve game with the hide or feathers. In fact, -we usually do not remove the wool from our -mutton; but knowing that you were accustomed -to seeing it dressed after the super-civilized -fashion of the Venetians, I have--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Deering, that is stupid. I want his skin -and horns; please arrange them for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Princess; your most humble servant -will obey your mandate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seized the creature by its slender legs, -hoisted it deftly to his shoulders, and -disappeared through the side door. Millicent picked -up the bit of a note, smoothed it, and laid it -at Mrs. Deering's plate on the breakfast table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent asked Barbara later on in the day -who and what John Graham might be. She was -told that the man with the bronze hair and -strange eyes was a near neighbor, and that she -would without doubt soon make his acquaintance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With this answer Millicent was fain to be -content. She thought about him all that day and -dreamed of him that night; the next morning -his face was not so distinctly in her mind, but -her thoughts were constantly busy with weaving -romances in which John Graham played a -conspicuous part. The girl was indeed a creature -"of the stuff which dreams are made of;" the -web of her daily life, no matter how common-place -its actual experience might be, was rich -with her own vivid imaginings, like the gold -thread that a weaver twists through a sad-colored -fabric.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Deering, take me to the dairy. I have -not yet seen it," said Millicent one afternoon, as -they all sat together on the wide piazza, after -the early dinner. The young man rose slowly, -his great length unfolding itself as he left his -chair; and for answer put down his pipe and -reached up for Millicent's hat, which he had -hung on a peg high above her reach. The two -young people passed down the gravel walk -between the broad flower beds fragrant with the -wonderful roses which grow only upon the shores -of the Pacific. A geranium tree twelve feet -high, with its great scarlet bunches, and the vine -of Maréchal roses which climbed up the piazza -and tapped with its heavy blossoms at her -casement, aroused Millicent's enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dairy, Hal told her, was fully thirty years -old. But her own palace had frowned grim and -black upon the Grand Canal before the passengers -on the good ship "Mayflower" had landed in -Plymouth. The dairy was a plain, neat frame-building -painted white, looking out upon a great -farm-yard. Here the pretty cows all stood -crowded together, waiting their turn to offer up -their evening tribute. Two black-browed -Mexicans were milking, and a tall Yankee was -overseeing the straining of the milk. He stood by -a large trough and received the brimming -buckets from the milkers, pouring their contents -through a strainer into the great receptacle. In -the midst of the herd lay Jupiter, the splendid -bull, lazily chewing his cud and switching away -the sand flies with his thick black tail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a cool inner room were long shelves ranged -about the brick walls, whereon stood a shining -array of pans filled with milk in different stages. -Millicent was one of those people who are always -stimulated with a desire to accomplish whatever -other people are engaged in doing. She now -announced her intention of learning to milk. -This suggestion was promptly vetoed by Hal, -who, to divert her attention, called to one of the -men to bring him the skimming utensils. He -placed a large stone jar beneath the shelf, and -taking one of the milk pans which was covered -with a rich coating of yellow cream, proceeded -to skim it. His only tool was a little wooden -wand, resembling a sculptor's modelling stick. -With this he separated the yellow disk of cream -from the sides of the pan, tipping it slightly so -that the whole mass of cream slipped off -unbroken, leaving the pale-blue skimmed milk in -the vessel. Millicent was delighted with the -operation which Hal accomplished with such -skill, and after many unsuccessful attempts -finally performed the feat in a manner very -creditable to a beginner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will find your way back to the house, -Princess, I will help the men to finish the -milking," said young Deering, when Millicent had -announced her intention of returning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded her assent, and walking a few -steps stopped and leaned over the gate of the -farm-yard. Presently Deering came out from -the dairy, having donned his rough overalls and -jersey, and, placing himself on a three-legged -stool, proceeded to milk a tall white cow. -Millicent looked at him musingly for a few minutes, -and then took her way down the path which led -to the house. It was but a short distance, and -lay within sight of both farm and dwelling-house, -and yet she was somewhat astonished at the -young man's allowing her to return alone. To -see him milking, too, at work with the common -laborers, had greatly perplexed her. She cast -a glance over her shoulder to reassure herself -that it was really Hal's hatless head which was -bending forward, almost touching the side of the -white cow. "And yet he is a gentleman," she -said aloud; and, remembering the white hands -of her papa and the gentlemen whom she had -known in the Old World, was reminded of the -truth, which when it is spoken seems a truism, -and yet which is often lost sight of, that the -proof of gentlehood lies neither in the skin of -the body, nor its raiment.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Neither goodly clothes nor skin</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Show the gentleman within.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-iii"><span class="large">CHAPTER III.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"And to watch you sink by the fireside now</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Back again, as you mutely sit</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Musing by fire-light, that great brow</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And the spirit-small hand propping it."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>John Douglass Graham, by birth American, -by descent Scottish, by profession painter, sat -looking out from his tower window. It was too -dark to paint, and not yet late enough for him to -light his study lamp and begin his evening work; -so he sat idle, a rare thing for him. Before his -window there stretched a fair landscape; and a -man, a painter above other men, might well be -forgiven an hour's idleness in such a place. -The sun's last rays made the little copse look -more golden and dreamy than did the stronger -morning light. The still pool with its warm -reflection of sky and trees, the mysterious dark -wood beyond, all shadowy and full of dreams, -made a picture which his hand never wearied of -reproducing. On his easel stood a canvas which -bore a reflection of the scene on which he was -looking, painted in a strong, masterly manner, -but not yet completed. "Ah, Heavens! no -wonder that men love to paint in cities, with nothing -of nature's beauty before them to shame their -work. If I dwelt face to face with a brick wall -and saw no motion save that of horse-cars and -over-laden dray horses I might be more satisfied -with what I accomplish. This picture might -then seem beautiful to me. It is a different -thing to look into the face of the great model -and then at one's work. Only the strongest of -us can do that, only our Duprés and Rousseaus. -Shall I ever feel that I can even dimly picture -this one view? Can I ever send my testimony -of beauty to the world? Can I say the one word -of truth which was given me to speak?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham spoke to the four walls to which most -of his conversation was addressed. The only -sympathy he ever received in his bursts of -enthusiasm or despair was from a portrait which -hung where the first rays of light fell upon it in -the morning. It was the portrait of a woman -neither young nor beautiful with the beauty of -youth. A tender, sad face, with those heavy -lines at the mouth and nose which tell of grief -and long weeping. The gray hair was smoothly -brushed from the forehead, and the whole mien -and costume showed that dignity of age so -rarely seen in these days when grandmothers -dress in rainbow-hued garments fit for their -grandchildren, curl and frizzle their locks after -the mode worn by the reigning beauty of the -time, and in every possible way simulate a youth -whose charm they have not, thus losing the real -grace which belongs to their age. Before his -mother's portrait the artist always kept fresh -flowers, and to that dear and noble face his eyes -were turned in a mute appeal for sympathy -many times during the long solitary day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fires in the western sky burned low and -finally faded out before Graham rose from his seat -near the window and touched his lamp into flame. -The searching light of the large astral revealed -clearly the interior of the apartment in which -the artist lived and worked. It was a square, -high room, not very large, with a miscellaneous -furnishing. One corner, half hidden by a large -canvas, was devoted to his narrow wooden bed -and dressing-table. Near a large casement stood -his easel with palette and brushes. On the walls -hung a pair of foils and masks and some boxing -gloves. These, and a pair of Indian clubs in the -corner, proved that the occupant of the tower -was not careless of developing the splendid -muscles with which he was endowed. Near the -doorway hung a string of curious Japanese -</span><em class="italics">netshukés</em><span>,--masks, monkeys, bears, men, women, -and fruit, carefully carved in wood or ivory by the -greatest artificers the world knows to-day. The -walls were covered with pictures and sketches; -the large table littered with books and tubes of -paint. A group of deer antlers served as -clothes-pegs, and the floor was strewn with the skins of -these and many other animals. A quaint -apartment, in which no attempts at the picturesque -had been made, which the careless grouping -together of many objects had nevertheless attained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Graham had reclaimed the old tower -from utter desolation two years before, when he -took up his residence in the ruins of the -Spanish Mission. The adobe building had fallen to -decay, a thick cloak of ivy and flowering vines -mercifully hiding from the light of day the -desolate ruin of what had been the religious centre -of the country of San Rosario. The church -walls had fallen to the ground; but the reredos -and deserted altar stood swept by the winds of -heaven, and decked with climbing roses and -clinging ferns. The tower, which had been built -very substantially, and with a view to defence in -case of danger, still stood stanch, gray and -weather-beaten. A flight of steep wooden stairs -leading from what had been the vestibule of the -church gave access to the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tower stood within the limits of the San -Rosario Ranch, the property of Mr. Ralph -Almsford, which included twenty square miles of -wooded country and arable land.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Graham had asked permission to establish -himself in the old tower, Mr. Almsford had -readily granted the request, thinking, however, -that he would weary of the solitary life in a few -weeks. Two years had now passed, and the -artist still inhabited his little eyrie, whose -possession he disputed with the night owls which -had been wont to sit blinking in the tower -through the long hours of daylight. The place -was five miles distant from the Deering house, -and Graham's only neighbor was an old wood-cutter -who lived in a cabin hard by, and who went -by the name of French John. He prepared the -artist's meals and took charge of his room. -French John was a strange, silent old creature, -whose life had been a varied one. He had -served in the French army first as a soldier, -then as an officer's servant. His reminiscences, -when he could be induced to tell them, were full -of interest. He had been in Paris in '48; his -hands had helped to tear up the pavement to -make the blockades and barriers. He had served -in Algiers, whence he had come to America, -and gone as a private to the war of the Southern -Rebellion. He had finally drifted out to the -San Rosario Ranch, where he would in all -probability pass the remainder of his days. For -some reason he had received no pension from -either of the governments for the support of -which he had shed his blood. In his old age -this stranded bit of humanity was forced to -support himself by the hard labor of a wood-cutter. -His little cabin was built behind the altar, where -the Lady Chapel had once stood, sheltered from -the winds by the high screen of the reredos.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was to the humble dwelling of French -John that Graham proceeded after having made -a toilet with unusual care. The door of the -little log hut was ajar; and as he approached, the -interior was entirely visible, revealed by the -uncertain light of the wood-fire. The old man -was stooping over the blaze with a saucepan in -his hand, the contents of which he was vigorously -stirring. Three cats of preternaturally grave -aspect sat nearby, intently watching the culinary -preparations. A mangy old hunting dog lay -snoring in the corner, gray and scarred as his -master. A battered fowling-piece and a greasy -game-bag were flung on the wooden bench which -served as table and chair to the occupant of the -humble dwelling. The young man paused a -moment on the threshold and sighed. The -unkempt little cot with its lonely owner only -differed in degree from his own tower, from himself. -He had not even the companionship of the -dumb beasts. When he should grow as old and -battered as the wrinkled wood-cutter, would he -be dependent for sympathy on a purring cat, or -an old dog? Presently he spoke, but it was in -a loud, cheery voice which in nowise indicated -the sombre thought which had just suggested -itself to his mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-evening, John. What luck did you -have to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Four quail and two rabbits," replied the old -man laconically, without returning the greeting -of his visitor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what have you in that old iron pot -of yours? Something very good, I warrant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stewed quail with bacon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you must eat it yourself, for I do not -want any supper to-night; I am going up to -the house to pass the evening. Here is a -package of tobacco for you. I shall be ready at the -usual time for my breakfast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man nodded his thanks for the -present; and Graham left the hut, and proceeded to -the spot where his horse was tethered. He -saddled and mounted the mustang, and rode -swiftly down the narrow path. Old John -watched from his doorway the movements of -the young man, and when he had disappeared, -sat down to his solitary meal. The brief -glimpses of Graham and his many kindly acts -were the only human influences which touched -the life of poor old French John. His dealings -with Hal Deering were rare; once in a month -the young man visited his cot, overlooked the -work he had been engaged upon, and paid him -his wages. For the occasional gifts of tobacco -and wine, the chance newspaper from Paris, -which were the only events of importance in the -dull routine of his life, he was indebted to -Graham. He gave no expression to his gratitude, -and would have been sorely puzzled to do so. -But the artist was none the less aware of it; and -some portion of the packages which occasionally -came to the tower from San Francisco never -failed to find their way to the hut of the wood-cutter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Graham rode up the gravel path which -led to the house, he caught a glimpse of a tall, -slender figure swaying out from the gloom of -the piazza. A white, bare arm was stretched -upward to pluck a bunch of roses from a vine -twisted about the porch. Thus much he saw and -nothing more, as he fastened his horse and -mounted to the piazza, which had suddenly -become tenantless. The house door stood -hospitably open, and the young man entered the -hall and passed into the library. The soft -candle-light showed him the room and its one -occupant, the woman whom he had seen dimly amid -the climbing roses an instant before. Evidently -she had not known that the hoof-beats on the -road were bringing a guest; for she was kneeling -upon the hearth, her graceful shoulders bent, -her strong white arms steadily working a pair of -bellows. The total depravity of inanimate things -is never more clearly seen than in the case of a -wood-fire that refuses to burn. The girl, after -several unavailing efforts to rouse a flame from -the smouldering mass of embers, deliberately -took the fire to pieces and rebuilt it after -another fashion, putting a handful of pine cones -atop of the logs, and setting them alight with a -roll of paper. At last she succeeded in starting -the blaze, and, stretching her graceful length -upon the deerskin rug, she rested her elbows on -the low bench before the fender, and lay quite -silent, her face supported by her hands, her dark -eyes looking into the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Graham, who had watched from the -doorway every movement of the unconscious -young woman with the pleasure of an artist in -all things which are graceful and beautiful, still -stood silent, giving no sign of his presence. -The warm, pleasant interior, with its comfortable -easy chairs and sofas, its open piano, near which -stood a work-basket, its shelves of books and -vases of flowers, bore all the infallible indications -which mark the inmost shrine of domestic life. -This was a room where the members of the -household lived. Here was a home, the centre -of affection and hospitality. The shadow of the -lonely old man and his desolate dwelling rose -for a moment before his eyes, and at that -thought he stepped forward as if irresistibly -drawn toward the cheerful hearth and the -graceful woman whose eyes were lighted by the -dancing flames. There was a tender look about his -mouth, usually so stern in expression, as he -came forward into the firelight with an expectant -countenance, as if he were about to meet an old -friend. Hearing the footsteps, the girl without -turning her head said,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Barbara, here you see me, making myself -comfortable on Graham's deerskin. It has -just come home; is it not a beauty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Receiving no answer, Miss Millicent Almsford -turned her face so that her eyes fell upon John -Graham standing near her, with a smile on his -lips, a flush on his cheek. Was it the sudden -leaping of the fire from the heart of the great -apple log, John Graham asked himself, or was -it the shining of a flame from within that lighted -Millicent's face with a strange radiance at the -instant when her eyes met his own? For an -instant, a space of time too short to be counted -by seconds, for something less than one quickened -heartbeat, they looked at each other, these -two, the woman with his name still on her lips, -the man drawn toward the warm fireside by an -uncontrollable desire to take his place in the -picture, to remain no longer an outsider, a -looker-on. One instant, and then habit, -ceremony, the second nature of both, asserted itself, -and each shrank back from that too intimate -glance; the girl rising slowly to her feet, the -man making a ceremonious bow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon for disturbing you, Miss -Almsford; but I found the door open, and I am -allowed the privilege of making myself at home -at San Rosario. As there is no one here to -introduce me, will you allow me to name myself as -your most humble servitor, John Graham? I am -vain enough to hope that my name is not quite -unknown to you. Hal has perhaps spoken of me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, yes, they have all mentioned you -frequently. Mrs. Deering and Barbara have not -yet returned from the station. When you came -in I thought they had returned. I think the train -must be late; they drove down to meet a friend. -Will you not be seated, Mr. Graham?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent had by this time quite recovered her -equanimity, somewhat shaken by the sudden -appearance of the man who had lived so -persistently in her thoughts for the past fortnight. -She seated herself near the fire, motioning -Graham to a chair on the other side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose that this fire quite shocks you? -Mr. Deering cannot bear to sit in the same room -with it; but I have suffered so much from the -change of climate that I am allowed to have this -little blaze every evening. Do you see this pretty -rug? It only came home to-day. Mr. Deering -had it dressed for me. It is from the deer which -you brought here one morning,--a beautiful, soft -piece of fur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is well arranged too. Did I -understand you, Miss Almsford, to say that Miss -Deering had gone to meet some visitors?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but you need not mind,"--her quick ear -had caught the shade of annoyance in his -voice,--"it is only poor Ferrara."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor Ferrara? Ah, I see you have already -guessed his secret."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who could help it when it was so very evident? -Do you think Barbara will ever say yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot tell. I sometimes hope so, but she -is over-fastidious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fastidious? Is that the term to use? Surely -you would not have her marry him unless she -loved him? To a woman like Barbara such a -fate would be intolerable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not quite agree with you. You know -that self-sacrifice is Miss Deering's greatest idea -of happiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot comprehend it; truly I think I do -not understand Barbara, though I do -appreciate her and admire her. They have been -expecting a visit from you for some time. -Mr. Deering said he should ride over to your tower -and look you up to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been very much occupied of late, or -I should have paid my respects to you before -this time. If you have heard anything about -me, you must have heard that I am an undependable -person, and never do the things which people -expect of me. Besides, I am a hard-working -creature, and not of the butterfly genus of man like -our good Ferrara. Tell me a little how this new -country strikes you. What a change it must -be, this sudden transplantation from Venice to -California!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have suffered terribly. Ah! Mr. Graham, -you who have known my Venice can feel for me. -None of them here can understand it. I feel -like a plant which has been torn suddenly from -a garden beautiful with flowers and sunshine, -gentle showers and happy birds, and placed with -its roots all torn and bleeding on a barren -mountain-side, with no flowers near it, only sturdy, -useful herbs, which neither shrivel in the terrible -sun, nor wither in the keen mountain winds. But -</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> fade and die. There is no room for me in this -great New World, where all are so busy and have -so much work to do. The few beauties which -they have, their blue skies and grand hills, they -neither understand nor love. They have no time -to look back into the glorious past with its -memories; they know not how to seize the present -with its actualities; they live and toil ever for the -future, which they will not live to see. I have -nought in common with them. I belong to the -land of my birth, where the present is beautiful -with the splendors of the past. What are my -books, my studies, to these people? Nothing. -They tolerate my eccentricity; they listen -patronizingly to the tales of what has been; but -they bemoan my wasted time, and would fain teach -me to throw away my embroidery needle and -learn to use their horrible sewing-machines. -My music is my saving grace, but they approve -of it more than they enjoy it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent spoke rapidly and with shining eyes. -She had at last found a soul which, if not kindred -to her own, was at least capable of an intelligent -sympathy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not strange that you should feel as you -do; and, believe me, I can sympathize with you; -and yet, do not be hurt if I tell you that this very -transplanting is the thing which you needed. Do -you know how the finest peaches are produced? -To borrow another simile from nature, it is by -taking a slip from an old tree and grafting it to -the sturdy trunk of a young fruit tree, that the -most perfect fruit is obtained. Be not afraid; -the wound will heal; and the strong, vigorous -sap of the young tree will make the blossom, -which now droops, bloom as a rare fruit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not want it. I do not belong here. I -have no part, no sympathy with it," she said -rebelliously. "I hate it, this land, where you all -strive for money, not for art, and where fame is -measured out with ingots for weights."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I was in Venice," said Graham, "there -was with me a fellow artist, a student like -myself. We took our first trip through the Grand -Canal together. I remember his first criticism. -Shall I tell it to you? It was this: 'How terrible -to see cabbage leaves floating on the Grand -Canal!' It was the feature which first struck him. -For years after he lived in the wonderful city, -loving it better, painting it more truly, day by day. -He has long since forgotten the cabbage leaves -which at first annoyed his nice English taste. -Believe me, you will find, above and beneath -the things which now jar and shock your nerves, -much that is grand in this country which you -will one day be proud to call your own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never, never!" she cried impetuously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment voices sounded in the hall, -and several persons entered the library. These -were Barbara and her mother, Hal Deering, and -a short gentleman with a very large round head, -on which the coarse black hair, closely cropped, -stood straight in air, like the hobbed mane of a -Mexican pony. His piercing black eyes were -set too close to the well-shaped aquiline nose; -and the black mustache curled fiercely from -the upper lip, revealing a good mouth set with -strong white teeth. His forehead was deeply -seared with lines which betokened frequent -frowns, but the wrinkles about the mouth looked -as if it might be in the habit of laughing -constantly. A good olive complexion made the face -not ill-looking, while the small, well-modelled -hands and feet redeemed the rather unwieldy -little body from absolute ugliness. On seeing -Graham, the new-comer frowned fiercely and -twisted his mustache upward in an irritated -manner. When the artist stepped forward so that -the light from the lamp fell on his face, the irate -expression died from the countenance of the -little gentleman; and, with a fat, good-natured -laugh, he shook him warmly by the hand, -turning his mustachios downward so that they -resembled drooping commas. This act altered the -expression of his countenance to an extraordinary -degree, half its ferocity having disappeared with -the tight upward twist of the mustache.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By some coincidence or providence this had -been a red-letter day in the lives of several in -the party. The morning mail had brought -young Deering the welcome news that his -favorite pair of oxen had taken a prize at a -cattle-show the day before. The gentle mother had -received a letter by the same mail from her -wandering son-in-law, Ralph Almsford, full of -affection and promising a speedy return to the -Ranch. Ferrara was greatly elated by Barbara's -having driven down to the station to meet him; -and Millicent seemed, for the first time since her -arrival at the Ranch, to be thoroughly alive and -awake. Her pale cheek was softly flushed, the -color shining through the luminous skin like the -fire of an opal seen beneath its milky veil. Her -eyes, usually deep and earnest, but without great -animation, were lit by a flame which was not -reflected from the firelight. Barbara was happy -because those about her were so. Her musical -little laugh was not mechanical to-night; she -was really in good spirits and in no need of -feigning them. Graham's rather frozen -existence seemed to be melted by the genial -company; and the evening passed by with that -lightning rapidity unknown in social gatherings, -no matter how magnificently they be appointed, -where the spirit of cordiality and good-fellowship -is lacking. Music was not wanting to complete -the jollity. Ferrara sang some delightful -Spanish songs with more animation than voice; and, -to the astonishment of the company, Millicent, -who until that moment had not sung a note, at -Graham's request seated herself at the piano, -and sang, with a voice of rare beauty and power, -ballads tender and war-songs gay, old Italian -music of masters long forgotten.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sweet Mistress Deering, will you not give -us some music?" asked Graham, as Millicent -left the piano.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After such singing as Millicent's and Mr. Ferrara's, -my little thread of a voice could hardly -be heard, Graham."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Play for us then, my lady. Miss Barbara, -are you not in the mood for a dance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course she is," said Hal, "and so is -Ferrara. Come, Princess, I will give you your -first lesson in the American waltz."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young men rolled back the huge rugs, -leaving the hard-wood floor exposed. Mrs. Deering -placed herself at the piano and struck up a -little old-fashioned waltz which she had learned -in her youth, and Millicent was whirled off her -feet by her energetic partner. Not till she had -danced twice with Deering and Ferrara, did -Graham claim her hand for a waltz; and not till -Mrs. Deering struck the last chords of the music -did he loose her waist from his circling arm. -Then a stroll on the piazza was proposed, and it -was not till the last stroke of twelve warned -them that the new day had begun that the party -broke up. Barbara and Millicent stood together -watching for Hal, who had gone to fetch -Graham's horse, when the artist joined them on the -piazza and bade them good-night. Millicent, -with her foreign breeding, never had conformed -to the American habit of hand-shaking, but -when Graham wished her good-night she -instinctively and unconsciously gave him her -hand. He held it possibly a half second longer -than was necessary, and then sprang on his -horse. As he rode down the dark path, he -turned in his saddle and took a last look at the -house. Barbara had gone indoors; one figure -alone stood beneath the rose-vine with bare white -arms, the figure he had seen on his arrival -earlier in the evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-night to you," he cried. The deep, -musical tones were answered by a farewell -greeting from the girl who stood there alone -in the night watching his retreating form.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-iv"><span class="large">CHAPTER IV.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Then, in the boyhood of the year,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Rode through the coverts of the deer</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>With blissful treble ringing clear;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>She seemed a part of joyous Spring."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Though the greater part of his time was spent -in the old tower, John Graham was well known -in San Francisco. His studio, at the top of a -tall apartment-house in one of the unfrequented -thoroughfares of the city, was familiar to most -of its aspirants to artistic fame. In this large -bare room, with its strong north light, there -assembled every morning a dozen young men -who were busily engaged in cast drawing and -model painting. To the instruction of these -youths two days of the week were devoted by -the artist, whose only recompense was in the -gratitude of his scholars. One morning not -long after his meeting with Miss Almsford, -John Graham might have been seen carefully -examining his pupils' work, giving a word of -advice here, a criticism there, and a hearty -encouragement to all. On his return from -Paris he had opened his studio to all those who -were desirous of studying art. The first year -he had had but three students; at the end of the -second year the number had quadrupled. On -the morning in question Graham had arrived -with a new model,--a rough-looking fellow whom -he had met in the street, and induced to -accompany him to the studio. On a platform at -the end of the room stood the stalwart model; -while the artist, standing beside him, gave an -off-hand lecture on anatomy, the students sketched -the man or took notes of what their master was -saying. It was not Graham's habit to do any -work at the studio; but this morning, after he -had finished his discourse, he placed himself at -a vacant easel, and with a strong, bold hand made -a free drawing of the superbly modelled figure. -As he worked he forgot his class, his lecture, -everything but the canvas before him and the -subject he was studying. As the sketch grew -beneath his hand the scholars one by one -forsook their work, and stood watching him silently. -The perfect confidence with which he worked--never -hesitating, never altering what was already -done--was fascinating to the younger men; -and even the sculptor, Arthur Northcote, who -inhabited the adjoining studio, stopped on his -way upstairs and joined the group behind his -chair. When the model declared himself unable -longer to maintain the pose in which he had -been placed, Graham threw down his brush with -a sigh, saying,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Horton, you may go now if you must, -but do not fail to come to-morrow. I have your -name correctly,--Daniel Horton? Where do -you live?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stranger declined to give his address, and -promised to come the next day at the appointed -hour. After he had left the room the artist had -something to say about expression, characterizing -the face of the model as one indicative of -brutal cunning and impudent daring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Graham quitted the studio the young sculptor -joined him, and they walked together toward -the station. Northcote was a slender, delicately -built man some years Graham's junior. His -face was instinct with the poetry of art, but was -lacking in force. By the side of Graham's strong, -resolute countenance his delicate features -appeared weak and effeminate. The younger man -took his friend's arm, as if relying on him for -physical as well as moral support, and said as -they walked along,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Graham, where did you pick up that model -this morning?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I found him lounging about the station. -Why do you ask?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has such a bad face. You should be -more careful about the men you engage to pose -for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why, Arthur?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you lead such an unprotected life -in that terrible old ruin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a fanciful creature you are, Northcote. -As if there was anything to be gained in -molesting a beggarly artist in an inaccessible -fortress. You have never seen my tower, or you -would not think that it would be an attractive -spot to thieves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you not hear," continued Northcote, "of -that case of abduction in Cathgate County last -week? A man was carried off by a pair of -brigands, and kept for a week until a large sum of -money was paid for his ransom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What manner of man was he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The president of the county bank."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, my dear Arthur, when I become a bank -president, or even a railroad treasurer, I will take -better care of my worthless self. At present I -am not a promising prize to the most sanguine -kidnapper. I can fancy your feelings on receiving -a notice that, unless five thousand dollars be left -in the hollow of a blasted pine-tree on the -high-road at San Rosario, a slice of my right ear -would be forwarded by way of a reminder! -When are you coming out to pass the night with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I have sold my Diana, or when Patrick -Shallop gives me an order for a life-size statue -of himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come with me to-day. It will do you good -to pass an afternoon in the woods."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not ask me. I will take nothing more -from you, Graham,--I cannot,--not even a piece -of bread, until--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if you are so obstinate, farewell to you. -I must hurry or I shall miss my train."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two men shook hands the sculptor turning -into a dingy restaurant, the artist walking -rapidly in the direction of the railroad station. -Arthur Northcote made a light repast,--for he -was poorer than usual that day,--and soon -returned to his studio, whose rental was defrayed -by his friend's slender purse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham caught his train, and reached San -Rosario at about three o'clock. He found his horse -at the station, and rode toward the house. At a -distant point he caught a glimpse of two figures -on the piazza, which he recognized as those of -Miss Almsford and Hal Deering, who were talking -together, quite unconscious of his approach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you like Graham?" Henry Deering was the speaker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I like him. I told you I should, -from the moment you described his queer tower -and his solitary life to me. I always like people -who have something to characterize them and -set them apart from the mere dead-level rank -and file of mediocrity," answered Millicent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But may not a hermit like Graham be -mediocre like everybody else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, the fact of his living alone does not -make him interesting; but he would not live -alone if he were like everybody else. Ordinary -people all herd together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must find all of us very ordinary people, -I should think, after the people you have lived -among,--romantic Italians and that sort?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Italians are by no means all interesting. -The great charm about them is that they are -usually a happy people, and that it does not take so -much to make them contented as it does you -more complex Americans."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> Americans? How soon are you going to -call yourself an American? But you do not -answer my question. How can you manage to get -on as well as you do with commonplace people -like ourselves?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> are not commonplace. A man who -knows how to milk cows and digs potatoes, who -rubs down his own horse and feeds his stock, -and can withal dance like a city beau, and keep -a table full of people laughing from the soup to -the coffee, cannot be called commonplace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, Princess, most heartily for the -compliment. I see you will not be pinned down -by my rather personal question. Let me pay -you with some of your own coin. I think it -quite remarkable that you have so quickly fitted -into the life here, and have accepted so quietly -things which must be very strange to you. The -difference of the way of living, the surroundings, -the very strangeness of being waited on by these -Chinamen, must be very uncomfortable, I fear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not suggest a word against Ah Lam; he -is the most delightful servant I have ever seen. -Our Italian domestics are like great children, -who have to be humored and managed with the -extreme of tact and care. Ah Lam is like -nothing but one of the automata described by Bulwer -in 'The Coming Race,' which stand motionless -against the wall until roused to action by the -vrill wand, when they promptly perform the duty -in hand. Ah Lam is only mechanical as far as -regularity goes, for he has feelings and deep -sentiments beneath his calm exterior. Do you -know that he brings me fresh roses every -morning, and that when he returned from San -Francisco yesterday he brought me a present?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They all do that; they are the most generous -creatures in the world. What did Lam bring you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The prettiest little China silk handkerchief, -which he presented with these words: 'I solly -got no more, I </span><em class="italics">so</em><span> poor.' Was it not touching?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do your lessons get on?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well. Lam learns ten or twelve new -words every day. I give him the English word -for an article, and he gives me the Chinese; and -the following day we catechise each other; but -I have never remembered a Chinese name, and -Lam has never forgotten an English one. Then -I set him copies, which he writes out beautifully -with his queer little camel's-hair brush dipped -in India-ink. I fear the sentiments will not -greatly benefit him, but I try to explain them -to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me an example of your copy-book maxims; -I am sure they are something new, quite -unlike those I was brought up on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I take my verses all from Mr. Lear's -'Nonsense Book;' they will help him geographically, -if not otherwise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have given him the 'Old Man of Moldavia'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Assuredly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Truly, Princess, you are the most inexplicable -person I have ever seen. I find you in the -morning with a volume of Spinoza in your hand, -trying to explain his particular dogma of philosophy -to poor Barbara; and in the afternoon you -are talking about this absurd child's book as if -it were something serious. You snubbed that -poor professor last night, because he presumed -to give an opinion concerning Dante, never -having read him in the original; and to-day I -heard you ask my mother if Washington was in -the State of New York. You are remarkably -erudite and positively ignorant at the same -time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Eh bene, cosa volete</em><span>? I--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now what is the use of talking Italian to -me? You know I can't understand a word of -it, and--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A third voice interrupted Deering. It was -that of a man who had joined the pair unnoticed -by either of them, the sound of his footsteps -being muffled by the deep grass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If Miss Almsford knew how pretty her -manner of speaking English was, she would never -have resort to the weaker language of her -birthplace to express her thoughts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, Graham, with a gallant speech upon -his lips! Wonder of wonders! Princess, he -has the sharpest tongue and the keenest wit I -have ever known. Beware of him! When did -you come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just now; I rode over to see if Miss -Almsford was in the mood for a ride, and to offer my -services as cavalier, knowing that your -afternoons, my dear Deering, are too much occupied -for you to play esquire to this fair dame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the thing of all others I should enjoy," -said Millicent; "I will be ready in ten minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Deering strolled off, rather disconsolately, in -the direction of the dairy, Graham accompanying -him as far as the stable, where he proceeded to -put Barbara's saddle on the back of a sturdy -cob, which from his immovable character had -been named Sphinx.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The artist had visited the house several times -since his first meeting with Millicent, and had -promised to be her guide to the high hill-top, -whence a view of the Sierra Nevadas was to be -obtained. Up the narrow bridle path toiled the -two horses, Graham's leading the way. The -road was a difficult one, underbrush and rolling -stones making it dangerous for any horse which -was not sure-footed. Old Sphinx set his feet -firmly on the solid ground, avoiding all pit-falls -in a wary fashion. The air was sweet with the -spicy breath of the madrone tree, whose dark -red bark and brilliant glossy leaves gleamed out -here and there through the darker foliage of the -great redwoods. The young man turned his -head over his shoulder, letting his mustang find -out the path, and talked to his companion, who -was not yet at home in the saddle. One of the -new delights which the western country held for -Millicent was that of riding. Most of her life -had been spent in Venice; and she had had little -opportunity for indulging in that most -exhilarating exercise. Graham assured her that she -would soon make a good rider, as she quickly -learned to assume the graceful but uncomfortable -position compelled by the side-saddle. She -was without fear, having that sort of bravery -which is found in some children, and which -comes from an ignorance of danger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From a point in the road whence a view of -the happy valley was to be obtained, Graham -reined in his horse. The wide, pleasant valley -lay below them, the house, its central point of -interest, standing surrounded by the orchard -and garden. A brook wound like a silver ribbon -through the wide fields and wooded groves, -under rustic bridges, here and there breaking -into foam over a mass of stone, or a sudden -shelving of the land.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When they again started Graham dismounted, -and, passing his arm through the bridle of his -horse, took Sphinx by the rein and led him over -the rough bit of country. Whether from an -exaggerated idea of courtesy, or because the -head covering was irksome, Graham doffed his -hat and walked bareheaded, the little shafts of -sunshine touching his dark hair with points of -light. The tall girl noted the sun and shadow -which made this and all else lovely on this fair -afternoon. As the ascent became steeper, the -trees were less dense and the path grew wider. -Graham still walked beside her horse, though -there was no longer need for him to do so. As -they emerged upon a broad plateau Millicent -drew her breath and touched Graham lightly -with her whip, laying her finger on her lip and -pointing to a little hillside spring, which ran -dancing from the rich dark earth. Close to the -spring stood a magnificent buck and a graceful -doe. The stag had bent his head and was -drinking from the basin which the water had worn -for itself, and which was surrounded by a ring of -green turf, jewelled with star blue and pale rose -blossoms. Of this tender herbage, so different -from the dried grass of the hillside and meadow, -the dainty doe was nibbling little morsels. For -a moment neither of the animals perceived the -approach of the riders, and stood quite still in -their unconscious beauty. Graham's hand -instinctively sought the revolver in his pocket. -As he was taking aim Millicent's velvet fingers -closed about the steel barrel, and she cried aloud, -"You could not be so cruel!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the sound of her voice the stag threw up -his great head with a mighty shiver, tossing the -crystal water drops from his nose. Before the -last word was spoken the slender, dappled doe -had flashed across the path and was out of sight, -her mate with outstretched head following close -upon her track. For an instant the flowing lines -of the swift motion were seen on the sky -background, and then the trembling leaves of the -thicket into which they had penetrated were all -that told of their flight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are more tender-hearted than Miss Barbara."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but I could not bear that those two -glorious creatures should be put out of the warm -sunlight which they love so well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Barbara is an excellent shot; she could -have killed the stag from this point."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet Barbara is really much better-hearted -than I, and feels other people's troubles -as if they were her own. Everything is in habit -and education; she has looked upon deer in the -light of venison, as I have always considered -oxen in the light of future beef. And yet, though -Barbara is so kind and good, I do not find her -</span><em class="italics">simpatica</em><span>--how shall I say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You might say sympathetic or congenial, -Miss Almsford, if you could content yourself -with the English language."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it is not the same thing,--sympathetic -and </span><em class="italics">simpatica</em><span>; indeed it is an untranslatable -word. I cannot always express my thoughts in -English."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you allow me to suggest that it may -not be entirely the fault of the language, which -did not fail to express the thoughts of Chaucer -and Shakspeare, that you find it difficult to -make yourself understood?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I speak it so badly then? You are not -complimentary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not that you speak it badly, but that -your vocabulary is limited, and that your mind -far outruns its limits. I fancy you have never -read or thought much in a serious vein in the -simplest and the strongest of tongues."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I have read very little English, but I -challenge your last statement. I do not find -English the greatest language. It is coarse by -the side of French; it is prosaic compared to -Italian. Think of the fine distinctions, the -delicate shades of meaning, of the Gallic tongue. -Your English can only express the extremes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet to-day it is more a lender than a -borrower of words. You cannot take up a -German or a French newspaper without finding an -Anglicism in every column."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does that prove? Merely that the -Anglo-Saxon race is more restless than all -others. They are the Goths of the nineteenth -century, and invade every corner of Europe, -Asia, and Africa, carrying with them their -barbarous language. I have heard it intermingled -with Arabic in the Syrian desert. It is small -wonder they feel the need of travel; there is -little enough to interest them at home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet I, who have lived half my life in -Europe, elect to pass the remainder of it in this -country of my own free choice. How do you -account for that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot account for it save as an aberration -of the brain. It is strange, too, for you -Americans are not a patriotic people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It does not strike me so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are mistaken, Miss Almsford; but your -mistake is a natural one. These ideas, believe -me, are not worthy of you, and have been derived -by you from some perverted mind. Your own -is too clear to have formed such opinions. They -have been engrafted or inherited. How should -you really have any idea but the most chimerical -one, of America or Americans? You have passed -your life among a race of people most unlike them, -and you have been taught to ignore the country -and the race to which you belong. You consider -the matter of your birth as a misfortune, and you -have learned to look down on your country, from -below. I have had some experience of life in -the various American colonies in Europe, and I -think it a great misfortune to be one of those -expatriated Americans. They are people -without a country. They feel no responsibility -toward any larger society than their own small -household circle. Unless he is called by the -exigencies of his profession to Europe, the -American European is very apt to deteriorate -greatly. He is in antagonism with the country -which he has abandoned, and his foothold in -foreign society is too much on tolerance to be -fortunate in its effects on his character."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By this time the strong horses had reached -the summit of the foot-hill, and stood breathing -heavily. The riders dropped their conversation, -which was drawing near to a discussion, -and Millicent looked with wide eyes out over -the grand scene. Far off stretched the line of -the Sierras, the mountain barrier which severs -the land of gold from the surrounding country. -The sky was faintly flushed with a forewarning -of the sunset, and a soft breeze rustled the tree -tops, and blew into their faces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you rewarded for the long ascent, maiden -from afar?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered Millicent softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they made the steep descent together -Graham talked, in his strong, sweet voice, of his -life in the old tower, of his work, of the pictures -he had painted, and those which he dreamed of -making some day. The self-dependent and -contained young man was much attracted by the -girl with the strange ideas and exquisite -manners. On the night when they had first met, he -had been drawn towards her by an attraction -which seemed irresistible. It was not her beauty -nor her intelligence which so much affected him, -as a nameless charm like the warmth of a bright -fire on a cool day, which seemed to wrap him -about with a sense of comfort. When he left -her this glow was still about him, but as hours -passed it seemed to fade away and leave him -strangely cold. He felt for the first time how -desolate was his life; and he remembered her in -his lonely tower as a traveller in the African -desert recalls the green oasis where his last -draught of water has been drained. Yet -sometimes, when they talked together, came a strange -antagonism between them like an impalpable -mist, chilling the warmth which at meeting -always kindled in her eyes and in his own bosom. -That the discordance came from himself he -often felt, and yet he was helpless in the face of -it. The conversation of that afternoon was a -type of their interviews, which were often marred -by discussions not far removed from disputes. -Whose fault was it? Wherein lay the incompatibility? -Did it arise from either of their characters, -or from the circumstances and surroundings -in which they met? He asked himself the -question a score of times and left it always -unanswered. Graham had not been without -experience of women. In his early youth he had -had the misfortune to fall deeply in love with a -frivolous and heartless girl. His nature was of -a complex character, passionate to an unusual -degree, yet guided by an intelligence stronger -than passion. He had been deceived and -outraged in every feeling by the heartless coquette, -whose worst characteristic was her entire -incapacity for affection. After breaking her faith -with him, she had tried to win him back again, -and had sued for the love which she had so -lightly won and refused. But though he still -loved her with the full force of his being, he had -repulsed the woman whom he could no longer -respect. Then came the long death-agony of -deceived love, leaving its unmistakable traces on -heart and brain and body. It was graven on -the white brow; it was painted in the deep eyes, -with their unfathomable look of doubt; it -strengthened the fibres of the strong brain with -the greater power which great suffering brings -to intelligence of a high order; and alas! saddest -of all, it chilled the hot heart-blood and left it -cooler and more sluggish in its flow. Sorrowful -was the man for the sorrow in the world, but -pity for the grief of those about him was not so -strong in him as it had been before. The -bitterness which follows the spoiling of the -rose-sweetness of love was happily modified by the -broad humanitarian character of the man. It -failed to make him bitter towards the world for -its treatment of himself. He accepted manfully -the knockdown blow which fate had dealt him; -and if he mourned it was in secret,--he burdened -no other soul with his misery. But as it was a -woman who had darkened his life and drawn the -veil of grief about his young soul, the whole rage -of grief and bitterness which wore his heart went -out toward her sex. As he had loved all women -for her sweet sake, so now did he distrust them -all because she had proved false. Evil to him -appeared abstractly as a feminine element in the -world; and the great qualities of nobility, -abnegation, and heroism in his eyes were masculine -attributes only. Too chivalrous by nature to -think of himself as in opposition to the gentler -sex, his position was in point of fact antagonistic -to them. He was courteous in their company, -but he always avoided it. In deed, as in word, -he treated them with reverence, speaking no -lightlier of them behind their backs than to -their faces. The bitterness never broke the -barriers of his vexed heart in noxious word or jest, -but it lay there always embittering his life. He -had finally ceased to remember his crushed -hopes and spoiled youth; and then had succeeded -a long time wherein he seemed to feel not at all. -There was left him always his pious devotion to -his mother, touching in its pathetic constancy, -as to the one creature given him to love. For -the gentle Mrs. Deering, whose face recalled that -of his only living parent, he felt a real sentiment -of friendship. Barbara, with her sweet, -wholesome nature, he esteemed more highly than -other young women; but since his intimacy with -the family he had always emphasized his regard -for the son and mother of the house; and -Barbara had felt the difference in his voice when he -addressed her. It grew colder, and his manner -became formal, if by chance they were thrown -together alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The charm by which Millicent swayed him, -he said to himself, was not love. He looked -back into the black and stormy past, and -compared his feelings for this girl with those which -had once torn his breast. She charmed him, -but he surely did not love her. He felt a sense -of cold discomfort on leaving her, but it was -very different from the passionate grief which -he once had suffered. This was what he -thought when he contemplated the subject at -all, which was not very often. For the most -part he let himself drift down the pleasant -summer tide. Skies were blue and roses sweet. If -Millicent made the sky seem bluer, if the roses -took on a more perfect hue when she wore them -in her bosom, it was because she was like the -skies and roses, tender and full of warmth and -color. Did not the buds blush into flowers for -all the world as well as for him? Did not the -white clouds dip and dance across the sky for -other men's pleasure as well as his own? Was -not the whole small world of the San Rosario -Ranch made more blithe and happily alive by -the advent of Millicent Almsford, the maiden -from afar? Barbara had been stimulated by -the new atmosphere to do more thinking, and -had found less time for fancy-work and more -leisure for reading. Mrs. Deering, gentlest of -women, found a companionship in the stranger -which she had at first thought impossible; and -Hal, poor Hal, was vainly fighting against the -witching spell which was fast making him the -slave of the girl, who he had prophesied was -too cold to interest him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Had Graham known the change which his -companionship had wrought upon Millicent, he -would have felt that if there was no danger for -him in those swift fleeting hours passed -together, there might be for her. The boredom -which she had experienced at first was now -dissipated, and every phase of the novel life at -the Ranch had a charm for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The loud summons of the supper-bell struck -the ears of the young people as they drew near -the house; and the family stood waiting on the -piazza as they reined in their horses before the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you tired, Millicent?" was the anxious -question of Mrs. Deering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you get a clear view of the mountains?" -asked Barbara.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did Sphinx go?" said Hal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot answer you all at once," cried -Millicent, breathless from the rapid gallop which had -brought them to the house; "but it was perfectly -delightful. Sphinx behaved beautifully, and -Mr. Graham almost as well. The view is wonderful, -and I think the country of California very fine. -There is a compliment for you all; do not -pretend I never say anything nice about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear, we have an invitation to go down -to San Real to visit the Shallops. Mamma -thinks we had better start to-morrow. -Mr. Graham, here is a note for you which came -enclosed in my letter. I fancy it carries the same -invitation to you. It will be so nice at the -seashore. You will like it, Millicent, won't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I like it here," Millicent answered, as she -walked slowly up the steps; "but if you all want -to go, I am willing. Who are the Shallops? -Where is San Real?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham had torn open his letter, which he -quickly perused. Millicent looked inquiringly -at him, and he answered her unspoken query:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Mrs. Shallop asks me to join your -party for a week at her pleasant house. Very -kind of her, I am sure; but I never do that sort -of thing. I--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Graham," interrupted Mrs. Deering, -"say nothing about it till I have talked it over -with you. I have a particular reason for -advising you to go. We will telegraph the answer -in the morning, and can make up our minds in -the course of the evening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am yours to command in this and all -things, Madame," said Graham, offering his arm -to his hostess; "and there stands Ah Lam ready -to weep because the muffins are growing cold; -and I am famously hungry after our ride."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tea being ended, Mrs. Deering and Graham -paced the gravel path around the house for half -an hour. It was evident to the group on the -piazza that a discussion was going on between -them. They spoke in low, earnest voices, whose -tones did not escape Millicent's sensitive -hearing, though she failed to catch the import of -the words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For my sake," she finally heard Mrs. Deering -say in a pleading voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear my lady, is it just to put it on that ground?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But if you will hear to it on no other," -she argued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think what it is you ask of me. To leave -my tower and my man Friday for a luxurious -household with plethoric master and servants; -to stagnate for a week among those ridiculous -people who fill San Real in the summer; and -all this not because it will do me or any one else -any good, but to the end that I may begin the -portraits I have already refused to paint. You -know that I am not suited to that sort of hack -work. How can I make a picture of that -over-fed Shallop or his pinched, good little wife?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But our work cannot all be that which is -best suited to us--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It should be--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember, Graham, that in three weeks the -payment for the studio is due--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, kindest one! you never forget me; bless -you for your sweetness and thoughtfulness. -Yes, I will go and do my best to make Shallop -look like something other than an ex-blacksmith, -but it is indeed bitter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will find that there will be compensations," -said Mrs. Deering, her eyes resting on -the pretty group on the piazza: Barbara sitting -at Millicent's feet, and Hal reaching up to pluck -a spray of honeysuckles for her hair.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-v"><span class="large">CHAPTER V.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Where have we lived and loved before this, sweet?</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>My will ere now hath led thy wayward feet;</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>I knew thy beauties--limbs, lips, brows, and hair--</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Before these eyes beheld and found thee fair.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mrs. Deering's arguments carried the day, -and Graham decided to accompany the young -ladies to San Real. Ferrara was to be of the -party. It was a bright morning which saw -the departure of the three travellers from the -Ranch. Hal drove them to the station in a very -disconsolate frame of mind. During Ralph -Almsford's long absences, it was impossible for him to -leave the Ranch, in which his interests were all -vested; and it seemed rather hard that Graham -should enjoy the pleasure which he had been -obliged to decline. Henry Deering was a -susceptible young man, and he was already enthralled -by the soft voice and deep eyes of the girl on -whom he had bestowed the title of Princess. -His friendship for John Graham was one of the -strongest feelings he had ever known. He admired -him more than any person he knew. He -respected the sterling character of the man, on -whose honor he would have staked his life; and -yet it was hard that Graham should devote -himself to the Princess, for he said to himself there -could be no chance for him against such a rival.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The country through which the railroad from -San Rosario to San Real passes is most -picturesque. Round the high hills winds the yellow -line of the track, making horseshoe loops, so -that the engine, Millicent said, sometimes turned -round and looked the passengers in the face. -Long, high bridges carry the shining steel -threads of travel over deep canyons, with fierce -rocky sides and stony bottoms. The scenery is -very wild and beautiful, and the moderate pace -at which the shaky little engine tugged along -the rickety cars gave the travellers every -opportunity for seeing and admiring the view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A great mountain, lying among the low foothills, -remained in view through the greater part -of the route; it was conical and sharp-pointed, -like the typical mountain of the atlas. A great -fire had lately raged for days among the -spreading trees and thick undergrowth; and now that -the smoke had cleared away, the path which -the flame had taken was distinctly visible from -certain points. A great cross lay stamped on the -mountain-side, for all men to see. The baptism -of fire had left the symbol which was sanctified -eighteen hundred years ago. Graham attracted -Millicent's attention to this, which, she said, -would have been considered a miracle in Italy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are they not happy, those dear simple-minded -Italians? A large portion of them do -really believe in miracles to this day." Millicent -was the speaker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, far happier than those of us who have -lost all belief in anything beyond our own bodies, -and the facts which that body's senses reveal to us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you believe--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask me not, maiden, what I believe. I -can only hope. But this I know, that there is -need to you and to me, to all of us of this -generation, to whom the old fallacious dogmas -of dead creeds are meaningless, of faith. This -is not the age of belief. The things which have -been considered necessary draperies to religion -are stripped off; but because truth is naked, it -is none the less truth. Faith in that part of -ourselves which is not of earth, we must hold -fast to, when all else is rent from our feeble natures."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You should be a preacher. I think that -you have got the right end of the truth, perhaps--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barbara, who had sat a silent listener to this -conversation between the two young people, -now spoke for the first time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know little of the modern scientific -theories, which Mr. Graham thinks have stripped -religion of much that used to belong to it; but to -me the denial of a Creator is the most illogical -and ignorant act of which the human mind is -capable. Look at that house we are just passing. -If I should tell you that it never was built, -that no architect or workman ever planned and -executed its design, you would say that my talk -was too idle to require contradiction. And yet -you will tell me that the pleasant earth on -which the house stands, the very trees which -furnished its wood, the metals and stone which are -wrought into it, exist, and yet knew no Maker."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Barbara, do not let us talk any more about it; -it is impossible for you and me to speak -understandingly to each other on these subjects. -Mr. Graham stands midway between your conventional -faith and my unbelief; he can understand -us both. Now let us talk about love and roses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Apropos</em><span> of love and roses, here comes Ferrara, -laden with both of those fragile commodities, -which he will straightway lay at Miss Barbara's -feet. If you like, Miss Almsford, we will make -the next stage of our journey on the engine. I -spoke to the engineer, at the last station, of your -desire to see the mechanism of his locomotive. -You will find the man quite clean and -intelligent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ferrara joined the party at this moment, -having come up to meet the train at this station. -He carried a handful of great yellow roses, -which he presented to Barbara with a low bow. -The girl looked beseechingly at Millicent, who -laughed rather heartlessly, and, escorted by -Graham, proceeded to the engine. She was -pleasantly received by its presiding genius, a -hatchet-faced, sharp-voiced Yankee, who made -a place for her on his little cushioned seat at -one side of the locomotive. As soon as she -was comfortably ensconced here, Graham sitting -at her feet, the engineer rang the bell and -allowed Millicent to pull the lever, which set the -panting creature of iron and wood a-screaming. -With a guttural shriek the engine pulled itself -together and started off down the track at a -good speed. Once in motion, the breeze, -blowing through the windows, cooled the intense -heat. Millicent looked straight down the -narrowing steel rails with that keen sense of pleasure -which every novel experience gave her. -Presently she asked the small Yankee to explain -the use of the steam gauge and of the various -appliances crowded into the small space where -she sat. The fireman, a hideous giant, black -and grimy, occasionally opened a door and fed -the furious fire with great lumps of coal. When -it was well filled he varied his occupation by -watering the wooden parts of the engine with a -long rubber hose, lest they should ignite from -the great heat. On a little shelf above her seat -Millicent espied a book, toward which she -instinctively stretched her hand. Books always -acted on Millicent like magnets. The volume -proved to be a Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, lately -published in a cheap edition. She asked the -sharp-faced engineer if he found the matter -interesting, and was somewhat astonished by his -astute remarks on the work and the personage -of whom it treated. She looked at Graham in -some astonishment, but he seemed in no-wise -surprised at the phenomenon of a working-man -in a blue blouse who could intelligently read -and understand the seriously written biography -of the great conqueror. The steam gauge rose -higher and higher, while the engine tore along -at a quicker speed in order to please the -delicate visitor, who was now allowed to move -the lever, and to pull the bell when they passed -the signals requiring them to do so. The -engineer was an interesting person, Millicent -thought; he told her many humorous stories of -his experiences, and some tragical ones. His -wife had on one occasion accompanied him on -a trip, sitting on the very place where Millicent -now reposed. An accident had occurred, a -broken rail throwing the cars down a high -embankment, while the weight of the engine had -saved them both from the terrible fate of many -of the passengers. From that day his wife had -refused ever to travel in any part of the train -save in the small cabin where her husband sat. -In a collision, Millicent learned, the dread fate -of the engineer could only be avoided by desertion -of his post; and the speaker bore witness to -the steadfast bravery of more than one of his -mates who had preferred death to such an act. -As he talked he kept his eyes fixed on the two -shining rails stretching before them. Sometimes, -when interested in his own story, or their -remarks, the engineer would look for a moment -into Millicent's face; and she, with a terrified -consciousness that her eyes were the only ones -which could see any obstruction before the train -thundering along at a great speed, would strain -her vision to the utmost down the narrowing -line of track. What an awful responsibility lay -upon the shoulders of this cheerful little man, -with his twinkling gimlet blue eyes, and how -lightly he seemed to carry his burden. She -grew quite white and silent at the thought; and -when her hand, guided by the engineer, brought -the panting locomotive to a standstill at the -next station, she gladly stepped down upon the -narrow platform, steadied by Graham's arm. -They parted from the engineer with many -expressions of pleasure for the ride they had -enjoyed, and joined Barbara and Ferrara in the car.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>San Real is one of the pleasantest sea-side -towns to be found on the coast of California. -It has become quite lately a fashionable summer -resort, and boasts two large hotels, a colony of -boarding-houses, and half a dozen private -residences. All of these are of modest dimensions, -with the single exception of the pretentious -mansion of Mr. Patrick Shallop, which stands at the -distance of a mile from the little village -composed of one long street of shops and saloons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the station the party found a handsome -carriage awaiting them, drawn by two prancing -gray horses and decorated with sprawling -coats-of-arms. The groom and driver were dressed -according to the latest English fashion, and the -tidy cart for the luggage was driven by a liveried -menial. Millicent noted these details with -surprise as she sank back on the satin cushions of -the landau, and Graham laughingly commented -upon her evident astonishment at the smart equipage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It appears, O fair Venetian, that you are -surprised at this grandeur. Did not Miss -Barbara prepare you for it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," answered the young woman quietly; -she did not like to be laughed at. As the -carriage rolled along the village street, Millicent -gave a little cry of joy: "I smell the sea!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon after they emerged from the shadow of -the houses and struck the road which led to the -brow of the cliffs. There, for the first time since -she had left New York, Millicent looked out -over the salt waves. The cool sea breeze twisted -the curls which clustered about her forehead -into tighter rings, and fanned a color into her -marble cheek. She kissed her hand toward the -great gray ocean as if gladly greeting the Pacific. -Below the cliffs stretched the white beach, with -its rows of bathing-houses, and booths hung -with gay-colored wares. They had but time to -glance at the view when the carriage turned -from the road and entered a long avenue -bordered with good-sized trees. Marble statues -gleamed through the dark green of the luxuriant -gardens, and odorous flowers made the air -heavy with sweetness. Before the door of an -enormous house the horses were drawn up, and -Barbara and Millicent, followed by Graham and -Ferrara, entered the wide hall. The exterior of -the house was far from attractive. The material -used was exclusively wood, which in California -is almost universally employed in private -dwellings. The fear of earthquakes always lurks in -the mind of the Californian, and houses of brick -or stone are very rare. The model adopted by -the architect was a novel one, and seemed a -combination of the Ionic, Corinthian, and Queen -Anne styles. Stucco and lath represented -decorations and columns which would have been -appropriate in marble or granite. The massive -style and the flimsy material gave an -incongruous appearance to the great building. The -wide terrace which surrounded the house, with -its bright parterres of flowers, and the pleasant -piazza, with roof and pillars like a Norman -cloister, were, however, wonderfully attractive. -Beyond the close-clipped emerald lawn was seen -the ocean, whose white curling waves danced -merrily in the unbroken sunshine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The guests found Mrs. Shallop awaiting them -in a long dim drawing-room. She was a skimpy -pattern of feminality, with a pitiful, pinched face, -great sad-looking eyes, colorless, sandy hair, and -a thin, angular body. Though it was early in -the afternoon, the elegance of her dress would -have been suitable to a ball room. The heavy -folds of rich blue brocade stood out from the -poor little figure whose emaciated lines its rich -fabric refused to indicate. She advanced -toward her guests with something of an effort, -as if the burden of dress which was laid upon -her were greater than she could bear. Her -welcome was, however, very cordial; and her -bony little hands, with their weight of jewels, -clasped Barbara's strong fingers affectionately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am real glad you have all come, Miss -Deering. I was awful fidgety about the train's -being late. Miss Almsford, I am real pleased -to see you. Mister Graham, happy to see -you, sir. I hope your health is better, Mister -Ferrara?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Each of the guests acknowledged the kindly -greeting, and some general conversation ensued. -Millicent looked about the great drawing-room, -noting the various beautiful articles of furniture, -the Venetian glasses, the pictures and rich -embroideries, the thousand-and-one bits of </span><em class="italics">bric-à-brac</em><span> -which decorated the walls and cabinets of -the lofty apartment. It was in truth a rarely -beautiful room, the prevailing color a deep, soft -crimson, the wood-work all painted white and -delicately carved. Below the ceiling ran a frieze, -the work of John Graham. The subject treated -was the history of Cupid and Psyche. The -scenes were divided into panels by twining -sprays of rose-vines charmingly treated. The -first represented the meeting of the two lovers, -their marriage being the next in order. In the -third compartment the doubting Psyche looks -for the first time on the radiant beauty of the -sleeping God. Next the artist had portrayed the -forsaken, love-lorn bride sitting alone, crushed -with grief, repenting the fatal curiosity which -prompted her to peer too closely into the -nature of love,--that greatest of boons, which -should be accepted joyously and with thanksgiving, -and to which doubt means death. The -hard services required by Cytherea from the -desolate Psyche were exquisitely rendered; and -the final scene of the reunion of the two lovers -was the masterpiece of the whole work. Psyche, -radiant with new-found love and joy, her face -touched with a more than mortal beauty by the -grief she has endured, stands looking reverently -into the face of the strongest of gods. Her -rainbow wings can lift her now, to soar beside -her lover, even to Olympus.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent admired the beautiful frieze, which -the hostess confessed troubled her sorely -because of the scanty raiment which she said -seemed to have been the fashion of the time it -represented.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mister Graham," she explained, had induced -her to keep it in the place for which it had been -designed. Mrs. Shallop added that the artist -had refused to follow her suggestion of adding -clothing to the half nude bodies; and had, -moreover, extracted a promise from her -husband that he would never allow any other -painter to be intrusted with thus supplementing -the airy rainbow draperies of the figures.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Almsford was much astonished at the -very beautiful interior of the great Shallop -house, and soon learned that its furnishing and -decoration had been intrusted to Graham, who -was gifted with that rarest and most valuable of -aesthetic qualities, a perfect and original taste.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the only house Mr. Graham has ever -arranged, and he says he will never do another. -He was in Europe while it was being built, and -mamma persuaded the Shallops to give him -</span><em class="italics">carte blanche</em><span> to buy all the beautiful things he -could lay hands upon," Barbara explained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The guests were shown to their rooms by the -hostess, and Millicent gave an exclamation of -delight on entering the apartment allotted to -her. It was indeed a unique room. The walls -were panelled in ebony to a third of their height, -a bright light pattern in flowers running to -the ceiling, and relieving what might -otherwise have been sombre. The glossy black wood -was carved into a wide, high fireplace, where two -brass andirons, curiously wrought with twisted -dragons, supported a fire whose bright blaze -was most welcome to Millicent. She found the -season very cold compared to the still, hot Italian -summers. Below the mantel the fire shone out -in welcome, but above the ebony shelf, set in -the wall, was a picture which seemed fuller of -light and color than the leaping flames. A -Venetian scene with a terrace whereon sat men -and maidens in the warm glow of the sunset, -looking out over a stretch of many-toned water, -in which were mirrored sky and clouds, trees, -draperies, and graceful human figures. A black -gondola, partly shown in the foreground, might -have held the painter while he sketched the -brilliant scene.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is my Venice!" cried Millicent, "it is my -home!" Her eyes were full of tears. She caught -Barbara by the arm and rapidly described to -her the point from which the picture had been painted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Graham will be very much pleased that -you recognized the spot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> picture? Yes, I ought to have -known it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, are you clairvoyant?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Barbara, sometimes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent seemed somewhat disconcerted at -what she had said; and, without noticing -anything more in the pretty room, ascended the -dainty little ebon staircase with its fanciful rail, -and, pushing back a panel which slid into the -wall, entered her bedroom. Later, when both -of the girls had exchanged their travelling -dresses, Barbara knocked at Millicent's boudoir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Entraté</em><span>," was the response, in obedience to -which she opened the door, and found Millicent -lying on the low, crescent-shaped sofa, her fair -head resting on a pile of cushions. Her -graceful figure was clad in a gown soft amber in -color, her only ornaments wonderful strings of -amber beads falling over the white neck, which -the fashion of the frock disclosed, and encircling -the smooth bare arms, with their delicate tracery -of blue veins like the lines in purest marble. -Her hands were hidden, clasped behind her -head, and the expression of her face was almost -vacant in its look of absorbing reverie. Beside -her on the floor lay a small parchment book, -ivory-clasped,--"The Sonnets of Petrarch." Her -eyes were fixed on the panel over the mantel -shelf, but they saw more than the artist had -pictured with brush and color: a waking day -dream of her home as she had last seen it, and -ah! how much sweeter an imagining of -how she might next see it,--with what surroundings, -with what companionship! O blessed dream-castles -of women, in which all the cares and -privations of life are forgotten; in which there is -never a weariness or a pain; where lonely -watching is succeeded by joyous reunion; where those -who have lived and know too surely that they -must die without that greatest happiness which -life can hold, drink the cup of joy innocently, -purely, fearing no bitter after-taste, finding no -foul dregs!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At Barbara's entrance Millicent slowly drew -herself back from dreamland into the actual -present. Her eyes, which had been staring widely -with a blank look, now seemed to change color -with returning consciousness. It was a long -journey, and she gave a deep sigh when it was -accomplished, and she realized that plump, -pretty Barbara, with her best frock and ribbons, -stood by her side looking curiously in her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was reading, and I fancy I had fallen asleep, -Bab, what can I do for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Shallop suggested our all having tea -here, if you liked. They do not dine till eight -to-night. Mr. Shallop has been detained in San -Francisco."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, dear, just as you say. You did -not mean to send for the gentlemen?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, this room is always used for a tea -room, unless you object, of course. If you -prefer to 'sport your oak,' you have a perfect right -to do so, and we will go downstairs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, let us have it here by all means, if it -is the custom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barbara rang the bell, which was answered by -a ponderous butler with a condescending -manner, white neckcloth, bandy legs, and an -apoplectic countenance. The individual had been -imported by the Shallops along with the -footman and driver, his two younger brothers, who, -in common with all the other members of the -household, from Mr. Shallop down to the boots, -stood in awe of him. To this worthy Barbara -somewhat timidly gave orders that tea should -be brought, and the gentlemen warned that it -awaited them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good, miss," answered the functionary -in the driest possible tone, his features curled into -an expression of scorn toward the whole human -race. His bow was so terrific in its icy grandeur -that Barbara shivered as he left the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hate that man, and he knows it. He -always spoils my appetite by glaring at me all -through dinner; and I think he takes an evil -delight in handing all the most impossible dishes -to me first, which I have to refuse, because I -don't dare to attack them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man shortly after returned and laid a low -round table in the bow-window for tea. Barbara -placed herself behind the old-fashioned silver -urn and busied herself with tea-making, while -Millicent drew up the blinds and let the sunset -into the room. Soon Graham came in, begging -for a cup of tea, a sure bait to him, he said, -especially when Miss Deering poured out the -delicious beverage. This last speech he made -with an exaggeratedly deep bow, which -grotesqued the compliment and made the girl's -cheek redden. Shortly after, Ferrara joined -the party, and a pleasant tea-drinking ensued, -though the last comer refused to be tempted -by the pretty cups of smoking Souchong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither will I reproach my luncheon, nor -insult the excellent dinner which I am sure -Mrs. Shallop will give us, by the uncivilized fashion -of drinking tea at this hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Almsford thinks we are too civilized -here, Ferrara. She almost fainted when she -learned that I was the possessor of a dress-coat. -She hoped to find us in eternal suits of corduroy -and flannel, with top-boots and bowie knives."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have exactly described the costume in -which I first saw you, Mr. Graham; so you -surely should not blame me for believing that, -in wearing it, you followed the prevailing fashion -of your country."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That alters the case; but are you not -mistaken? I remember having taken particular -care to don a black coat on that evening--do -you remember?--when I surprised you by the fire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I had seen you before that, though you -had never seen me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When, fair lady? May I hope that our -first encounter was in your white dreams?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl shook her head and laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it perhaps in another existence? Did -we dance together, you and I, in the old happy -days when Pan reigned? Now I think of it, -were you not the wood-nymph who vanished -from me into the arms of a great tree? Did -you not tread one measure with me in the merry -wood-dance, and then leave me desolate with a -tryst appointed but never kept?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you not soon find another partner?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I waited long alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I could not come sooner?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you have come at last to keep the -tryst. Will you finish that dance which was -begun so many eons ago?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay me! and can we now dance the same -measure, you and I? Would not our feet tread -inharmonious steps?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which of us can say? Shall we try?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you say my word was given, I know not -how to break it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room had grown dim, and Barbara and -Ferrara in the recess of the window were speaking -together, while Millicent sat gazing dreamily -into the glowing heart of the low-burning fire, -conscious that Graham was looking intently on -her face. She dared not lift her eyes to his, -and veiled them with the downcast lids. Not -what she might read daunted her, but what -might be revealed to the man who sat leaning -forward in the quaintly-carven oak chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is understood then that you admit my -claim to your hand,--for one dance at least? -You acknowledge the promise made so many -dim years back? You have come across wide, -tossing seas and over broad, sun-parched fields -to keep the tryst you made with me, a smile -upon your face, a shadow in your eyes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For answer the girl bowed her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, I must hear it from your very own lips. -Is it for this that you have come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." The word came soft as twilight -shadows, sweet as Nature's harmony. A long pause -preceded the low-breathed monosyllable, the -word which fond women love best to speak and -which listening lovers thrill, half cold, half hot, -at hearing. And when it was spoken and heard -came a second silence, even longer than the -first; and yet what they had said was begun -in badinage, and was finished without serious -thought by either man or woman. Dangerous -words! dangerous silence! happy time, how oft -remembered in later days!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I hear you asking Miss Almsford for -a dance, Graham? What ball are you contemplating? -I have heard of none unless you mean -to invite us all to your tower for a frolic. Be -sure you do not leave me out; I have long -wished to visit your hermitage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If the ladies would so highly honor a lonely -dweller in the woods as to allow him the felicity -of being their host, be sure, my dear Ferrara, -that you shall escort them to my humble abode."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, are you in earnest? I have always -wished to see your tower. When shall we come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is for you to say, Miss Deering. Any -day which will suit your convenience will be -agreeable to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will settle it after we return to the Ranch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon after this Mrs. Shallop joined the group, -and they all went out and walked on the wide -terrace till dinner was served. Here Millicent met -Mr. Shallop for the first time. He was a -heavy-featured Irishman, with light-blue eyes, -overhanging brows, and thick, coarse brown hair. -His badly modelled nose had a decided -upward tendency, and the broad mouth disclosed -sharp, long teeth, like those of an inferior animal. -When he smiled he showed the whole set, which -gave him a rather ferocious aspect. His face -was clean shaven, save for a fringe of whisker -stretching from the lobe of the ear to the lower -jaw. With a pipe and a shillelah he would have -been an excellent specimen of a patron of -Donnybrook Fair. On this occasion he wore -irreproachable evening dress. His linen was -finer than Graham's, and the cut of his collar -and pattern of his studs were of a later fashion -than those worn by Ferrara. A valet's care -had smoothed the rough hair and cared for the -ugly hands. One of his peculiarities was to -address all ladies as "Marm." His conversation -was not unintelligent, and betrayed a keen, sharp -mind, which clearly understood those things -which came in close contact with it, but whose -mental vision was bounded by the physical one. -Those things which he had learned by -experience he knew absolutely, and he never -questioned or theorized on subjects which did not -directly touch himself or his own interests. -California had been to him a place which held a -gold mine, nothing more or less. His history, -which he made no effort to conceal, was not -an uncommon one. He had come out in '49, -among the fevered crowd of gold-seekers drawn -from every country, from every station in life, by -the loadstone which had been discovered on the -banks, of the American River, by James -Marshall. He had come to San Francisco in those -early days when law and order were not, save -when the conscience of the public, stronger and -purer in its united power than in the individuals -which compose it, was awakened, and hastened -to punish a crime by a rude and swift justice. -Shallop had built a cabin in which he lived, and -in which he sold, when he was networking in the -gulches, any articles of food which he was able to -procure. When there were no potatoes or bread, -he closed the door of his shanty and started -off with pick and washing-pan for the gulches. -When these staple edibles were to be had, he -made a brisk trade in catering to the half-starved -miners. It had been said that though Shallop's -bread was heavy, it cost nearly its weight in -gold. In those days he had wooed and married -the widow of a brother miner, one of the few -women whose sad lot brought them to the land -of disorder and bloodshed. A few weeks only -elapsed, before the widowed woman gladly -changed her state for the protection of the -strong arm of Patrick Shallop, to whom she -became deeply attached, with a pathetic love -resembling that of a dog for a kind master. The -bread grew lighter then, and sometimes the -potatoes fed pitiful pale youths who brought no -store of gold-dust to pay for them. Patrick -Shallop, living in the most magnificent dwelling -in the whole length and breadth of California, -was sometimes moved to tell of the little cabin -where he had brought home his bride on a wet -night, borrowing an umbrella to place over the -bed to keep the rain from wetting her to the -skin. There had been times when things had -gone badly with the inmates of the little cabin, -and days had passed when the mother's ears -were torn with the cries of children hungry for -bread. It was at this time that Barbara's father -had known the Shallops. Mr. Deering was a -delicately bred, handsome young man, who had -come with the eager crowd of men all pushing -ruthlessly forward to the golden goal, sometimes -trampling to death the weaker brothers who fell -by the wayside. Sick of a fever, faint and dying, -he was plundered of his hard-earned store of -gold-dust, and would have been murdered by -his robber but for the interposition of Shallop, -who stood by to see fair play, and carried the -sick man home to his shanty, where the tender -nursing of the busy wife saved his life a second -time. Adversity makes strange companionships -between men; and the friendship between -the saloon-keeper and the delicately nurtured -youth with the blood of a Puritan ancestry -in his veins, was one which lasted through both -their lives. By some mining exploits which -would hardly bear the light of day, but which -were, alas! not more uncommon at that time -than at the present day, the Irishman had made -a colossal fortune which placed him among the -richest men in the world. There could be -little sympathy between the two men whom the -chances of that wild time had thrown together for -the moment, but a cordiality was always felt; and -after Mr. Deering's death frequent visits were -exchanged between the dwellers of the San Rosario -Ranch and the inmates of the most celebrated -house on the borders of the Pacific Ocean.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dinner was a long one, served with all the -tedious formalities which the fierce butler chose -to inflict. It was not until the servants had -withdrawn that the host and hostess, who stood -in mortal dread of their chief functionary, their -oracle on all matters of etiquette, seemed to -feel themselves at home at their own table. -The removal of this restraint, and the excellent -wine, served to make the last quarter of an hour -spent over the dessert the pleasantest part of -the repast. Millicent, sitting at the right hand -of her host, at last succeeded in making him tell -some anecdotes of his early Californian -experiences, to which she listened with breathless -interest. Her feelings were undergoing a radical -change; and if the country which she at first -detested had not yet become dear to her, she -certainly felt the greatest interest and curiosity -to learn more of it. In the old dreamy life of -Venice, her days had been spent in golden -visions of a vanished grandeur. She was now -awaking to the stirring reality of the present, -and felt dimly that to be an heir to the glories -of the past was but a part of living,--an -inheritance which affects us less than the actual doing -and striving of our own times.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The party sat together in the library, with its -comfortable chairs and rows of undisturbed -books sleeping between their gilded covers, -until late in the evening. The conversation was -general, and the quick mind of the stranger -guest learned from it much that roused her -attention. "If I only had four ears instead of -two!" she cried at last, after a vain endeavor -to follow at the same time a discussion between -Ferrara and Mr. Shallop on the best method of -vine culture, and a conversation between -Graham and Mrs. Shallop on the subject of the -public schools. Soon after this, the ladies left -the room; and Millicent, her pulses all a-tremble -with the various new experiences of the day, -was slow in falling asleep. That night her lips -forgot to give their wonted homesick sigh for -Italy, for Venice.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-vi"><span class="large">CHAPTER VI.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May?</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow do you say?"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The week's visit at the Shallops' slipped quickly -away, each pleasant day passing too hastily -into to-morrow, Millicent thought. The -ordering of each day had something of a routine, -beginning invariably with a gallop on horseback. -The way sometimes led across wet, hard beaches -where the horses' hoofs crushed, with a crisp -sound, the tiny sea-shells left by the receding -waves. The tall roan which Millicent rode was -a young thoroughbred, with slender legs, a -proud, arching neck, and unclipped mane and -tail. Mrs. Shallop had given the fine animal -to her guest; and Millicent, who had a magnetic -influence over all animals, easily controlled the -horse by word or touch. The young people -usually paired off; Millicent riding beside -Graham, Barbara and Ferrara following, while -Mr. Shallop brought up the rear on a sturdy cob -whose character and strength were well -calculated to bear up the portly magnate. Sometimes -they rode through the odorous woods, -where the air was heavy with spices, and melodious -with sweet bird-notes foreign to Millicent's -ears. The tall and stately redwoods standing -straight and unbending in their close serried -ranks, seemed to her a noble symbol of the life -of an upright man, who looks fearlessly into -the wide heavens, raised far above the briers -which grow about his lesser brethren.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On their return from their ride, glowing with -the splendid exercise, breakfast was served; -sometimes in the pretty morning room, oftener -in a sheltered part of the wide veranda, from -whence they might look out upon the shadowy -woods stretching behind the house. After this -meal, Mr. Shallop and Ferrara took the train -for San Francisco; and the hostess and Graham -disappeared into the temporary studio which -had been arranged for the artist. The two girls -were left to amuse themselves. Millicent, who -had brought her usual store of books, did not -open one of them, but moused about in the -library, finding many works quite new to her -and full of interest. If her knowledge of Italian -and French literature was remarkable, her -ignorance of the English classics was stupendous. -Shakspeare alone was familiar to her among -the great ones. The long rows of finely bound -books were mostly uncut and showed little -evidence of having been read, a copy of a lady's -fashion book, and a volume treating of the -manners of polite society, forming notable -exceptions to this rule. At mid-day a -beach-wagon conveyed the young girls to the shining -sea-sands, and they indulged in the luxury of a -bath. In the afternoon they took long drives, -or played lawn tennis with friends from the -hotel in the town. The evenings were -sometimes spent on the long, cool veranda, oftener -on Mr. Shallop's stanch yacht, the "Golden -Hind." She was a fine vessel several tons -heavier than her illustrious namesake, in which Sir -Francis Drake sailed along the coast of -California more than three centuries ago, and took -possession of the land as "New Albion," in the -name of good Queen Bess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pleasant days, full of incident and enjoyment, -filled with new impressions to Millicent, and -freighted with sunlight and merriment to all -the party. No thought of the weather lent the -anxious uncertainty to plans which so often -to us in the East takes half the enjoyment from -anticipation. From May to November in this -favored land the blue of the sky is unclouded, -save by gossamer white drifts of vapor, massed -into soft shapes and mystic outlines. The sky -smiles from spring to laughing summer, and -the land lies steeped in sunshine through the -late autumn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wide white beach, with its row of bathing-houses -and little tents, was very attractive to -Millicent. She sometimes sat in the warm sand -for hours, chatting with Barbara or making -friends with the bare-legged children, the -tireless architects in sand. Finally, donning their -bathing-suits, they ran, hand in hand, over the -dry sands, across the wet space which the last -wave had darkened, through the white fringe of -the sea, into the cool green billows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last day of their visit had come, and the -morrow would see them on their way back to -San Rosario. Millicent and Barbara had -prolonged their sea dip beyond their usual wont. -Never before had the water seemed so bracing -and delicious. As there were twenty or thirty -bathers to keep her company, Millicent lingered -among the breakers, while Barbara regained the -shore. She swam leisurely about, displacing -the clear water with her white arms and pretty, -small feet. She suddenly became aware that a -swimmer was gaining on her from behind, and -her stroke instinctively quickened. Millicent -swam as only the women of Venice can swim; -and the race between her and her unseen -pursuer bade fair to be hotly contested. With -head high lifted from the waves which circled -caressingly about the smooth round throat, -knotting the tendril curls at the nape of the -neck, the girl kept steadily on her course -without turning her head to see who might be so -audacious as to follow her. Strong as were -her strokes, she slowly lost ground; and finally -the water about her rippled with the strokes -of the man who was gaining. Soon he had -caught up with her, and side by side they swam -for a space. Then the victor spoke in a voice -well known to her, and the girl answered him -with a laugh which rang out fresh and crisp -as the sound of the wavelets. Then she turned -her head and looked full at him as he moved -by her side, strong and graceful as a young merman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, my nymph, you are at home in Father -Neptune's arms as well as in the embrace of the -great tree. Which is your native element, -earth, air, or water?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am amphibious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And which of your three elemental homes -do you like the best?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I am dancing, the air; when I am -walking, dear Mother Earth; and when I swim, -the sea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I paint you, it will be as I see you now, -triumphing over the waves as our great mother, -Aphrodite, triumphed over them before you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That compliment would go to my head -were it not mixed with so much water."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then they both laughed, because the sky was -sapphire clear, and the sea beryl green; because -the golden sun warmed them with its kind rays; -because each was fair and good to look upon; -because, when they were together, winds blew -more softly, and sky and sea took on a more -tender hue where they melted at the horizon -into one ineffable kiss. A pair of white-winged -gulls swept above them, shrieking their -love-notes hoarsely, while the white-armed girl and -the strong-limbed man breasted the waves -together, side by side. Though lapped by the -cool water, Graham felt the warm influence -which folded about him like a cloak in -Millicent's presence. When she grew tired the girl -turned upon her side and floated; while Graham -swam about her in little circles, first moving -like a shark on one side, with long, far-reaching -strokes, then swimming upon his back, and -finally beneath the waves, looking always at her -face seen dimly through the dark-green water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a space Millicent looked about to find -herself alone, far from the shore with its group -of bathers. At first she fancied that her -companion must be swimming below the water as -he had done before; but, as the slow-passing -seconds went by, she realized that some ill must -have befallen him. Stretching her arms above -her head, she dived straight and swift through -the clear water towards the pebbled bottom of -the ocean shining through the pellucid waters. -In that dim under-current she touched him, -stiff and cold, rising toward the surface, but -through no effort of his own helpless limbs. -In that terrified heart-beat of time she saw his -face set and white, with horror-stricken eyes -widely strained apart. Into them she looked, -her own firing with hope and courage, and -giving a mute promise of rescue. She seized -his rigid arm with her strong, small hands, and -they rose together to the surface. The man -was as if paralyzed; and the girl for an instant -tried to support him, but, feeling such a strain -would soon out-wear her half-spent strength, -she cried,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put your hand on my shoulder--so, and I -will swim below you." Her voice was hoarse -and shrill as that of the screaming sea-gulls. -He could not speak, but looked toward the -shore as if he would have her save herself and -abandon him to his fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no!" she cried, "I </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> save you;" and, -placing his hands on her shoulders, struck out -bravely toward the shore. To reach it seemed -at first an easy thing, but the struggle proved a -terrible one, cruelly unequal, between the girl's -small strength, with the burden now added to -her own weight, and the waves grown hungry -for human prey. Their babbling music now -was changed to Millicent's ears, and they -clamored greedily for her life, for that other life -which she was striving to snatch from their -cruel embrace. Again and again the man would -loosen his hold. She could not save him: why -should she die too, she was so young, so fair! -This he tried to tell her in gasping accents, but -she only gripped his hand more firmly and -placed it as before. They should both live or -die. Fate, which had been so cruel to her, had -cast their lots together for that day at least; and -death seemed sweeter by his side than life -without him. Her brave spirit fainted not, though -her labored strokes grew slower and feebler. -Then she gave one great cry for help to those -who were so near them, and yet so unconscious -of their danger. She heard their voices plainly,--the -mothers talking to romping children, whose -ringing laughter mocked her agony. Was it -their death knell, this sound of sweet child-voices -that drowned her frenzied cry, and filled the ears -of the strong men and women, keeping out the -fainting accents which pleaded for his life and -her own? Once again, and this time with a -thrilling vibration of despair, the woman's voice -rang out across the waves. It was freighted -with her last hope; it was the latest sound her -gasping lungs could utter. Could love and -hope of life outshriek the murmur of the waves, -the shrill note of the sea-mews, the noisy prattle -of the infants? The man, long since despairing, -groaned: it seemed murder to him that his -helpless weight should drag down the fair, brave -young creature to her grave; his death agony -was made more bitter by the thought. The -girl's determination never wavered, and her little -strength was not wasted in a longer struggle; -she managed to keep his face above the waves, -but now only held her own, and had ceased to -make the slightest progress. She could now no -longer see the bathers. Had her cry been heard? -O waves! be merciful and still your clamor! -White-winged partners, cry no more your -mocking love notes! Sweet mothers, list no longer to -your children's laughter, for there is other sound -which must reach your fond ears and chill your -warm hearts with horror! For a moment there -grew a great silence as of listening, and then -over the water came answering cries of women -agonized with sympathy, came the hearty voices -of strong men saying, "Keep up, keep up! for -help is coming, it is close beside you." Ah, -God! it is in time, for the two white faces, lying -so close in the green waters, have but just -vanished from sight; they still shine through the -waves but a little space beneath the surface. -Strong helping arms raise the nerveless bodies -from the waves that murmur sullenly, bear them -safely to the shore with its shining white sands, -and, last, gently loose the maiden's white hands, -clinging still, though all unconsciously, to the -man whose life she has saved. Weeping women -gather about them, lying there so still and fair -upon the white beach; frightened children look -curiously at the half-drowned figures of the man -and the woman. Still are they man and woman, -and not yet fallen to that terrible neuter of -death, wherein age and sex are not, where serf -and queen are equals.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-vii"><span class="large">CHAPTER VII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"A flame! Her clear soul's essence slips,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>To steep for aye with mine, from her fast-whitening lips!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Several days passed before these two who, -hand in hand, had looked death in the face, and -felt his chill breath freezing up the current of -their lives, again saw one another. Graham, -after twenty-four hours, was able to be about, -looking pale and ill. The congestive chill which -had overcome him was the result of his having -plunged into the sea while very much -over-heated. The water at San Real, and indeed all -along the Pacific coast, is very much colder -than at the Eastern watering places of a -corresponding latitude, where the genial influence -of the Gulf Stream is felt. His vigorous constitution -quickly threw off the effects of the terrible -experience; but three long days and nights wore -themselves out before Millicent's light step -sounded on the stairs. Mrs. Shallop and -Barbara were sitting alone at the luncheon table, -when the latter caught the sound of the -well-known footfall; she hastily left the room, and -running up the stairs passed her arm about the -feeble girl, supporting her into the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you not tell me that you were -coming? Do you think it prudent, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I wanted to come, and the doctor said -I should do whatever I fancied," she answered -a little fretfully; then she smiled, with that -flashing of the eyes that always won her pardon for -any little sin. It was a strange coincidence, -Barbara thought, that Millicent should have -come downstairs for the first time on the -morning when Graham had gone to San Francisco. -It was his first absence since the beginning of -their visit. Why should she avoid meeting the -man whose life she had saved at the risk of her -own? Graham had every day begged to see -her, but Millicent had not felt equal to the -interview. Barbara was genuinely puzzled; but -then Barbara was often puzzled by Millicent. -During the days just past her gentle care and -nursing had brought her much nearer to -Millicent than she had been before. In those long -mornings when Barbara, in a full, deep voice, -read to her from her favorite books, Millicent -had time to think more about her new friend; -and the more she thought about her the better -she liked the sweet, sound, womanly nature, -with its domestic instincts, and maternal care -of all creatures sick or sorry. One morning, as -the invalid lay upon her couch, while Barbara's -gentle hands plaited her long hair in thick -strands, she said, somewhat abruptly,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Barbara, why have you not married?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What an odd question!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you knew what a charming wife you would -make, you would think the question a most -natural one. I suppose you have been in love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose so," jestingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah! talk seriously for a moment with me. -Why do you not marry Ferrara? The poor -fellow is perfectly pathetic in his devotion to you. -You know, Barbara, that matrimony would suit -you delightfully; there is nothing so becoming -to a woman of your type as the background of -a home of her own. There you would shine -like Jessica's candle in this naughty world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have never thought about it in the way -of a background."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course you never did; but, Barbara, do -you think you could fall in love again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who knows?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I know that you have never been in -love at all, </span><em class="italics">ma belle</em><span>--oh, I forgot, and have -broken my vow to speak English pure and -simple. Well, never mind, now we will talk -about my broth, for I am very hungry. I feel -like little Rosalba in the 'Rose and the Ring,' -when she went about crying, 'Dutess Tountess, -my royal highness vely hungy.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Long confidences had followed this conversation; -and Millicent listened to Barbara's account -of a childish romance with that deep interest -which women all feel in the heart experiences -of their sisters. Such sympathy is born in the -feminine breast before the power of loving -awakes there, and dies not when experience has -brought nothing to it but grief and bitterness. -The veriest chit of a girl of ten will read a -love-story if she be allowed, while her brothers are -inventing ingenious instruments for the torture -of cats and nurses. The deafest grandam will -listen with keen interest to her favorite -grand-daughter's confession of love, and will be -careful not to chill young hopes with her own sad -memories. All those who have loved truly, -with that love which outlasts grief, death, and -human passion, which smiles at the cruelest -neglect, which, like the love of the Most High, -passeth all understanding, have sympathy and -kindly interest for those who are in love. That -"all the world loves a lover," is the truest of -all sayings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as they were alone, Millicent told -Barbara that she was anxious to return to the -Ranch the following day. Since her first -meeting with John Graham, her life had danced away -through bright hours passed in his company, in -remembering past interviews, in looking forward -to future meetings. In the long days when she -lay weak and helpless, slowly recovering from -the terrible drain on forces, nervous and muscular, -she had thought long and deeply; and now -that she was well, she did not wish to meet -Graham, and avoided his presence. She realized, -as she had not done before, that she deeply -and irrevocably loved this man, whose name six -months ago had been unknown to her. Whether -this understanding of what was in her own heart -came upon her in one broad flash of quickened -intelligence, when she lay half swallowed up by -the jaws of death, still clasping him with feeble -hands, or if, in the quiet hours of introspection -which followed that awful moment, she gradually -learned the truth, it would be hard to say, but -that she now knew it, was indubitable. The -fact that the man she loved should be indebted -to her for his life was a distasteful one. Not -through gratitude did she wish to attract him; -the very thought of it was galling to her. She -loved him, and longed, with the deepest power -in her soul, to arouse in his breast that -answering passion, which, like a deep bass chord, -mingles with the sweet treble song of woman's -love, their harmony making the one perfect -note to which the keystone of the universe -trembles sympathetically. Sweet as was the -thought that her strength had sufficed for them -both, she mourned the chance which had made -her hand the rescuing one. Love that springs -from gratitude or from pity is earth-born and -earth-bound; she would have none of it; it was as -if she had a claim upon him for that gift, which -if not freely given is valueless. So, with a -shyness new to her, she avoided meeting Graham; -and the night of his return she sought her room -again and did not appear until the following -morning. If Graham did not know all, he was -ready enough to understand that she avoided -his thanks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Shallop passed the last evening of her -guests' visit sitting with Miss Almsford, -answering her many eager questions of the strange, wild -days when law and order were not in the broad -golden land. It seemed almost incredible to -Millicent, and yet she felt it to be true, that the -wife of the mining king regretted the past days -of poverty and simplicity. The hard-earned crust, -shared with a husband whose every thought was -known to her, had tasted sweeter than the -luxuries of a table at which she often sat alone, or -with a partner absorbed in thoughts and -enterprises in which she had no part. Her children -had then been entirely hers; now they were far -distant,--the boy at an English college, the girl -in a French conventual school, whence they -would both return grown too clever and proud -to care for her simple-hearted companionship. -What mattered it that she had toiled day and -night to buy them food and clothing, had worn -out her poor body and dulled her simple mind -with anxious overstrain and grinding labor? -Would they thank her for it now? When, a -year before, she had visited these adored -children, she had felt the distance between them -and herself. If her son had not been ashamed -of his poor mother, it was only because his -heart was not quite weaned from hers. The -girl was gentle and kind; but the pitying care -with which she brought her conversation to the -level of her mother's understanding was all too -obvious to the sensitive woman, whose nervous -strength had been shattered in the hard fight -which she had made all those years ago, to keep -the breath of life in their little bodies. Half -her life had been passed at the wash-tub, half in -the drawing-room; the transition had been too -sudden for a person of her temperament. The -soapsuds, which used to flash the splintered rays -of light from her hands, were more appropriate -to them than the diamonds with which they -now glittered. Poor woman, the extremes of -fortune were both known to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Though their visit had been a delightful one, -Millicent was anxious to return to the Ranch; she -longed for the quiet, refined atmosphere of the -place, with its simple comforts, doubly attractive -after this experience of the luxurious but -inappropriate house of Mr. Patrick Shallop. There -is a certain fitness in things; and the ex-miner, -living in the palace of the railroad king, was less -at home than England's monarch could have -been in the cowherd's hovel. Millicent felt the -social </span><em class="italics">malaise</em><span> which arises from the incongruity -of persons with their surroundings. Graham, -interested in his portrait, which was coming on -famously, was not easily affected by a personal -atmosphere to which he was indifferent; while -Barbara and Ferrara, used to a similar condition -of things, accepted it without question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The morning of the last day of their visit -dawned bright and clear; and Millicent, standing -on the terrace, thought the wide view had never -seemed so beautiful before. She was taking -farewell of that sea which had so nearly swallowed -her young life with all its hopes and fears. -The waves murmured with a gentle sound, as if -quite oblivious of their late rapacity. She -went out into the thick pine woods behind the -house, and stood for the last time among the -great redwoods, which to her were so wonderful, -and which everybody else accepted as a matter -of course. A well-known footstep behind her -on the dry leaves caused the slight pink tinge -which the morning breeze had brought to her -cheek to fade suddenly; the blood seemed -rushing from every vein back to its source, and -her heart stopped its pulsations for a moment. -She did not turn her head, but stood quite silent, -waiting for Graham's first word. When he was -at her side, she felt her hand suddenly caught -in a warm pressure which sent the blood rushing -through the arteries again, tingling painfully -in every fibre of her body, and loosening the -cold silence of the heart, which beat out a quick -answer to the words of greeting. They were -but few and very earnest, the words of a brave -man glad to be beholden to so fair a woman -for his life. Was it gratitude that made his -voice tremble, that lighted his grave eyes with -a smile?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She answered him sweetly and seriously, with -a steady voice and calm eyes, though the -rose-flush flooded and ebbed from her cheek and -brow. The man did not trouble himself to -analyze the feelings which gave rise to the fleeting -blushes; he was too full of his own enthusiasm -to notice how it affected its object. He spoke -as he felt and thought of the woman standing -there so full of life and beauty,--only in the -light of his relation to her. He knew how he -felt towards her, and told her so with admiring -frankness; of her feelings towards himself he -never stopped to think. His was an egotistic -nature, as are those of all strong men whose -personality stamps the age in which they live. -Weaker men and women receive the imprint of -their time; only the few strong ones leave their -images impressed when the soft clay of the -present is transmitted into the unmalleable -granite of the past.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They walked together for a time, Graham full -of anxious inquiry for her health, and Millicent -happy in his anxiety. When the artist learned -of the proposed departure, he strongly opposed -it, urging a longer stay. When he found that -the young ladies had decided to leave San Real, -he announced his intention of accompanying -them. Mrs. Shallop shortly afterward joined -the pair and handed Millicent a newspaper, at -which the girl looked quite indifferently until -her eyes caught her own name in large letters -at the head of a column. She quickly read the -article, which proved to be a highly sensational -account of the rescue of Graham.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="small">A FIGHT WITH DEATH!--Heroism of a Young Girl!--John -Graham rescued from Drowning by Beautiful Millicent -Almsford!--The Personal Appearance of the -Heroine!--Early History of the Lucky Man!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>These headings preceded the two-column -article at which Graham laughed contemptuously, -and which drew hot tears from Millicent's -eyes. She had never before seen her own name -in print, and the freedom with which the Anglo-Saxon -press deals with the affairs of ladies who -have no claim on the public interest was -unknown to her. She only felt that her name was -being spoken by people who never had heard -of her; that the most sacred and awful hour of -her life was revealed to the world; and that the -event of which she had hardly spoken, and of -which she barely dared to think, was now -familiar to thousands of indifferent readers. The -news had in fact been telegraphed to one of -the large New York papers, and in the course -of a week filtered down through the smaller -organs of that city to the suburban press, and -was read and forgotten by the careless public -throughout the length and breadth of this -enlightened land. To Mrs. Shallop and Barbara, -accustomed to the vagaries of American -journalism, the state of mind into which Millicent -was thrown by the article in the San Francisco -"Roarer," was entirely surprising. It was -without doubt annoying, but they had both become -so accustomed to seeing their own names and -those of their friends in the columns of the daily -journals, that Millicent's horror and indignation -seemed disproportionate to the cause. This -utter disrespect of the privacy of life which is -the right of all men and women leading peaceable -lives, breaking no law of the civil or social -statutes, is the crying sin of modern journalism. -When they are charged with this, the journals -very tritely retort that "social news" pays -better than any other class of matter; that its -insertion is more often prized and sought after by the -individuals mentioned than resented by them; -that much of the personal news is actually -furnished by the individuals whom it most -concerns; and that they but supply the demand of -their readers. It would be well for them to -remember that to pander to the public taste is -not the highest object open to journalism; to -elevate that taste were a task more deserving -of commendation, and less unworthy of good -printer's ink and paper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next mail brought two letters for -Millicent; one from a well-known photographer -asking her for an early sitting, and begging that -he might have the sole privilege of photographing -her. The other communication was a civil -letter from the editor of a weekly journal, asking -for a slight autobiographical sketch from the -hand of the heroine of San Real. In the course -of the morning a reporter from the California -"Bugle," a rival sheet, arrived and requested an -interview with Miss Almsford and Mr. Graham, -from which to compile an article on "The -Rescuer and the Rescued." Millicent's eyes flashed -angrily when the import of the small printed -visiting-card bearing the name of this nineteenth-century -inquisitor was explained to her. She -was heard to murmur, beneath her breath, some -Italian words highly inimical to the smart young -person who was taking the opportunity to -examine Mrs. Shallop's drawing-room with an eye -to future "notes." She was astonished when -Graham quietly lighted a cigarette, and asking -that the gentleman might be shown into the -smoking-room, joined him there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why does he not beat him?" she cried. -"If I were a man I should thrust him from the -house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And be held up to the public as a brutal -assassin?" laughed Barbara. "No, no, my dear, -let Mr. Graham alone; he knows best how to -manage the visitor. It never does to insult -those gentlemen; they are dangerous enemies, -and have the public's ear into which to pour all -their grievances. Our friend will draw the fire -on himself, I fancy, in order to spare you. -News the news-fiend must have; he will make -it himself if it be not provided for him. Poor -thing! he must live, after all, as well as you or -I. It is not his fault that he is obliged to -interview people; it must be a very disagreeable -profession."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus kindly and with wide sympathy did -Barbara Deering judge all men and women; -ay, and reporters too, together with babies, -Chinamen, and other unfortunate works of God. -Graham returned in a quarter of an hour, having -appeased his visitor with the aid of a good cigar -and a champagne cocktail, compounded by the -careful hand of the solemn-faced butler.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent was still flushed and excited, all -Barbara's arguments having failed to soothe her -nerves. Graham, with one sentence, banished -the angry dint from her white forehead and -brought a smile back to her face. The hour of -the last good-bys had arrived; and the guests -took leave of their kind hostess, with promises to -repeat their visit before long. Little Mrs. Shallop -really cried at parting with Millicent, to -whom she had become greatly attached. She -sighed as the carriage disappeared from view, -bearing its freight of young people with their -vivid lives and strong interests. When she went -back to her great lonely drawing-room, with its -splendid furnishings, she realized what a fitting -frame it had made for the two pretty young -guests, and how unsuitable it was to her simple -tastes. The house was dreary without their -joyous voices and quick footsteps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just after sundown the travellers reached the -San Rosario station, where Hal was awaiting -them in the great red-painted wagon. The two -sturdy mules were supplemented by old Sphinx -harnessed before them, making what is known -as a spiked team.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hail! the conquering Heroine comes! sound -the trumpets, beat the drums!" cried the -irrepressible young rancher. "How is our most -heroic Princess, and will she deign to enter the -triumphal car which her humble slave has -prepared for her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They all laughed; but, through all the lively -nonsense which he reeled off to them on the -way to the house, Millicent felt that he had been -really moved by what had occurred. The grip -which he gave her hand spoke a volume of -approval; and the loud clap on the shoulder with -which he greeted Graham expressed more than -a dozen sentences of rhetorical eloquence could -have done. The antics of the unicorn team -were extremely diverting; and these, with the -absurdities which Hal perpetrated at every step -of the road, brought the quartette to the house -door "in a state of merriment bordering on -idiocy," as he expressed it. Mrs. Deering, with -her sweet motherly greeting, made their return -seem a home-coming to Millicent and Graham, -as well as to Barbara, the tall daughter of the -house. Her hospitality was so genuinely of the -heart that the recipient of it was made to feel -that it was simply his due, and that his -presence was as great a favor to the hostess as her -kindness was to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham was warmly urged to stay over night, -but he resisted the temptation of remaining. -Neither Millicent's voice nor Millicent's eyes -had supplemented the invitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they paced the path together, her hand -lying on his arm, Graham told Mrs. Deering, in -a low voice, of all that had happened since their -departure,--of the pleasant days with their -excursions; of the new impressions made on -Millicent by all that she saw; of the friends whom he -had met, remembering all the kind messages -which had been sent to the gentle </span><em class="italics">châtelaine</em><span> of -San Rosario; of Barbara's sweetness and -Mrs. Shallop's hospitality; of the progress he had -made on the portrait of his hostess; of the -thousand-and-one little items of news so welcome to -people leading a life of quiet isolation. Then in -graver tones he spoke of his great peril and -Millicent's bravery, of the strange thoughts -which had crossed his mind in that last moment -of consciousness, how her face as well as his -mother's had been revealed to him as in a vision. -All this was listened to with that perfect -sympathy that is always ready to receive confidences, -and which forbears to claim them when they -are not spontaneously given. Blessed among -women are these rare ones to whom motherless -sons can confide every hope and disappointment, -sure of a quick sympathy, and in whom the -mighty instinct of maternity is not satisfied in -ministering to their own flesh and blood, but -springs forth to succor all who are suffering for -the gentle mother love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was late when these two said good-night, -and Graham went to find the others to take -farewell. Barbara and Hal were singing duets. -They had neither of them seen Millicent, and -fancied that she must have gone to her room. -With a sense of cold disappointment and injury -the young man left the house. As he passed by -the corner of the piazza he fancied he saw a -figure standing close in the shadow of an angle. He -stopped; the figure remained motionless; through -the heavy drapery of the vines he could not tell -whether it was a person or merely a shadow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is it?" he asked in a low voice. No -answer came, but through the stillness of the -night he thought he heard the sound of a -quick-drawn breath. Putting the honeysuckle aside -he stepped on the piazza, and found that his -eyes had not deceived him. Millicent stood -beneath the rose vines. When she saw that she -was discovered she spoke with a light laugh:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not want you to see me, for I have -been unsociable this evening, and hoped you -would all think I had gone to bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it not damp for you to be sitting out-of-doors?" -he asked, with a voice grown deep and tender.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no! I am quite used to it. What a -wonderful night! I think I never saw the stars -so brilliant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl seated herself on the edge of the -piazza, Graham placing a cushion under her -feet and taking his place at her side. It was a -perfectly still evening, the only sound being the -far-away tinkle of a sheep bell. There was a -moment of dangerous silence, which Millicent -broke a little nervously, speaking of Italy, of -Mrs. Shallop and their late visit, of Hal's -irresistible wit, of any one of the subjects which -danced through her brain. She was afraid to -be silent, and feared yet longed for what might -be said if she left too long a pause. The spell -which kept Graham at her side when he should -have been half way to his lonely tower, began -to assert itself over the woman, always the last -to yield. The man had long since abandoned -himself to that mysterious state of being in -which every nerve of brain and every pulse of -heart yearns for sympathy and reaches out -toward its counterpart. At last she was silent, -the last commonplace dying half spoken on her -trembling lips. Silence now in all the land; -only the sound of heart-beats which each felt -must reach the other's ears. Stars more tender -than those of heaven shone close to Graham -through the blue-black night; a breath sweeter -than the wind stirring the honeysuckle touched -his cheek. At length that silence, more musical -than sweetest harmony, was broken by a low, -deep voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May I kiss you?" said the voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What was the faint sound which the night -wind wafted to his ear? Was it the whirring of -the humming birds whose nest hung close by? -Was it the far-off silver ripple of the brooklet, -or the cadence of the distant sheep-bell? Was -it that sweeter sound than note of mating bird, -of falling water, or of faint bell-chime,--was it a -loving woman's "Yes"?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-viii"><span class="large">CHAPTER VIII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Oui, les premiers baisers, oui, les premiers serments</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Que deux êtres mortels échangerent sur terre</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Ce fut au pied d' un arbre effeuillé par les vents,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Sur un roc en poussière."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When he awoke the next morning, John Graham -gave a deep sigh. His dreams had been so -sweet that no reality could equal their -happiness. As he sat on the edge of his narrow bed -disentangling what was real from what was -dream-born in his thoughts, his eye fell upon -the knot of roses which he had taken from -Millicent's hair the night before, and had clasped to -his lips as he fell asleep. They were faded now, -but they still gave out a strong perfume. His -cheek had been wounded by a thorn, but he -kissed the wilted posies, for all that, placed the -little bouquet tenderly in an exquisite Venetian -vase, and then bounded down the stairway of -his tower and across the narrow space which led -to a clear deep pool where a crystal stream fell -in a white cataract to a rocky basin. The -foam-bubbles danced joyously in the clear dark -waters, and the plashing of the fall had a sound of -a sweet deep voice which had grown very dear -to him. A mossy bank, shaded by two drooping -trees, sloped to the edge of this natural bath, -refreshing enough to have tempted Diana from -the chase. As Graham plunged into the cool -waters he shouted out a verse of a song he had -learned long ago. Attracted by the sound of -his voice, French John laid down his axe beside -the young tree he was about to fell, and came -down to the pool where Graham was vigorously -tossing about the bright water. The old -wood-cutter looked at the young man as if the sight -did him good. He responded to the uproarious -greeting which the artist shouted to him, by his -usual silent nod of the head. Had words been -worth their weight in diamond dust, the old -soldier could not have been more chary of -wasting them, but the look in his faded blue eyes -was gentle and full of admiration. He had had -a son of whom he had lost all trace since its -infancy. If the boy had lived he would have -been about Graham's age, and it was the man's -fancy that he would have resembled his patron. -He imagined he could trace in the splendidly -modelled arms and legs and the strong, perfectly -proportioned torso of the bather the shape into -which the baby contours he remembered so -well must have developed. Graham had by -this time gained the green turf and stood -shaking the water out of his thick hair, drawing -quick panting breaths, meanwhile, and springing -about to warm himself, with the grace and -strength of a leopard. The old Frenchman -gave a deep sigh as he looked at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; Hector certainly must resemble this -young man," he murmured, as he wetted his -hard hands, and, grasping the handle of his axe, -smote heavily at the stem of a young pine-tree. -Graham rapidly made his toilet in the open air. -The plunge in the clear cold water had rather -stimulated than expended the electric, nervous -force which ran through his veins, quickening -the life-blood in its flow. He felt ten years -younger since yesterday morning. His thirty -years and the gravity they had brought to him -had shrunk to twenty. As he looked up at his -tower he sang aloud a snatch of an old song which -had been often on his lips in those happy, -careless days in the </span><em class="italics">Rue d' Enfer</em><span>,--words which he -had painted over the tiny grate in the cramped -apartment under the leads, where he had suffered -from heat all summer, and shivered all winter:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>Dans un grenier qu' on est bien</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>A vingt ans, à vingt ans!</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He would have liked to dance. Had his years -in truth been but twenty, he would have yielded -to the temptation. He would gladly have -thrown his arms about the old Frenchman, for -lack of another confidant, and have told him the -cause of his happiness. But, after all, this reflex -of youth could not entirely melt the reserve of -manhood from him; he wore his thirty years -lightly indeed, but could not shake them off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me your axe, John; I know something -of your woodman's craft; let me show you how -easily I can fell this young tree."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took the tool from the woodcutter, and, -whirling the sharp edge in the air, laid it at the -root of the tree with a ringing blow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It appears in truth that monsieur 'ave -'andled an axe before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely, John. I once spent a summer with -some friends of mine, who lived in a forest in -Brittany; they were </span><em class="italics">sabotiers</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur is jesting?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not in the least. I not only can fell a -tree,--clumsily enough, be it confessed,--but if I -had the tools I could shape you a pair of </span><em class="italics">sabots</em><span>, -as good ones as you could buy for ten sous at -Quimper; that is your town, I think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He talked in short, jerky sentences between -the strokes, while the white splinters flew about -him like a hail-storm. After a few moments the -knack which he seemed at first to have forgotten -came back to him. The smell of the bruised -bark was aromatic; the death-sigh of the young -branches was musical as they trembled for the -last time together, reaching out to touch their -sister trees in solemn leave-taking. Their sigh -was now drowned in the groan of the swaying tree.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take care, monsieur, take care; it is about -to fall," cried the Frenchman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His warning was a timely one. Graham, so -long unused to the exercise of the craft, had not -noticed how deeply he had cut into the stem. -The straight tree seemed to hesitate, tossing its -branches helplessly heavenward, and then with -a creaking sound crashed through the surrounding -underbrush, and with a dull thud measured its -slender length upon the earth. For a moment -its branches shook convulsively, and then all -was quiet. It seemed as if all nature paused at -the fall of so fair a thing: the birds were silent -in the thicket; the babble of the water-fall grew -faint; and the wood creatures stirred not in their -burrows. A mighty breeze crept through the -forest, rustling the surrounding trees, wailing -through the open gap as if in requiem, and a -light cloud floated over the face of the sun, -throwing its shadowy pall on the spot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was well done, monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, at the sound of the man's voice, the -cloud floated by and the sun shone out once -more, the wood birds took up their song again, -the squirrel in the hollow of the white oak went -on cracking her nut, and the brief mourning was over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That man must feel himself indeed beloved, -who fancies that the world will pause as long -beside his grave as does the forest at the fall of -one of its children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not until the branches had been lopped off -and the long stem cut into lengths, did Graham -cease his labor. The exercise did him good, and -gave him an appetite for the breakfast which old -John served him in the open air. He declared -that the coffee was better than could be had at -the </span><em class="italics">Café de Paris</em><span>; and assured John that neither -Paris nor Vienna could produce such bread as -that which the old man had baked in some -mysterious manner in an oven of his own -construction, made of flat stone sunk in the ground. -Graham remembered that he had somewhere in -the tower a bottle of rare old wine, which he -sent John to fetch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bring my glass and your tin cup, John."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He needed sympathy, he who had lived for -years without asking man or woman to share his -joys or sorrows; he felt a new need in himself -for human companionship; and the silent old -fellow who did his bidding was the only soul to -whom he could look for it. The ice which had -encased his heart was broken; and instead of -sternly demanding from his fellow-men honor, -truth, and sincerity, he embraced the whole -world in a warm, unquestioning love and -sympathy. Yesterday he was a man who labored -for his kind; to-day he was content to love them. -Yesterday he was a reformer; to-day he was a -philanthropist. The henchman returning with -the wine, Graham filled the crystal goblet and the -humble cup to the brim, and together these two -denizens of the balmy forest drank to the new -day which had dawned on the young man's life. -After the long, black night which for months -obscures the face of nature in the far northern -land, the first rising of the sun touches the -hearts of men with a deeper, more profound joy -than the dwellers in a temperate zone can well -understand. So was the light of this new love -more glorious a thousand-fold to the man in -whose life there had so long been darkness, than -if it had arisen in a heart unacquainted with -grief. In the first flush of happiness, his whole -nature rebelled against the joyless life he had -been leading; his work lost its attraction for -him, and he could not have painted a stroke that -day if his whole future reputation had depended -upon it. The new impulse had swung him far -out of his accustomed orbit; that there might be -a rebound, he never for an instant fancied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spent an hour in ransacking his tower -to find the most beautiful thing he possessed -to carry to Millicent. He wanted to go to her -with something in his hand that might in some -measure express the tide of generous feeling that -flooded his whole nature. He still had a score -of those treasures, souvenirs of his European -residence, of which the greater part had found -their way to the shelves and cabinets of his -friends' houses. He spread them out before -him on his one table, ruthlessly pushing aside -paints, brushes, books, and drawing chalks, in a -hubbub of disorder. With an intense interest he -looked them all through. He had almost -decided upon a rare Etruscan coin which he had -seen roll from the palm of an exhumed skeleton, -when his eye was caught by a tiny Tanagrine -figure. The exquisite modelling of this clay toy, -instinct with the beauty which pervaded every -detail of Greek life, made it a more appropriate -gift. The miniature woman was as truly -proportioned as the Milo herself, and as surely -constructed according to that greatest law of art -that the world has yet seen evolved, the Greek, -wherein are welded together the real and the -ideal. A third article now struck his fancy as -more appropriate than either of these for his first -gift to Millicent. It was a crown of olive leaves -of the purest gold, which might have bound -Helen's brow. It had lain amidst the dust of -eons which covers Troy with its pall; and now, -in the nineteenth century, it was to serve as -the gift of a Californian lover to his mistress. -Surely, never before had the precious leaves -encircled so fair a head as that which they were -now destined to adorn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Among the many sins which had been laid at -Graham's door by friend or foe, the vice of -foppery was missing. That minute attention to -every detail of dress, which is found as often -in man as in woman, had no place in his busy -life. He was, however, always neatly dressed; -and the prosaic fashions of our time were -modified as much as possible in his wardrobe, -especially while he inhabited the forest. On this -occasion, instead of one absent look in his small -mirror, merely to ascertain if his hair were -properly parted and his cravat neatly tied, a full hour -was given to the process of dressing. Every -suit of clothes, and each possible combination -of the garments which his wardrobe afforded, -were carefully considered. When at last the -decision was made, the vest needed a button, which -the artist laboriously attached to the garment. -Taking a coarse linen thread strong enough for -a halter, he made the button fast, taking several -turns of the thread about its eye, as if he were -belaying a rope. His cravat occupied him fully -a quarter of an hour. He must have brushed -his hair at least half a dozen times. He caught -sight of his anxious face in the mirror, just as he -was settling his cravat for the last time, and burst -into a peal of laughter at his own dandyism. At -the foot of the tower his sturdy mustang Tasso -stood ready saddled. French John had given an -extra polish to the sleek gray coat, bright enough -to reflect the silver-studded Mexican bridle. A -pair of red cockades, set at the ears of the beast, -were made from flowers yielded by the small -garden patch behind the woodcutter's cabin, where -he raised flowers and vegetables for his patron -and himself. The tall cock gave a condescending -crow of approval as Graham mounted his -horse; while the three cats sunning themselves -near by hunched their backs at him, as if to -express their disapproval of his idleness. It was -still early in the afternoon, and it was not his -wont to sally forth until the shadows were long. -Where could he be going? they asked one of the -other, purring inquisitively together like a group -of women-folk over a cup of afternoon tea. Of -all his brute friends, Tasso alone knew whither -his master was going; he snorted scornfully at -cats and cock, and, shaking his head playfully, -sped over the bridle path with flying feet, as if -conscious of the eyes that were watching for -him, the ears that were strained to catch the -first faint echo of his hoofs as they flashed over -the stony orchard road.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Those sweet eyes had not closed since they -had last looked into Graham's; that white form -had known no rest since it had slipped from -his arms. The night, which had brought to him -such peaceful dreams, was fraught with bitter -memories to Millicent. She had paced her room -through the long hours. No longer a half-yielding, -shrinking maiden, but a woman, full of tears, -before whom some great sorrow, long stifled, -had risen up again. Was her nature then -two-fold? While she was with other people, -Millicent seemed a strong, self-reliant woman, pure -and cold, with quick intellectual sympathies, and -strong opinions and convictions. When in the -society of the man she loved, his influence -unfolded the closed petals of her heart as the sun -kisses back the white leaves of the daisy, and -uncovers its great golden centre to the eyes of -all men. A new warmth shone from her eyes, -and softened her silver voice. An unwonted -shyness made her shrinking and timid under his -gaze. A new life was born within her, so much -stronger and more intense than any that she had -ever known, that her past existence paled before -it as the luminous circle of a night-lamp fades -before the strong rays of morning. But when -she was alone....</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Whatever her sombre thoughts had been, they -were banished before she next met her lover. -When she learned that he had come, she longed -to fly from him out into the dim reaches of the -forest, where he had told her half in jest that -they had lived and loved before man's time -began; when nymphs and dryads danced -together in the shade of the oak-trees; when Pan -reigned, and the earth was young. If she could -have seen him in her own sanctum, where the -light was softened by the dull green hanging of -the wall, where the air was warm from the -ever-flaming fire, and sweet with the spices burning -in a great sea-shell, she would not have greatly -cared; but the stereotyped drawing-room, with its -blank white walls, was no place for their greeting. -She went down the stairway and stood a -moment before Graham; then, as he advanced -towards her as if about to speak, she glided swiftly -from the room across the hall and out into the -sunlight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barbara, standing near by, scattering corn to a -flock of tame doves which fluttered about her, -laughed as the light figure flitted by, with bare -head, and delicate silken draperies fit only to -rustle over soft carpets. Barbara laughed -pleasantly, cheerily calling over her shoulder to her -mother, who sat indoors,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at Millicent racing with her own shadow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'T is a substantial shadow, Bab, but otherwise -the simile 's good," said Hal, as he passed -by on his way to the dairy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Barbara looked again, and looking sighed. -Another figure had sped by her, down the orchard -road towards the wood,--the figure of a man, -pursuing the flying girl, with kindled face and -fleet steps. She threw her last handful of grain -to the circling doves, went into the stiff -drawing-room, mechanically set straight the disordered -chairs and drew down a shade where the light -fell too hotly upon a breadth of carpet. She -paused before a mirror and looked at her own -pretty face clouded by a pain she would not -explain. More than one lover had sued for -her hand, earnestly and tenderly, but she had -listened to no suit. No man had ever -pursued her with fleet steps and sparkling eyes, no -man had ever brought that expression of -half-shamed happiness to her face which had made -Millicent look just now like a child racing with -her own shadow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the forest Graham found her standing -breathless beneath an oak-tree, whose branches -had caught her gown and forced her to stay her -flight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Again under that terrible oak; but I shall -not lose you this time. Say that you will not -vanish in his jealous arms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He opens them to me no longer; he offers -me no refuge now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I stand waiting for you, and hold out -my hand for yours. Not for a dance now do I -ask it, but for a happy walk which shall end -only with our lives. Will you put your hand in -mine?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For answer a little warm palm creeps into -his broad fingers; and the oak-tree sighs a -blessing on the betrothal of which he is the only -witness.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-ix"><span class="large">CHAPTER IX.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"And in the forest delicate clerks, unbrowned,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Sleep on the fragrant brush as on down-beds.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Up with the dawn, they fancied the light air</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>That circled freshly in their forest dress</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Made them to boys again."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The life of John Graham had been one wherein -the sorrowful days far outnumbered the joyous -ones. His youth had been saddened by the -reverses and griefs which had pursued his parents -with a relentless persistence. His home life -had not been a happy one. In the large family -of brothers and sisters there had been a -meeting and clashing of strong, positive characters -and opposing wills. An intense family pride -was the one bond which united them. This -sentiment, almost amounting to a passion, made the -members cling closely to one another when there -was little of sympathy to make a sweeter bond. -Graham's parents had moved to California, from -the Eastern town where they were both born, -while he was still an infant. The first sixteen -years of his life had been spent on the Pacific -coast. At this age he was sent eastward to pursue -his studies. The youth had already determined -on devoting himself to art. The years passed -at the famous New England college were very -busy ones. The painful economies by which his -beloved mother defrayed his college expenses -were well known to the young man, and he held -himself responsible to that dear and honored -parent for every hour of his time. His active -mind eagerly grasped such fruits of knowledge -as were offered by that garden of learning, and -his career in the university fully repaid the -sacrifices which it had entailed. During all this time -he never for an instant relinquished his fixed -determination to become a painter. In the leisure -hours when his companions were amusing themselves -according to their several tastes, Graham -was always found at his easel. Some wiseacre -once suggested to the young man that Greek -and Latin were expensive acquirements, likely to -prove useless to a painter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And if I were to be a shoemaker, I should -make better shoes for having studied the -classics," was his reply to this admonition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had not been among the popular men of -his class, being very poor in leisure time, the -currency which buys that most expensive -commodity, popularity. He made few friends and -no enemies. His strong, earnest nature -commanded the respect of his fellows; and his -studious example endeared him to a few of the -most serious among them. At the age of twenty -Graham went to Europe, where he passed the -next eight years of his life in study and hard -work. The sketches which he sent home -brought him money enough to live on in that -quarter of Paris where the young art students -congregate. Poor enough the living had -sometimes been; hunger and cold were well known -to the youth by actual experience. When he -lived at the rate of five francs a day he thought -himself rich, and gave suppers in his studio, </span><em class="italics">au -cinquième, Rue d' Enfer</em><span>. Times there had been, -while he was at work upon his great </span><em class="italics">Salon</em><span> -picture of St. Paul, when a loaf of bread and -five sous' worth of the rough red wine of the -people, had sufficed for his day's provender. -Those days of earnest work among the gay -companions, whose lives much resembled his own, -were, perhaps, the happiest time in the life -of the young artist. Success had not been -wanting to crown his efforts. The picture on -which he toiled for weary days and months -received "honorable mention" from the judges of -the </span><em class="italics">Salon</em><span>; and to the passing fame which this -success brought him, he owed his introduction to -the woman who had so spoiled the happiness of -his youth. She was his compatriot, the daughter -of a rich Parisian American, who desired to -make the acquaintance of the artist hero of the -hour. The young woman was beautiful, heartless, -and slightly emotional. While in the -society of the handsome, spiritual painter, she -yielded to the charm his strong spirit exercised -over her; and it was not long before their names -were linked together by the small world which -knew them both. But Graham's happiness was -short-lived; and a few months served to show -him the cold, shallow nature of the woman who -had aroused his first passion. After he had been -jilted and disillusioned, he turned his back upon -the city where he had learned and suffered so -much, and became a wanderer on the face of -Europe. One year found him painting the beauties -of Southern Spain; the next saw him sketching -the wonderful scenery which lies about Stockholm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>About two years before the opening of our -story he had returned to San Francisco, with -a portfolio of sketches, a few hundred dollars, -and a prodigious store of canvases, paints, and -brushes. He was welcomed by the many friends -who had followed his career with interest, and -soon received more orders for portraits than he -could well fill. His taste led him to prefer -another branch of painting; and it was for the -purpose of studying the very beautiful scenery in the -neighborhood of San Rosario that he had -established himself in the tower of the old Spanish -Mission. He was also partly induced to take -this step, because he found that home life, always -irksome to him, had become, after his long -emancipation from domestic rules and regulations, -wellnigh intolerable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham's character was a peculiar one, full of -contradictory traits; it might be compared to -a mass of white quartz, through which ran deep -veins of the purest gold. In some respects it -was a hard nature, with certain tender qualities; -and nowhere was there to be found an ounce of -base metal; a pitiless nature, which knew not -how to forgive either its own faults or those of -his fellow-men. If his judgments of others were -harsh, his self-despair was sometimes fanatical. -His ideal of manhood was as pure and noble as -was that of the perfect King Arthur; that he -failed a hundred times a day in living up to -it, had not the effect of lowering that ideal one -hair's-breadth. His highest duty was towards his -own soul and its struggle to reach the perfection -he held it to be capable of attaining. With -the mind of an ascetic, he was endowed with a -warm, sensuous temperament, having a passionate -delight in beauty, light, and color, and -capable of living through the senses with the keen -enjoyment of a Sybarite. A strain of music, a -beautiful flower, or a fair child moved him to a -degree of pleasure that to any nature save an -artistic one was incomprehensible. Filled with -pity at the sight of distress, he would -unhesitatingly give his last dollar to a needy rascal; but -if appealed to for sympathy by the same sinner, -the scorching contempt by which he would blast -the shameful deeds for which, to him, there was -no palliation, would leave the wrong-doer a -sadder if not a wiser man. Because he expected -so much of men, their short-comings outraged -him. To a man of this character it was easier, if -not better, to avoid the paths of his fellows; and -his life had often been that of a hermit, even -when he dwelt in the busiest cities of the world. -Not willing that one shadow from the burden -of his life should fall upon the paths of those -who cared for him, his voice and face were -always cheery when in their company. He -wanted not the sympathy of man or woman, and -endured what griefs were given him to bear in -silence and alone. That divine mandate, "Bear -ye one another's burdens," was meaningless to -him; for he had ever borne his burden -unsupported and unhelped. The struggle between -the two sides of his nature, the ascetic and the -poetic, seemed sometimes like to rend soul and -body apart; at other times both contending -forces seemed asleep, and the current of his life -flowed peacefully on. There were periods when -the tender golden veins seemed to overlap and -hide the flinty quartz; then he felt alive, with -thrilling pulses and lips breaking into song; then -he painted rapidly, painlessly, achieving quick -successes, sometimes making brilliant failures. At -other periods hyper-criticism of himself seemed -to weight his brush and dim his vision, to take -the color from the warm earth and tender sky; -then the life-blood pulsed slowly through his -veins, and he forgot to sing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Into the existence of this self-centred being, -with its extremes of cold and warmth, few -personal influences had crept; and now, for the first -time in many years, he felt his life to have -become entangled, for good or ill, with that of -another human creature. Since his first meeting -with Millicent, on that memorable night when he -had found her the central figure of a picture of -warmth and comfort, his frozen existence had -been thawed and made happy by the subtle -influence which she wielded over him. Without -reasoning with himself, he had yielded to the -pleasurable charm, only amazed, and perhaps -a little glad, to find that there was a woman -who could rob him of his well-earned sleep, -and dance through his dreams at night with a -wilful persistence. If he had been obliged to -characterize the influence which the girl held -over him, he would probably have said that she -made his life vivid, and reminded him that his -nature was human and not mechanical. Day -by day her presence became more necessary to -him; and his work was slighted, or hastily -performed, in order that he might be free the sooner -to reach her side. Without retrospection or -introspection he had lived through the pleasant -days at San Real, when Millicent's heroic -behavior had made him feel doubly grateful to -her: he now owed her his life, as well as the -new pleasure in that life. When the happy -visit had come to an end, and he had parted with -her after the return to the Ranch, it had seemed -as if he could not leave her as a friend only. -That one swift, silent embrace had broken the -peaceful contract of friendship; and he had sealed -the tumultuous untried bond of love upon her lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Since that white night with its unspoken -protestation, Time seemed to have taken unto -himself new, strong wings, on which he bore the -lovers through the bright weeks of the -spring-tide of love all too swiftly. Few words of -explanation had been necessary; each understood -the other, except when that chill, impalpable -something seemed to come between them like a -cloud, as it had done in the first days of their -acquaintance. The one note which was never -absolutely in tune in their love harmony, at -these times made a discord, and disagreements -which grieved them both sprang up between -them; but these were rare, and the pale face of -the artist was less shadowy than in other days; -while Millicent seemed transformed from a statue -to a living being, with a heart tender and full of -love towards all her kind. But her cheek grew -less round than it had been in the days before -this new life was poured into her veins, and long, -sleepless vigils told upon her strength. She was -happy with a joy of which she had never before -dreamed, and yet weary nights of weeping traced -dark circles about her eyes. What struggle -could it be that left her pale and broken, and -drew pitiful sighs from her white lips when she -found herself between the four walls of her own -room? One word from Graham, the sound of -his horse's hoofs as he drew near the house, -would banish the pained look, call back the color -to the lips and cheek, and give the old brightness -to her deep eyes; but when he was gone, -the painful thoughts winged swiftly back to -torture her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To the sweet, open-hearted Barbara, Millicent's -state of mind was incomprehensible. The cool, -indifferent, somewhat scornful girl had been -transformed into an excitable, impulsive creature, -always in one of the extremes of spirits, by turns -gay with a gayety contagious, irresistible, -committing every sort of extravagance; and again -serious with a tragic sadness, more pathetic -than the wildest weeping. Mrs. Deering, with -that sublime unconsciousness which sympathetic -women know how to assume at will, saw nothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The happy summer weeks slipped all too -rapidly away, and the last days of August were -come. It was at this time that a long-planned -excursion took place, and the family of the San -Rosario Ranch went to pass the day with some -friends who were camping out at a distance of -fifteen miles from the house. Ever since her -arrival in California, Millicent had heard of -Maurice Galbraith, a friend of the family, whom a -combination of circumstances had prevented her -from meeting. It was to his camp that they -were wending their way when Graham joined -them on horseback, as they drove down the -shaded road which passes through the great -grove of redwoods, and leads to the dusty -highway. Millicent was driving in the light phaeton -with young Deering; Barbara and her mother -following in the large wagon driven by Pedro, -one of the Mexican helpers. Crouching on the -floor of the wagon behind the seats sat Ah Lam, -with his spotless linen and shining coppery -countenance. He could not sit beside the "Greaser," -or Mexican, and this lowly place was allotted -him. His round, placid face, with its clear brown -skin and oblique eyes, was not an unpleasing -one. His hands and arms were finely modelled, -and his sturdy figure was of a much more solid -type than is usual with his race. From his -position it was possible for him to hold a parasol -over Mrs. Deering, which he did without -varying the angle of the rather heavy umbrella one -degree during the whole long journey. He had -been taught that hardest of lessons for the -Chinaman,--that obedience and respect to the -ladies of the family are even more necessary -than submission to the master. On his arrival -at the Ranch he had coolly and placidly ignored -all orders given him by the female members of -the household as unworthy of notice. When he -finally had learned the lesson that "Melican -woman boss too," he had never failed in respect -to the ladies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The drive was a beautiful one. The road led -through deep valleys, still wet with the night -dew; sometimes it curled around the side of a -mountain which barred its progress, and again -it plunged down to the level of a swift stream. -There was a certain spot where Millicent, who -was familiar with the first five miles of the route, -always stopped for a few moments. Sphinx -had grown accustomed to bring his sleepy -gait to a standstill just at the brink of the -bridge which spanned the rushing forest river, -grown boisterous at this place. All about the -spot stood the great hills, some green with the -never-fading redwoods and madrone trees, others, -stripped by the woodman's craft, naked and -unsightly. Behind them stretched the hot, red -high-road, with its group of humble cabins. -In front of one of these a group of strange, -wolfish-looking children had called a greeting to -Pedro, the driver, who was of their kin. The -narrow, weather-beaten bridge, with its shaky -wooden piers, joined the highway over which -they had come, to a forest road which hung -over the stream and skirted the mountain's -base. The gray ruin of what had once been a -mill stood on the farther bank, with rusty, idle -wheels and empty grain-bins. There was a -small islet in the stream, between which and -the near bank was a clear pool which reflected -with perfect distinctness the trees and rocks, -the very ferns and marsh flowers of the -overhanging bank. Here the party paused for a -few moments, enjoying the familiar beauty of -the scene.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will paint this place one day for me, -will you not? I care very much for it." Millicent -was the speaker; and the artist close at her -side laughed and answered,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your will, of course, is my law, lady; but -when you can teach the bird on yonder twig -a new song, you can perhaps choose a spot -where a painter shall see a picture. Much -that is beautiful in nature cannot be portrayed -in art."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment longer they paused on the -bank, little thinking how that scene would be -graven on their memories in after days; and then -Hal brandished his whip, and Sphinx started off -at a brisk trot, the strong mules following at the -top of their speed, while Graham led the way -on his fleet mustang. It was not far from high -noon when the party arrived at the place of -destination, recognized by a flag floating above the -low underbrush at the foot of a hill. In reply -to Hal's lusty hallooing, a young man emerged -from the other side of the hill, and waving his -hat in greeting, hurried to help Mrs. Deering -descend from the wagon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How late you are, good people!" he cried in -a pleasant voice. "The fellows thought you were -going to disappoint us; but I had too much faith -in your word, Mrs. Deering, to doubt you. Miss -Deering, you were too quick for me; your agility -is only excelled by your grace. Well, Graham, -glad to see you; for once you are better than -your word."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young men shook hands with that -punctilious politeness which gentlemen who do not -quite like each other are apt to show in the -presence of mutual lady friends. Deering -presented their host to Miss Almsford, and at that -moment the other two woodmen made their -appearance,--Michael O'Neil, a jolly-looking young -Irishman, and Dick Hartley, a dark-browed -Englishman. The three men were intimates at -the Ranch, and Millicent already knew O'Neil -and Hartley; the latter was an old friend and -travelling-companion of Graham. Leaving -Deering and O'Neil to take care of the horses, -Galbraith led the way to the camp, a sheltered spot -on the south side of the protecting hill. Three -small sleeping-tents here stood close together. -Galbraith's was the central one; it was -wonderfully luxurious, Millicent thought, with its -comfortable rug and little iron bedstead, two chairs, -and a writing-table. A small looking-glass had -been brought from town "on purpose for the visit -of the ladies," Hartley assured them; at which -statement there was a general laugh at the -young Englishman's expense, his personal vanity -being well known. But it was of the greenwood -drawing-room that the ladies expressed the -highest approval. A square space of ground -had been cleared of the dense undergrowth, its -smooth surface being thickly carpeted by soft -piles of fresh, sweet ferns. Close-growing -shrubs and bushes served as walls, while the -thick branches of the great trees made a roof -close enough to keep out the heat of the sun. -The flowers of the manzanita and the buckeye -perfumed the air of this sylvan boudoir, wherein -were ranged comfortable stools and camp-chairs. -A wide hammock fitted with a red blanket -swung between two straight tree stems. Here -they sat for a while, resting from the long drive; -and here it was that Millicent had time to -observe more particularly the appearance of -Mr. Maurice Galbraith, of whom she had heard so -much. Galbraith was not, strictly speaking, a -handsome man, though he had a good deal of -beauty. He was tall and slender, with a finely -shaped head, well set upon the shoulders. His -bright, intelligent face was too thin for beauty; -while the fine, brilliant eyes, with their heavy -lashes, were hollow from over-work. His -delicate chin and mouth were exquisitely modelled; -while the nose seemed a trifle over-large through -the extreme thinness of the face. The features -in repose were almost stern in their look of -concentrated thought; but when he laughed it -was with the sudden merriment of a child, the -mouth parting over the small white teeth, and -the large, dark, hollow eyes flashing cheerily. -Barely over thirty, he might have passed for -some years older, an unflagging attention to his -arduous profession having told somewhat upon -his strength. Among the lawyers on the Pacific -coast, Galbraith was considered a rising man, -his late appointment to a district attorneyship -proving the confidence which he enjoyed. Millicent -thought him decidedly the most attractive -of their hosts; but her quick intuition had already -told her that Graham felt little cordiality towards -him, and she spoke chiefly to Hartley, the rather -insignificant "beauty man" of the camp. From -him she learned that for several years the trio -of friends had passed the summer months in -camping out at some spot not far distant from -the railroad, which carried them every morning -to San Francisco, and which brought them back -as early in the afternoon as might be. Their -one henchman (of course a Chinaman) was left -in charge of the camp during the day, and -performed the household work necessary to so -primitive a </span><em class="italics">ménage</em><span>. Not far distant from the -camp, the stream whose course they had -followed spread out into a wide, deep pool, -affording an opportunity for a refreshing plunge, with -which the three friends were wont to begin the -proceedings of the day. A breakfast eaten at -the tent door was followed by a walk to the -station, half a mile distant, when they bade -good-by to their sylvan home. Four o'clock, or -at latest five, saw them on their way from the -city; and an hour or two of angling in the cool -stream, wherein swam delicious trout, or a tramp -through the woods with a gun, brought them to -the dinner hour. Just at this point in Hartley's -chronicle of their daily life, Ah Lam, who had -been brought to assist the one servant of the -camp in his preparations, announced that dinner -was served. Millicent never learned how the -evenings were passed in camp, for there was -a general move towards the dining-room, another -triumph of sylvan architecture. A few paces -distant from the green parlor, but hidden from -it by the thick intervening bushes, was a great -fig-tree with wide-spreading branches laden with -delicious purple fruit. At the foot of the tree -stood a table laid with plates, knives and forks, -and other appurtenances of civilized life. -Millicent gave a little cry of delight at the prettily -decorated board, which was wreathed with a -garland of green leaves and covered with bright -flowers. Barbara, who had been reading Dumas -with that intense delight to which the first -acquaintance with French romance gives rise, said -that the banquet surpassed the one spread by -Joseph Bassano for the Dauphine of France in -the old Chateau. Millicent found herself at the -table between Graham and the good-natured -Irishman, O'Neil. Her lover seemed to her -handsomer to-day among this band of his -contemporaries than ever before; and she looked -at him with her whole soul in her eyes, -forgetting all in the world beside or beyond him. -O'Neil, who was the wit of the camp, told funny -stories at which every one laughed; but when -Graham spoke, the men all listened, like soldiers -waiting the words of their superior. Before they -had come to the table, the artist had twined -a girdle for Millicent's slender waist of some -feathery green creeper, a spray of which she had -wreathed about her head. When the red wine -was poured, Graham spilled from his glass, as -if by accident, a few drops upon the earth, -then, touching his goblet to hers, he said in an -undertone,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will drink the old toast, my nymph, to -Pan, </span><em class="italics">evoë, evoë</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Galbraith devoted himself to Barbara; and after -dinner, when all justice had been done to the -woodland fare, and the great warm figs had been -eaten with the sunshine in them, the party broke -up into groups. Graham, who had brought his -colors, made a sketch of the view from the -hilltops, Millicent sitting silently beside him, -handing him the brushes as he required them, then -squeezing the little tubes of paint with a childish -delight. Barbara and Galbraith made their way -to the pool, where Miss Deering angled -successfully, landing four good-sized trout within -the hour. Hal Deering and O'Neil employed -the time in firing at an ace of hearts pinned to a -tree; while Hartley and Mrs. Deering sat in the -green parlor, where the thoughtful, motherly -woman put a very necessary patch on one of -Galbraith's coats, in which her quick glance -had descried a rent, as it hung on a peg in his tent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the afternoon shadows lengthened, and his -sketch drew near its completion, Graham found -time occasionally to speak to his companion -sitting so quietly and contentedly at his side. The -absolute ignoring of self possible to this intelligent -girl, with her strong mind and latent talents, -was incomprehensible to him. She was perfectly -happy to forget her individual existence in -a sympathetic interest in his work. He felt sure -that should it please him she would give up her -music, her studies, every other interest in life -and be content to sit always as now, watching -his work, giving a word of intelligent criticism -when asked to do so, stifling every thought which -should cloud the mirror of her mind in which he -might see himself ever reflected. To the -sensitive man, who had passed most of his life in -solitude, this absolute, unreasoning devotion had -something intensely painful about it. If he had -known how to frame his thought he would have -begged her to care less for him. He felt -himself an ingrate, so poor a return could he make -for this wealth of love poured out at his feet. -Her presence was a pleasure to him; he loved to -watch her graceful motions as she walked, and -the beautiful poses which she all unconsciously -took in sitting, standing, or moving. Her -appreciation of his work, her understanding of himself, -were truer than ever man or woman had shown -before; and yet he sometimes was annoyed by -the irksome feeling that what he had to give her -was but a bankrupt's portion of love. Times -there were when this feeling did not intrude -itself upon him; and the day which was now -drawing to its close was one of those precious -ones wherein had been no slightest -misunderstanding betwixt them. When Hal came to -tell them that it was time to return, Graham put -up his work with a sigh that it must be so -soon finished, and the two lovers lingered for -a moment, taking a last look over the little camp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After bidding their hosts farewell the guests -turned their horses toward home, the larger -wagon with Mrs. Deering and Barbara leading -the way. Sphinx, whose best days were over, -was tired; and Millicent soon lost sight of the -swift mule team. Graham rode a little in -advance of the carriage, leaving the place at -Millicent's side to Mr. Galbraith, who had -volunteered to accompany them for a part of the -journey. She found him a most attractive person, -and was much interested in his conversation. -He told her anecdotes of the primitive justice -which prevailed in certain remote districts of -the State, and gave some personal reminiscences -of his earliest cases, in which he had been called -upon to defend or accuse criminals of the most -desperate class. Galbraith talked with that sort -of brilliancy which requires sympathetic attention -from his hearers, and for the first three miles -of the road he was able to win this from Miss -Almsford. When, however, the girl's eyes -wandered from his intelligent face to the man on -horseback half a dozen rods in advance, and she -mentally compared the strong, elastic figure of -the distant horseman to the man at her side, -Galbraith found that it was time to return to the -camp and "leave them to their own fate." Millicent's -parting words were doubly gracious to the -young lawyer, from the fact that she thought his -departure would bring her lover to her. In this -hope she was however disappointed, for Graham -was in one of those moods when silence was more -attractive to him than Hal's amusing companionship. -He would have liked to have Millicent all -to himself on that pleasant homeward ride; but -Millicent with the inevitable addition of Deering -could not win him to her side. Suddenly the -two in the carriage saw Graham's horse give a -wild rear and plunge, after which he shied at -some unseen object by the roadside with a force -which would have unseated any ordinary -horseman. The animal now stood for an instant -trembling in every limb, and then seemed to -fling himself and his rider in a perfect agony -of terror down the high-road, his four feet -beating out the startling measure of a break-neck -gallop to Millicent's horrified ears. From the -cloud of dust, and through the cadence of the -mustang's hoofs, these words were shouted back -to them,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look out for rattlesnakes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had by this time reached the spot where -Graham's horse had taken fright; and old Sphinx -shivered violently, tossing his head and snorting -loudly. In a few moments, it seemed to Millicent -an eternity, Graham rejoined them, having -regained control over his fiery horse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Deering, stand by Sphinx's head and hold -my horse, will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke John Graham dismounted, pulled -his high boots over his knees, and seizing the -heavy whip from the carriage, advanced cautiously -to the edge of the road, while Hal soothed -the startled horses. Millicent, left alone in the -wagon, gave a low cry of terror. Graham was at -her side in an instant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear one, you must help me with your courage; -do not be afraid, there is really no danger," -he murmured. She was silent, and tried to -smile an answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham now walked slowly along the road, -looking intently into the grass which lined the -highway. Suddenly the dread sound of the -rattle was heard, awful alike to man and beast. -Sphinx started again, but was soon quieted, while -Tasso reared and gave a shriek of terror. -Graham, raising his heavy whip, brought the thong -with a tremendous force across the snake's body. -The creature reared itself with blazing eyes and -sprang towards its pursuer, who dealt it another -blow; and before it could coil itself for a second -spring, Graham ran forward, and with his iron -boot-heel crushed the reptile's head into the -dust. He soon despatched the writhing creature, -and was stooping to cut the rattles from its -lifeless body, when a warning cry from Millicent -told him that the battle was not over. The -mate of the dead snake was close beside him, -ready to spring upon his stooping body. He -straightened himself, and ran backwards, firing -his revolver as he went. The shot missed the -snake, whose rattle rang out a very death-knell. -It leaped savagely towards him. Graham had -dropped his whip, most efficient of weapons -with which to meet these dangerous animals, -and hastily tearing off his coat he threw it over -the snake. He sprang upon the garment and -stamped in every direction; finally pinning the -creature low down in the body, the bristled head, -with its awful tongue, reared itself from beneath -the folds of the coat, wounded but furious to -avenge its mate. The horrible hiss chilled -Millicent's blood. She saw the forked tongue dart -out and strike Graham's leg. Mercifully it -struck below the knee, the fang failing to -penetrate the thick leather of the boot. The -creature wreathed another coil of its length from -beneath the iron heel, and again made ready to -strike. Graham cocked his revolver, and while -the angry red throat, with its death-dealing jaws, -yawned before him, he poured a volley of hot -lead into the writhing body. One, two, three -shots Millicent counted; and then after a pause -Graham's voice rang out brisk and clear: "All -right, my girl, if there are no more of the beasts." The -still quivering bodies of the snakes lay in the -dust of the road, and Graham, recovering his -whip, carefully examined the locality from which -they had emerged, to see if by chance a nest of -eggs or young ones was to be found. His search -was unsuccessful; and after securing the second -rattle, which was a long one, proving how -powerful the reptile had been, he measured the bodies -of the dead snakes, and rejoined Millicent. She -held out her hand to him; and Deering, who had -had as much as he could do in controlling the -two horses, congratulated him on his success, -and was about to resume his seat in the carriage. -Millicent had been perfectly quiet and composed -during the time of danger; her firm hand and -voice had controlled the frightened horse; her -watchfulness had warned Graham of the -approach of his second enemy. But now the -snakes were both dead, her lover was safe, and -there was no further need of her strength or -composure. As Hal approached the carriage, she -dropped the reins, buried her face in her hands, -and burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. -Hal, who had lifted one foot to the step of the -vehicle, dropped it to the ground, and retreated -a few paces with a frightened countenance. He -would not have been afraid to encounter a nest -of rattlesnakes, but a weeping girl completely -unnerved him. He retreated behind the wagon, -and, after a hurried conversation with Graham, -without more ado, mounted that gentleman's -horse and rode off as fast as the animal would -carry him; while Graham quietly stepped into -the vehicle, and touching Millicent lightly on -the shoulder, said, "Millicent, it is I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The passionate weeping grew more quiet; the -sobs became less violent; a slight tremor ran -through her frame at the touch; at the words -the tears rolled back to their source; and -presently a pale face was lifted from the supporting -hands, and the mouth quivered into a smile. -And so they rode home together, hand in hand, -through the deepening shadows; and one more -day of the sweet summer-tide of love had passed, -and each was richer for that day, how often -recalled by both of them when the shadows of -life had deepened into night.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-x"><span class="large">CHAPTER X.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Thereon comes what awakening! One grave sheet</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Of cold implacable white about me drawn"--</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>John Graham was one of those men in whose -nature there seems no trace of feminality. Man -and woman supplement each other, each -bringing certain qualities to the completion of -humanity; and yet it is rare to find a man whose -character is not modified by some mother trait. -Graham's qualities and his faults were equally -masculine; he was more strongly attracted by -women through this intense virility than are men -who, having some trace of the feminine in their -nature, understand and sympathize more -perfectly with the opposite sex. The attraction was -one against which he rebelled, deeming it to -belong to the weaker side of his nature; and he -had so ordered his life that it might not fall -within the influence of maid or matron. This -antagonism to woman made itself felt in his -work; his successful pictures were of men, their -high exploits and successes. A noble painting -of Saint Paul, which now hung over the altar -of a Roman Catholic church in San Francisco, -had won him his first reputation in Paris; he -could understand and sympathize with that great -man as if he had known him. It was only the -highest type of man that attracted him,--the -lovers of men, and not their conquerors. He -had never tried to paint Alexander, but had -labored long and lovingly over a picture of -Socrates. The female subjects which he had treated -were not less powerful than these, but the force -which they showed was scornful and untender. -A marvellous painting of Circe hung in his -studio; it was one of his most masterly works, and -yet, though critics had praised and connoisseurs -had approved it, the picture was still unsold. -With black brows bound by red-gold serpents, -the enchantress lay upon a luxurious couch; her -beautiful body was but half veiled, the arms and -bosom immodestly displayed; about her jewelled -feet fawned the creatures whose brute natures -had conspired with the enchantress to smother -whatever was human in their beings; self-despair -and scorn for their abasement deformed her -regular features to that moral ugliness never so -hideous as when seen in a youthful and beautiful -face. A terrible picture, full of wrath, but -untempered by mercy. His Cressida, purchased by -a great European Academy, was another wonderful -picture; a picture which made men smile a -little bitterly, and had brought an angry flush to -the cheek of more than one sensitive woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Over a man of this nature woman holds a more -important influence than with any other class; -it may be a good influence or it may be a -harmful one, but it is the most potent one which -touches his life. Had John Graham loved -happily at twenty-five, instead of most miserably, -he would have been a very different man at -thirty from the hermit artist of San Rosario. -It would have been better for him if he could -have learned the lesson which all wise men -learn if they live long enough,--that women are -neither angels who stand immeasurably above -men, nor inferior beings whose place is at their -feet, but human like themselves, full of good -and faulty instincts, and, with all their -imperfections, the God-given helpmates of man. So -justly should they be judged; and if a little -mercy be claimed for them, generosity should -not deny it, so few are their chances in life -compared with those of their brothers. A woman -has but one possibility of happiness in this -world. The stakes are high on which she risks -her whole fortune, which she may lose by one -unredeemable throw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Graham could have known all this, as, -being what he was, he could not, he would have -gained that one element which his genius lacked -to make it superlative. Man and child he was -by turns, but never for an instant had he been -able to look at life from the standpoint of a -woman. He had once loved the whole gentler -sex with that chivalrous spirit which made him -unfit to live in the nineteenth century. No -discourteous or cruel word toward any woman had -he to reproach himself with; he had looked -upon them as creatures so far removed from -his sphere, that his mind must be cleared of -every base thought before it might dwell upon -them; they were mysterious angels which it -was his happiness to worship. Then came a -change, and the love which had turned to grief -darkened his soul. As his heart had been filled -with a love so great that it embraced all the -sisters of his idol, his contempt went out -towards them, as his love had done before. His -revenge had been terrible: he had struck at -womankind; he had pictured it in its -debasement for all the world to see.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The few women for whom he cared were -elderly people, whose life-battles had been fought -and won; who sat enthroned in the calm of that -peaceful period when youth is no longer regretted -nor old age feared. Such women he could paint -without bitterness; and his portrait of his mother -was a masterpiece of exquisite sentiment. No -woman that he had ever met disliked John -Graham; if he was distant and cold, he was -honest and courteous, and a gentleman in the -deepest sense of the word. He was too -chivalrous to revenge himself on any individual; his -grief was too great to stoop to anything so -mean. More than one woman would gladly have -loved him, but he avoided them as if they had -been poison-nurtured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Men, as a rule, respected and feared Graham; -a few of his heart-friends would have given their -lives for him with a smile. To those who -understood and loved him, there was something more -than human about the man,--a quality to which -the highest part of their nature did homage. -Fools laughed at him for his quixotism; the -critics had worn themselves out in shrieking -abuse of his work which affected him in nowise. -He cared little for men's praise or blame; he -would have died to help them to a new truth. -He was of the stuff which made martyrs in the -old time, crusaders in the dark ages, and artists -in the Renaissance. His pictures were beautiful -as works of art, but they were great because -they embodied living truths. At twenty his -friends said that he had great talent; at thirty -his enemies ceased to deny his force; at forty, -if he lived so long, the world would crown him -with its laurel as a man of genius. If haply -that bitterness which lay like a blight on all his -work, on all his life, might be made sweet! -What a chance was here for the woman whose -love was now breaking over his frozen life with -warmth, fragrance, and beauty! How grand an -opportunity to sweeten by truth and faith all -that had grown bitter from untruth and -faithlessness! If she could only have known him as -he was, have understood him and his past, before -she had loved him, what could not Millicent -have accomplished! Alas! poor child, she knew -nothing of all this. Her own past was black -with a grief and wrong greater than that which -he had borne. She, too, was waking, and for -the first time, from a trance of soul and sleep of -heart; she was all engrossed in her own growth -and development. She was like a little -dungeon-born plant, which has at last climbed through -the iron bars, and under the light and warmth -of the glorious day runs riotous and unthinking -across the wall, up, down, on every side, -content to live and grow in the sun and air. -But the taint of the old wrong and the lie it -had entailed, were not yet left behind. He -had taken her for a pure white lily; and how -could she tell him that there had been a time -when she lived in darkness and despair before her -life flowered into its one perfect white blossom -under the warmth of his love?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Life is very pleasant at the San Rosario Ranch -with its bordering of peaceful hills. Here all -are happy, be they of high or low degree; from -the gentle-voiced </span><em class="italics">châtelaine</em><span> to the stranger -within her gates, the potent charm extends. The -fair daughter and tall son have lived peaceful, -uneventful lives; and though their young eyes -may sometimes turn a little wearily toward the -mountain barrier, beyond which lies the great -busy world, known more to them by hearsay -than by actual experience, they are happy, far -happier than are most of the men and women -in the crowded thoroughfare of the world's cities. -The Ranch does not lie in the belt of gold, nor -in the silver girdle which crosses the Pacific -coast. The rude mining towns are far distant -from this portion of the dairy lands of California. -The trains which leave the station in this -neighborhood are laden indeed with a golden -freight; but no armed men are found necessary -to guard the boxes filled with their rolls of -fragrant yellow. The product of the dairy lands -is of a smaller, surer value than that for which -men toil and drudge in the gulches or mines. -Far away to the southward, where the orange -groves are white and golden with their double -burden of blossom and fruit, is a climate milder -than that of San Rosario; and there Hal had set -his heart upon one day establishing himself. In -that vine country the air is heavy with the -spicy odor of the grape, and the harvest is -blood-red with its life-juices; and yet to -Millicent the fairest garden in this world's garden lay -between the circled hills of San Rosario.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent, having learned the earliest stage of -butter-making under Hal's direction, wished to -be initiated into the mysteries which follow the -skimming of the cream. Hal gave one of his -boisterous guffaws of laughter when she one -morning gravely informed him that she was -going to help in that day's churning. She had -donned the prettiest chintz morning gown -imaginable, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, -and a fresh white apron. Her skirt was kilted -up half way to the knee, showing a scarlet -petticoat, which in turn exposed the pretty, small feet, -and possibly two inches more of the round ankle -than is usually shown by ladies of her degree. -Tying one of the great picturesque hats which -they had brought home from San Real, under -her chin, the energetic young woman started for -the dairy. Hal, giving a knowing wink to his -mother and sister standing near by, as if to say -that the joke was too good to be spoiled, followed -her, with Tip, the cross old dog, following him -in turn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Millicent, did you ever do any churning?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but I can learn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Without doubt; but tell me, did you ever -see any one else churn?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes; very often."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who, if one may ask?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will not know any better if I tell you. -It was old Nina, at home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, old Nina; and what sort of a machine -did she use?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She did not use a machine at all; she used a -churn, like anybody else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did it look like?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure I have forgotten; it was probably -an old-fashioned one, but it made quite as good -butter as </span><em class="italics">yours</em><span> does;" this in a slightly irritated -voice. She objected to being catechised, and -had, moreover, a dim sense that Deering was -bent on quizzing her. She ran along the -footpath in advance in order to avoid further -questioning, and reached the dairy a few minutes -before him. Finding the main door shut, she -hurried round to the side, when, just as she -turned the corner, her rapid progress was -suddenly brought to an end. She had met an -obstacle; she had, moreover, fallen into the arms -of the obstacle, which proved to be a tall man -with a kindly voice, for he called out merrily, -"Hello, my girl, where are you going so fast?" -steadying her at the same moment with his arm, -as the sudden shock almost precipitated her from -the path.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent drew back disconcerted and breathless, -and looked up into the face of the man -whom she had so unexpectedly encountered. -When she saw that it was a face familiar to her, -she blushed and stammered a little as she -replied to his astonished greeting. Mutual -apologies and explanations followed; and Hal, coming -up at that moment, laughed at her discomfiture -till the tears rolled down his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You always laugh at other people's misfortunes," -cried Millicent, trying to be angry; but it -was impossible to be angry with Hal. The -irrepressible young rancher carried the day; and -Maurice Galbraith assured Millicent that it was -his awkwardness which had aroused Deering's -merriment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are very glad to see you, Galbraith, but -we are too busy to stop and talk to you just now. -You will find mother and Bab at the house. I -have a new hand here who is going to take -charge of the churning in future, and I am just -showing her about a little. Do you catch on?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Slang again! Five cents more towards the -amusement fund."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, we shall not want any more amusement -fund if you are going to turn worker, Princess." As -he spoke they entered the cool dairy. It -was tenantless. At one end of the room stood -a large wooden vessel, half as big as the Trojan -horse, and from its hollow sides came a dull, -splashing sound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you said they would be at work already," -said Millicent, in a disappointed voice; -"where are they all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it only takes one man to attend to this -part of the butter-making, and there he is at his -post."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside the open doorway, as wide as the -entrance to a barn, sat Pedro, lazily smoking his -pipe, and occasionally flicking with his whip the -strong mule who was slowly revolving round -the small space to which he was tethered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Millicent impatiently, "what does -that mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only this, my Princess, that you must turn -the crank that this animal is agitating, with -your own small hands, if you persist in your -resolution to help with the churning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent's face fell; and Galbraith hastened to -explain to her that the quantity of cream handled -at one churning made it necessary, in a place -where human labor is so dear, to employ -horsepower. Nobody likes to be laughed at, though -Millicent tried hard to smile at her own blunder; -when Hal, suddenly calling out; "By your leave, -Princess," without a word of warning caught up -the young lady in his arms, and placed her on -the back of the patient mule, remarking, as he -accomplished the feat, "No one can say now -that you have not helped with the churning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It would be difficult to say whether Millicent -or the mule felt the greater surprise; they were -both taken unawares; but the quadruped was the -first to recover himself, and resumed his weary -task of plodding round in the monotonous circle. -Millicent, clinging closely to the creature, cried -loudly to be relieved from her uncomfortable -position; but Hal, fearing her wrath, had -disappeared into the interior of the dairy, leaving to -Galbraith the pleasure of assisting the young -woman in dismounting. Pedro, who had been -an amused spectator of the scene, now -announced that the churning was completed, and -that they should soon see the washing of the -butter, if it pleased them to wait. The big -golden fragments were collected from the sea of -buttermilk, and finally massed together on a -wide table. There it was worked by Pedro, who -tossed the fragrant mass from side to side, -pressing out the remaining deposits of the milk with -a heavy wooden wand. He moulded the butter -into fantastic forms, prettiest of which was a -huge bell-shaped flower like a giant trumpet -blossom. It struck Millicent that here was a -delightful material for modelling; and taking -up a piece of butter and one of the dairy tools, -she forthwith produced a bas-relief portrait of -Galbraith, which would have done credit to the -sculptress of the sleeping Iolanthe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are two classes of hands, those which -are skilful and those which are clumsy; of all -other divisions of humanity this is the most -important. You, Miss Almsford, are so happy as -to belong to the skilful half, or rather quarter, of -humanity,--for men are all clumsy. I see that -you can do all things artistic as well as useful -with your fingers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid I have never tried to do much -that was useful," said the girl half ruefully. -"Barbara, now, can do all sorts of things. But I am -tired of comparing myself with her; I always -suffer by the process;" this with a rather vicious -little stroke at the butter-model, which she was -now finishing into a medallion, with a pattern of -scroll-work for a border.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me judge between yourself and Miss -Barbara. I know that she can touch the ivory -keys with grace, and can also make wonderful -peach preserves. On the other hand, you model -in butter and--and--well, what else can those -small hands accomplish of art or industry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They can draw a little as well as model; they -can trim bonnets, yes, really quite well; they -are not unfamiliar with the key-boards of piano -and organ; and, best of all,--I had really -forgotten to enumerate this accomplishment,--they -can move tables and chairs; they can draw pain -from your head; they can put you into a trance,--they -are, in fact, magnetic hands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems, then, that you are a Spiritualist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Far from it; by what power I do the few -things which form the </span><em class="italics">repertoire</em><span> of my manifestations, -as the mediums call them, I do not know -any more than you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you give me a </span><em class="italics">séance</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed; no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And because--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because it tires me, and I am rather afraid -of my own power. Some one once compared me -to a child who had got hold of an electric -battery which he did not understand, and with -which he unwittingly produced inexplicable -phenomena, not devoid of danger to himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are really in earnest then, and believe -in these manifestations?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly so; and I am rather cowardly about -exploring them to their source, as I have seen so -many strong minds unhinged by study of this -subject. I certainly object to the vulgar theory, -that the spirits of those who have gone before -us have nothing better to do than to tip tables -and dip their hands in pails of paraffine which -accommodating mediums prepare for them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not believe in mediums, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe no manifestation to be genuine -which comes from a professional medium. That -they often have real power, I do not doubt; but -so soon as it is a question of earning their living, -they must inevitably fall back upon fraud. But -we are growing quite serious about this subject -which I never like to talk of for fear of being -misunderstood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I am really interested in what you say--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind; here is your portrait, which is -not flattered, I frankly confess; but is it a little -like you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I know my face at all, it is wonderfully -good. Would that you had deigned to model it -in a less perishable material!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no! this is infinitely better, it is so much -more appropriate--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks for the compliment; but why, if I -may ask, should you consider butter to be -particularly suitable to me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to you personally, but to humanity. Is -it not stupid to carve bronze fac-similes of that -which is as perishable as the grass?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But had it not been for this stupidity, how -should we know the features of Cæsar?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And would it greatly matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so; but a young lady who so cruelly -assures me that butter is the only material in -which my humble features deserve to be reproduced--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent interrupted the speaker by her pleasant -laugh, with its sound of falling waters, and -thanking Pedro for what he had shown her, led -the way from the dairy. She refused to speak -further on the subject during the day-time, but -as they sat together on the piazza in the -twilight, Galbraith referred to it again; and, after -much persuasion, Millicent seated herself at a -table, round which the company grouped -themselves, placing their hands lightly on its surface. -Barbara, who was seated next to Millicent, their -hands touching one another, seemed strangely -affected, after they had been sitting for some -time in silence. She manifested unmistakable -signs of sleepiness, and finally, with a long -sigh, her eyes closed and her head fell upon -Millicent's shoulder. With a little frightened cry, -Millicent quickly lifted her, and making several -passes over her head called Hal to come and -support his sister. In a moment Barbara -recovered herself, and showed no more symptoms -of sleep. She laughed heartily, and said that a -peculiar sensation in her elbows had preceded -her momentary unconsciousness. Galbraith -applauded the little episode, which he assured -Millicent was very well acted by both participants. -The girl turned her eyes, deep and burning, full -upon him, half in anger, and said,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Mr. Galbraith, we will see if you -can act a part as well as Barbara. Lay your -hand in mine--so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man smiled, and did as he was bid, -with a courteous bow, as if deprecating the -power in which he did not believe; and for a -space of time they stood looking each other full -in the face. Then Millicent's slight form seemed -to vibrate, and from her eyes a light flashed into -the man's dark orbs, her cheek flushed, and from -every nerve in her body an electric flash seemed -to emanate, concentrating into a broad current -at the shoulder, and slipping through the round -white arm to the very finger-tips. Galbraith's -face paled as hers flushed; a stinging sensation -half painful, half agreeable, made him wince; and -when in a few moments Millicent withdrew her -hand, he remained standing motionless, white -to the lips, with dim, dreaming eyes, and -slow-beating heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak," said the magnetizer, "tell me what -is in your mind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is nothing," answered the man, in a -low, monotonous voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now speak, and tell me what you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see a man on horseback; the horse is -running away. Now he gallops, and the rider -loses control of him; they disappear in a cloud -of dust, and I see nothing. Now they return; -the horse is going quietly, and the rider looks -towards a carriage in which sits a lady; it is -Millicent. He enters the carriage; she is -weeping, and he touches--" he paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent's cheek had grown crimson. She said -in a low tone,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you not continue?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you will not let me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment a light step sounded on the -piazza. Millicent turned her head and saw -Graham approaching her. She stepped quickly -towards him, forgetting Galbraith, the company, -everything and everybody, save that her lover -had come to her. As she turned from him, -Galbraith reeled suddenly, and would have fallen -had not Hal steadied him to a seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fear I am interrupting you," said the artist, -in a cool voice, betraying some annoyance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, no," cried the girl, "we were only -trying the stupid old game of willing people; I -have succeeded in magnetizing Mr. Galbraith here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By this time the young lawyer had recovered -himself, though he looked strangely pale and -agitated. He was somewhat overcome by what -had gone before, and was not a little troubled by -the power which the tall, straight girl had -exercised over him. He rebelled against it, and yet -the sensation of giving up his volition, and -living for the time only by her will and her thought -had not been unmixed with a keen pleasure. If -no one had witnessed the affair, above all, if -Graham had not seen it, he would not have -greatly cared; but though he had no recollection -of what he had seen and described in Millicent's -mind, that evening's experience deepened the -vague antipathy he had always felt towards the -artist, into a positive dislike.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later, as they walked together alone, Graham -asked Millicent if she would magnetize him, to -which she replied in the negative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think that you could succeed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot tell; but if I could, I should not be -willing to do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet you threw a spell over that fellow -Galbraith?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear, there is a difference; cannot you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; upon my soul I can't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not want to command even your thought -for an instant; you must think of me to please -yourself, not because I will it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a strange girl you are, Millicent! Do -you really love me so very much?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you better than my own soul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A dangerous thing, child; do not ever say -that to me again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It shocks me; I cannot tell you why."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For answer, she gave him a rose from her -breast with a childish gesture, as if asking -forgiveness. There was an awkwardness, born of -an unwonted shyness, in the movement which -was more attractive to the artist than the most -graceful attitude he had ever seen her assume. -He caught the hand with the rose and crushed -them both in his two strong palms, as if to hurt -her. She smiled, though her wrist reddened -from the sudden pressure. It is more sweet to -bear pain from those we love, than to receive -kindness from a hand which is not dear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Graham was taking his leave, he asked -Millicent for two books which she had promised -to lend him. Barbara had joined them, and -offered to fetch them for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, Barbara, but I know just where -they are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it not the Petrarch and your manuscript -translation of Dante that Mr. Graham wants?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You left them on your table. I saw them -when I went up to shut the blinds. You had -better let me go, you are so tired."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, let Miss Deering get them for you; -you are quite worn out with your magnetizing." He -wanted to say one last good-night to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His lightest wish was her law; she nodded -gratefully to Barbara, who disappeared, while -Graham told her once more how lovely she was -that night. When Miss Deering came back, -Graham had already mounted his horse and -Millicent was feeding the animal with sugar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are sure you have the right books, Barbara?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite sure; I know them perfectly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Many thanks to you both, and good-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent was in a wakeful mood that night. -She went to the piano and played for an hour or -two, as she only played when alone. Her hands -drifted dreamily over the key-board, drawing out -fantastic melodies,--themes which were -composed and forgotten within the hour. In an -obscure corner of the room stood a head of -Beethoven. Her eyes were fixed on the face of -the master while she played, and as the notes -grew strong and sweet she smiled; when the -harmony changed to a tender minor strain, the -smile faded from her face. The music -expressed the thoughts which drifted through her -mind. At first she played the quick movement -of a march, through which rang out the -measured beat of a horse's hoofs; then the strain -changed to a pensive nocturne suggestive of the -forest at night. A tender slumber-song -followed, in which her voice took up the melody, -chanting loving words in the language of -Tuscany. The light, delicate thread of harmony -now broadened into a full consonance of sound, -the chords following each other tumultuously, as -if in translating one supreme moment of leave-taking. -As she was striking the closing strains -of this emotional improvisation, her powerful -voice trembling with a passionate </span><em class="italics">addio</em><span>, the -sweet symphony of sounds was interrupted by -a crashing discord. She sprang from the piano -startled and trembling, to find that a heavy vase -of flowers had fallen on the key-board from the -shelf above the piano. The metal jar was -uninjured, but about her feet were scattered the -petals of a bunch of white roses which Graham -had plucked for her that night. So rudely -was her rhapsody interrupted! She closed the -piano, and, after restlessly wandering through -the silent house, went to her own room, where -she sat looking out of her window at the moon-lit -hills. She could not sleep, she was full of -unrest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gray morning light was filtering into -Barbara Deering's room when she was awakened by -a light touch on the shoulder. Millicent stood -before her, gray as the twilight; she held in her -hand a small parchment book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Barbara, what books did you give Mr. Graham?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Petrarch and your Dante. What is the -matter, Millicent? Have n't you been in bed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I could not sleep. Here is the little -Dante; where did you find the book you -mistook for it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barbara sat up and rubbed her eyes confusedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, it was not where I had last seen it. I -found it somewhere, in your jewel-box, I think. -I am so sorry I made a mistake; 't was just like -the Dante. Does it matter much?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I only wanted to know, Barbara; go to sleep again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She spoke in a low, constrained voice, and -glided quietly from the room. Barbara, only -half awake, gave a sigh, and settling her flaxen -head among the pillows, again fell asleep and -dreamed that she had stabbed Millicent with a -knife, and that Graham was trying to stanch -the wound with the leaves of a little parchment -book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Graham arrived at his lonely tower, -after making his horse comfortable for the night, -he looked into French John's cabin to see -whether all was well with the old fellow. The -door was fast, and looking through the small -window, the young man saw the wood-cutter -lying on his hard couch, his gun beside him, his -dog curled up at his feet. The creature growled -at the sound of Graham's footsteps, but catching -sight of a familiar face through the window, he -gave a comfortable yawp, wagged his tail, and -relapsed into slumber. The artist never slept -without paying this last visit to his humble friend. -He stumbled up the steep tower stairs, and -after fumbling with the clumsy lock, the door -swung open and admitted him to his one room. -After groping about in the dark for a -moment he struck a light, and out of the embers -on the hearth blew a little flame. He looked -about the small room and laughed; this was a -home, indeed, to which to bring a bride! It -sufficed for him; and he asked for nothing more -commodious or luxurious than this old tower -in the corner of the ruined church, with its -grand north light and easy chair, its open fire -and pallet-bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If he married,--when he married, he corrected -himself, for he surely intended to marry -Millicent,--there would have to be great changes -in his life. He would be obliged to abandon -his old tower, and live in a smug new house -somewhere, with fuss and worry about servants, -who would not please him half so well as did the -old wood-cutter John. His work, ah, how that -would suffer!--no more of the pleasant -conscientious labor, the slow painting and study of -that one supreme moment of the day when the -golden copse was made tender by the light of -the setting sun. He must hie him to the city -and pass his life in painting fat, over-fed -matrons in lace and diamonds, or expressionless -minxes with costumes indicative of youth and -ignorance. He would, perhaps, relapse into a -mere mechanical portrait-painter, with as much -imagination as a photographer; and his pictures -would be ordered as theirs are, with the simple -difference that the artist produces but one copy, -while the photographer, with equal trouble, makes -a dozen or ten dozen, or a single picture. He -sighed aloud, and for consolation lit his pipe. -He caught sight of the flower which had bloomed -on a fair bosom and was now fastened to his -coat, somewhat crushed but still fragrant. He -carefully unpinned the rose and placed it in a -small vase of water, and then proceeded to -examine the books which Millicent had given -him. Graham liked old books, and was -delighted with the yellowed parchment copy of -Petrarch. An inscription on the cover showed -that it had once belonged to a monastery. On -the fly-leaf was a slight sketch of a young monk's -head seen in profile. It was a beautiful, -clear-cut face, with delicate outlines and an earnest -expression; beneath it was written, "Fra -Antonio, Aetat 22."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So this was brother Antonio, and he lived -and died probably in the peaceful quiet of a -Roman monastery. I wonder if he painted -too, or whether he wrote hymns to all the -pretty female saints in the calendar. Brother -Antonio must have lived and died without a -helpmeet. I fancy he did none the worse work -for that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The thought struck him as ungrateful, and, as -if to make amends for it, he took up the other little -volume. It was a thin book bound in white -vellum, with Millicent's name in illuminated text -upon its cover. The covers of this small tome -were closed with a gold clasp, which he finally -succeeded in opening. It proved to be a diary -in manuscript; he recognized the clear, delicate -handwriting of the girl he loved. Yes, he loved -her tenderly; why else should he press the -senseless pages close to his lips, kissing the fair paper -over which her fairer hand had passed? He drew -his lamp nearer to him and prepared to read the -record. It was written in Italian, and the first -page bore a date five years back. He was -somewhat puzzled, but supposed he had misunderstood -what she had told him of the book. She -could have been but a child then; she was now -only just past her majority. How pretty she -must have been at sixteen, before she had grown -to the perfect womanhood which now became -her so well! He fancied her in all the shyness -and awkwardness of young maidenhood, with -childhood reluctantly slipping from her, and -girlhood anxiously leading her forward. Again he -kissed the book, but reverently this time, and -with a deep sigh as if it had been a holy one. -If he could have known her then, before he had -grown to feel so old, before she had learned that -she was fair and young, how much easier it -would have been for both of them. As he sat -with unseeing eyes fixed on the faintly traced -characters, beholding in fancy the little Millicent -of half-grown figure and cool, loveless eyes -stooping over the book, putting her white, childish -thoughts into these words, it seemed to him that -he heard a faint sound,--a sound that was -deeper than the wind stirring the tops of the -redwoods; a sound that made him shiver and -turn the bright flame of the lamp a little higher. -It was like a noise heard dimly in a dream, an -echo of a woman's sob ringing faint and muffled -through a space of years, was it, or of distance? -It had grown quite cold; and he heaped an -armful of brushwood on the dying fire, which soon -shot up the little chimney with a cheery roar, -and threw its bright light to the farthest corner -of the room, touching the picture on the easel, -bringing out the ugly little </span><em class="italics">netshukés</em><span> from their -shadowy corner, and shining on the polished -steel of the gun standing near the maulstick and -fishing-rod.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It must have been the wind, that faint sound -which had seemed to find an echo in the beating -of his heart. He drew aside the heavy -window-curtains. Outside in the cool moonlight he saw -the arms of the great trees swaying to and fro; -below these the desolate ruins of the old church; -all was quiet and deserted. There was the -dismantled altar,--it was surely a trick of the -moonlight and the trees, that shadowy semblance -of a woman kneeling out there in the night, with -wild hair, and arms cast about the broken cross, -overturned this half century? Yes, it was a -shadow surely; for a cloud passed before the -silver face of the half-moon, and when it had -floated by, the shadow of a female figure had -vanished. He dropped the curtain and turned -with a sigh of relief from the mysterious -half-light, with its revelations of deserted chapels and -uncared-for altars, its shattered cross and -phantom penitent. Inside his small domicile was -warmth and light; and to drive away the cold, -nervous feeling which had crept about him like -an invisible network, he again took up the little -parchment journal. Again he seated himself, -and turned the first leaf. As he read he smiled, -and occasionally turned over the sheets to see -how many more pages remained to be perused. -Presently the smile faded from his face; and the -flames on the hearth burnt low and finally died, -choked by the gray ashes. And still Graham -turned the pages of the little journal with cold -fingers. The lamp grew dim, and the moon -paled and sank beneath the horizon; the chill -morning twilight crept betwixt the hangings, -and showed him sitting cold and motionless to -the slow-coming dawn. The last page of the -journal had been turned long since; but he still -held the book open, his eyes fixed on the final words.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xi"><span class="large">CHAPTER XI.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Dearer than woman's love</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Is yonder sunset fading in the sky!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After that night's vigil, Graham took his gun, -and packing a blanket and a few camping -utensils in his saddle-bag, mounted his horse and -rode away toward a hunting-lodge some twenty -miles distant, where he sometimes passed the -night. His way led through the woods, where -the bracing air, the light footsteps of the -invisible animals, the fluttering of the birds in the -trees, served to turn his mind from the painful -thoughts of the past night. He had a part in -this woodland life, and owned a kinship to the -four-footed and feathered creatures who made -the forest their home. His spirit was lifted to -that close and intimate communion with Nature -which is only possible to man when unfettered -by human companionship. The cool, spicy air -was sweeter than the kiss of maiden; the leafage -of the restless trees more tender than that of the -gold-bronze hair he had so often praised. It -seemed to him that the only real thing in all the -fair sunny earth was himself; that the people -whom he had known were but pictures seen in -a dream. He lived, and breathed the scent of -the pine-trees; he lived, and heard the cry of the -blue-jays in their branches; he lived, and his -eyes were filled with the glorious beauty of his -world,--all his, with nothing to come between -him and the fragrant Mother Earth. All that -day he rode and walked through the tangled -paths and trackless thickets, holding communion -with sky and earth, content to live without -retrospection or anticipation. Just before -sunset he shot a brace of quail for his supper; and -when dark shadows had crept through the -wooded places he built a fire on the hearth -of the little cabin where he proposed spending -the night. It was a rude lodge, a trifle less -comfortable than French John's house, with -wooden bunks around the walls, and trunks of -trees roughly fashioned into seats. Under a -certain board in the floor, known to him, was a -hiding-place wherein were stored half a dozen -tallow candles, with a bottle to serve as -candle-stick, a pack of cards, an iron pot and spoon, -a rusty jack-knife with a corkscrew, and, last -of all, a flask of brandy, which it was a matter of -honor always to leave half full. The shed had -been built by himself and Henry Deering, and -was occasionally used by them and their friends -when on hunting expeditions. As there were -no means of securely fastening so slight a -building, there was neither lock nor bar to door -or window. Over the fireplace was tacked a -notice written in Deering's bold hand, which -read as follows:--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen are requested to put out the fire -and latch the door before leaving this shanty. -Water to be found three rods beyond this spot -to the north."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham found the candles, which he finally -succeeded in lighting; and after making a meal -of hard-tack and roasted quail, he filled his pipe -and sat down on one of the bunks, tired out by -his long day's ride. The painful thoughts which -he had banished during the hours of daylight -now took possession of him; and the brow, which -had been calm all day, showed the three deep -dints which trouble more than time had furrowed -upon its noble expanse. He was alone again!--no -more friendly sounds and sights to divert his -mind and fill his eyes with beauty. Only his -sad thoughts and the one great problem which -was set before him to solve. His changeful, -melancholy eyes were fixed vacantly on the floor. -They saw nothing but the shadowy vision of the -night,--the figure of a woman amidst the broken -altars of the old Mission church. The words -which he had read in the little journal came -thronging back to him in riotous haste,--those -pitiful words of passionate grief traced by the -slender white fingers, which so lately had -lingered tremblingly in his own strong brown -hands. Could he forgive her? Poor child, poor -child! What was he, that he had a right to -withhold his forgiveness for an instant? Let their -lives be laid side by side, with every act and -every thought bared to his view, and how did -his life's record compare with hers?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, if she had but told him the story, and -not left it to accident to reveal the secret! She -had deceived him! And the angry blood surged -from his heart to his brow and settled there dully -red. The stern lines of his face grew harder -than the mask of a stone statue, and the expression -of the chiselled mouth was terribly relentless. -He would never see her again, never, never! -What he had felt for her was not that highest -passion which melts heart and soul and body in -one pure flame; for, without a perfect faith, such -love is not. So he reasoned, pity and anger -sweeping across his soul; and then, forgetting both -in a great pain, he cried, stretching out his arms, -"Millicent, Millicent, come to me!" At last the -wearied muscles and tired brain and heart slowly, -half-consciously yielded to a warm, close-folding -influence which straightened out the lines -on the brow, loosened the tight-drawn muscles, -stole the fire from the deep eyes and the anger -from the curved mouth. The grand head, with -its thousand schemes and theories, fell back upon -the couch; the skilful hand, with its nervous, -delicate fingers, relaxed; a long, shivering sigh shook -the body; and, with the fire-light shining upon -his stern beauty, Graham slept. The fire burned -low upon the hearth and finally flickered out, -leaving a bed of glowing ashes. The quiet of -the night was broken by the long shrill wail of -the coyote, but Graham stirred not. A light -footstep sounded near the cabin, and a scratching -noise might have been heard as the head of a -great bear was raised to the level of the window. -The sleeper's breath never quickened; and Bruin, -after a long look and a vain attempt to push the -door open, gave a growl and trotted off through -the underbrush toward his own cosey cave under -the rocky hillside near by. A young owlet, -flying aimlessly through the night, flapped itself -through an opening in the roof intended to let -out the smoke; and finding it difficult to escape -by the place where it had entered, settled -itself comfortably near the sleeper, standing on -one foot, and meditatively regarding the strange -creature on the bed. To all these noises -Graham was deaf; but when the clatter of a horse's -hoofs broke the silence, that strange -half-consciousness which gives warning of an -unaccustomed sound called his slumbering senses to -awaken. In a moment he was perfectly conscious, -and, after feeling for his pistol, lay quietly -down again upon the hard couch. The rider -might not pause at the shanty, and as he was in -no mood for company, he would give no sign of -his presence there until it was necessary. The -hope was a vain one; he heard the rider call to his -horse with an oath to stop. After a slight pause, -the door, which he had secured with a wooden -bar, was roughly shaken. The new-comer, -finding the portal fast, now showed himself at the -little window and peered into the room. Seeing -a recumbent figure, he cried out,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who the ---- is in this shanty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"John Graham; and who is outside?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a pause the voice answered,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A man as wants a night's rest bad, and has -got as good a right to it as anybody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put up your shooting-irons, Horton, and I -will open the door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>First striking a match and lighting his candle, -Graham unfastened the bar, and the light door -swung wide. The figure out in the darkness -peered doubtfully into the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be afraid; I am alone," said the artist -coolly, seating himself upon his bunk, and -proceeding to fill his pipe. The man came -cautiously into the cabin, looking about him once -more to make sure that Graham had spoken the -truth. He was a rough-looking fellow, with a -sinister expression of countenance, in great part -owing to the deep scar which seamed his face -from temple to chin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stranger seemed a good deal disconcerted -at finding the artist ensconced in the lodge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did n't expect to find anybody--least of all -you--in this shanty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not often occupy it; though I built it -myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that so? You ain't got a mouthful of -bread as yer'd let a man have as has fasted -since sunrise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham's answer was to hand him a couple -of rounds of hard-tack, which he quickly -devoured; and to pass his flask, filled with the -rough, strong wine from the vineyards of Los -Angeles. The fellow poured half its contents -down his throat at one draught, wiping his mouth -upon the sleeve of his rough jacket. Then, -with a nod of acknowledgment, he handed back -the flask with a regretful sigh, and seating -himself on the floor by the fireplace, warmed his -feet in the still hot ashes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You never came for those last sittings, -Horton; my picture is not finished yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, I got another job more to my taste -than posturin'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you working in the neighborhood?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; I am on my way to the Swindawl -mines. Do you live in these yer parts?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You know the old church? I live in -the tower."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rum place, that; passed it to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you want to earn a little money to pay -your travelling expenses, I should like to finish -that picture."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man did not answer, but stretched his -great limbs and yawned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's blasted cold for the season."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham nodded assent, blowing a great cloud -of tobacco-smoke from his lips, and composing -in his mind, meanwhile, a picture in which this -wild-looking fellow, with his rough hair and -coarse, strong outlines, formed the central figure. -He was of a low type of humanity, with a -narrow forehead and large, heavy features; his face -was tanned where the skin was visible, the heavy -beard growing high up on the cheeks, leaving -little uncovered surface. His clothes were -somewhat dilapidated, but his wide sombrero hat and -high boots were strong and whole. His figure -was superbly developed, and Herculean in type. -As he sat crouching on the floor, hugging his -knees, his back braced against the wall behind -him, he nodded wearily, and, after various -abortive attempts at conversation, finally fell into -a sound sleep, his head resting against the wall -behind him. Graham took a charred brand from -the hearth, and with this rough tool drew, on a -smooth board in the side of the cabin, a sketch -of the man before him. As he looked narrowly -at his model, he perceived that his face was -disfigured by some recent scratches from which -the blood was still unwashed. They were got -while riding through a thorny thicket, the artist -fancied, and thought no more about them, -touching in the details of the desolate background. -The man's expression was hardly human in his -sleep, the fierce animal face was so stupid and -brutish. It is wonderful how character is -expressed in a sleeping countenance. The studied -or unconscious control which we hold over our -features when awake is overthrown in slumber, -and the real nature is seen with no polite -restraint or deceitful mask. A beautiful woman is -beautiful no longer while sleeping, if she have a -bad heart. It is a terrible thing to look upon -one who is dear to us in sleep. Even when the -countenance shadows forth holy dreams, it is -awful to watch its still composure, so like death, -and to feel that impassable distance between the -unfettered soul and our own earth-bound spirit,--that -distance which, but for the briefest spaces, -is never bridged over in our whole lives, though -they flow quietly side by side through peaceful -days and happy nights.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Though the man had closed his eyes in the -knowledge that it was entirely safe for him to -sleep in Graham's presence, his slumber was not -an easy one. He started often and groaned -more than once; while his hand nervously made -the movement of striking with a weapon at some -unseen foe. The artist watched him for some -minutes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should like to have another day's work on -that rascal's torso," he said at last; "I suppose -if I paid him enough he would come to the tower."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke he tore a leaf from his notebook, -and writing a few lines upon it placed it -in the fellow's nerveless hands, lest he should -steal away before morning. Then he threw -himself back and slept again long and heavily. -When he awoke it was broad daylight in the -cabin of which he found himself the sole -occupant. At first he wondered if he had dreamed -that his lodging had been shared by a rough -companion; but no, there was the sketch upon -the wall of the sleeping figure crouching by the -fireplace. Besides, his visitor had left a trace -of his presence. Near the spot where he had -sat lay a handkerchief. The artist carelessly -picked up the square of white linen, somewhat -surprised to find that it was of the finest quality. -A red stain on one corner induced him to -examine it more carefully. It was neatly stitched -with an odd pattern which was not unfamiliar to -him, and in one corner was an embroidered -monogram of an intricate form. The letters -were cunningly twisted together, and it took him -several minutes to distinguish them. Two L's, -an I, a T, an E, an N, and a C, all enclosed in a -large M. Nobody in the world could have so -many initials, not even a Spanish grandee. It -must be a name, probably one beginning with -M, as that was the most prominent letter in the -</span><em class="italics">chiffre</em><span>. He studied it for an instant, and -suddenly cried aloud that name which had become -so dear to him,--"Millicent!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What could it mean? Millicent's handkerchief -in the possession of that ruffianly fellow, -the dark crimson stain of blood marring its -whiteness? What could have befallen her? He -dared not even think of what this portended; -and thrusting it into his breast, he ran to the -door and looked all about him. Silence -everywhere; no movement in the copse before the -door; no trace of his late visitor save the broken -branch of a buckeye near which his horse had -been tethered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham was a brave man, with nerves at once -sensitive and strong; but the picture which rose -before his eyes unmanned him for the moment -completely. He leaned against the door-post -quaking with terror, too much confused to know -what next to do. He could not think; he only -saw that villanous face before him in its heavy -sleep, that clinching of the hand, that motion as -of stabbing with a knife. In the breast of -what victim had that weapon been buried? At -the recollection of what crime had he groaned aloud?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The neighing of his horse in the thicket near -by roused him from the benumbing horror which -had bound him like a trance. He mounted the -fiery animal, and struck him fiercely with his -spur. The mustang darted forward at a -breakneck speed, and with flying hoofs carried his -rider over the steep trail which led from the -cabin to the house of the San Rosario Ranch. -It was a rude road, sometimes merely indicated -by signs on the trees, at other places worn by -the feet of cattle; it led through dry -river-courses and down precipitous planes, through -tangled brakes and over desolate, blackened -spaces where fire had passed and blasted the -trees, leaving them dead and gray, with naked -branches and bare roots. No vegetation was -here; only black, dry soil. It was a dangerous -journey, none too safe at any time; but neither -rider nor steed hesitated at sharp turns or steep -descents; and the pace slackened not, though the -horse foamed at the mouth and the man's face -and hands were cut to bleeding by the -low-hanging branches of the thorn-tree. Twenty-five -miles, at the lowest rating, lay between the -cabin and the house. How well Graham knew -the way! How often he had passed over it with -Hal and O'Neil!--a jolly trio of sportsmen. The -very day before he had loitered along the same -route, taking the whole day to accomplish the -distance, walking sometimes with his horse -following him, and never travelling at a greater -speed than an easy trot. How different his -thoughts had been then, when he had fancied -that he had found a closer companionship than -that of a loving woman's heart. Now he saw -not the trees nor the wood creatures,--only -that one villanous face, with its freshly bleeding -wounds, with its old scar red and ugly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Five miles accomplished: here is the great -oak-tree which the lightning had struck half a -century ago; but twenty miles now lie before him. -Another landmark is passed,--the iron spring, -with its red mouth framed in green ferns, where -he had once journeyed to bring </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> a flask of -the strengthening water. On and on they fly, -startling the birds in the thickets and the foxes -in their coverts, racing with the lazy breeze which -puffs slowly along and is soon left behind by the -horse's speed. At the spring on the hillside, -where Millicent's hand had checked his shooting -of the deer, the rider draws rein and springs to -the ground; while the gasping horse stands for -a brief breathing-space, drawing long, painful -breaths. Graham cools his heated brow in the -rocky basin, and gives his horse a mouthful of -the refreshing water. Then they start away -again towards the house where so many happy -hours of his life have been spent; where he first -saw Millicent! It is a terrible ride, and one -that the man never will forget to his dying day. -The anguish of doubt and fear, the awful pace at -which he rides, which makes every mile he -accomplishes seem like to be the last, will never -be forgotten by him in the quiet after-years. -Now but ten miles separate him from the -vine-clad house; quickly are they accomplished; and -in a space of time too short to be credited by -those towards whom he rides, he reaches the -high hill which looks down upon the valley. -The familiar look of the surroundings surprises -him. A blue feather of smoke curls about the -red chimney; the trees in the orchard, the cattle -browsing on the hills, look just as he has seen -them a thousand times before; nothing betokens -any unusual state of affairs within the quiet -house. The brave horse gathers himself -together for a last gallop; and the stones of the -hillside fly from his hoofs as man and beast -thunder down the rocky path which loses itself -in the wide farm-road at the edge of the orchard. -From this point he commands a view of Millicent's -window. He gives a low groan as he -looks up for some sign of life,--the heavy blinds -are tightly closed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xii"><span class="large">CHAPTER XII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The life o' the building."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The breakfast table at the San Rosario Ranch -was usually a merry one; but on the morning -after what Hal had called Millicent's "magnetic -exhibition," the usual good spirits were missing. -Millicent took her accustomed place at Deering's -side; and Galbraith marked the extraordinary -change which she had suffered since she had -bade him good-night the evening before. Her -face had blanched to a whiteness which made -the ebon lines of eyebrows and lashes seem -unnatural. Her mouth was pale and contracted, -and her expression of horrified anticipation -reminded him of the look in the eyes of a deer at -bay. What could have come to the girl? he -asked himself in dismay; with a strange -consciousness that whatever should befall her of -good or evil from that time forth would have to -him an interest beyond all else in the world. She -ate her breakfast mechanically, and answered -all that was said in which she could be supposed -to have an interest. She laughed once, too, -at one of Hal's jokes; but the sound was rough -and strained. Mrs. Deering and Barbara, -occupied with some household complication, merely -noticed that Millicent seemed tired; and Hal put -her odd look and manner down to the score of -her being in love, which in his eyes accounted for -every freak or unexplained symptom of hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been proposed that the day should be -spent out-of-doors, at a place which Millicent -had long wished to visit,--the little island in the -river, below the deserted mill. Galbraith had -remained to be of the party; and his two friends -had promised to ride over from the camp and -join them at the appointed place. Just before -they started, old John arrived with a note to -Mrs. Deering from Graham, who wrote that he -should not be able to be of the party. Hal and -Millicent drove together, as they had done on -that day when Graham, in accordance with -California etiquette, had stopped to kill the -rattlesnakes. Old Sphinx was doing his best to keep -up with the mule team, when Millicent's -sensitive ears detected the sound of horses' hoofs -behind them. Presently, through the thick cloud -of dust, she descried two horsemen riding at full -gallop towards them. The sunlight and the -veil of dust made it impossible to see what -manner of men they were until Millicent observed -that each carried over his shoulder a long object, -which glittered in the sunlight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you brought your pistols?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Princess, but they are in the wagon. -I expected till the last moment that Graham -would turn up to take you, and that I should -drive the team. Why do you ask? There is no -danger of our being molested."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look at those men. Are not those gun -barrels I see on their shoulders?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; but they are probably peaceful hunters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man spoke in a perfectly careless -tone, to reassure his companion; but Millicent -noticed that he occasionally looked behind him -as the riders gained on them. Finally, as the -men drew near, Millicent saw the rider nearest -her shift the gun from his shoulder and rest it -across the saddle-bow, as if preparing to take aim. -Hal, who had seen the action, instantly called to -Millicent to catch the reins, and held up both his -hands. By this time the men were close upon -them, and the one who had shifted his weapon -called out in a rough voice,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, boss; we know you ain't got no -money, and we don't want your life to-day." His -companion laughed aloud, and striking -spurs to their horses, they galloped down the -high-road. Hal laughed as heartily as the -supposed highwayman, saying,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that's a greaser's idea of a joke, I -suppose. Adventure number one has befallen -us with few bad consequences. I don't think -you were half as frightened as you were the -other day by the snakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I fancy I was not. I should not much -mind being killed to-day." This with a little, -bitter laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why? Let us wait till after luncheon. -Barbara has put up a capital venison pasty,--a -real English one, out of the Queen's own receipt -book."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we will wait for the pie, to please you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The drive was accomplished with the usual -desultory chit-chat, Hal doing rather more than -his share of the joking. As they passed the -little hovel, the wild children ran out, as they -had upon the day when they had visited the -camp in the woods; and soon the gray bridge -and the little island were reached. The baskets -were unpacked and the luncheon spread upon the -grass by the time the guests arrived. Among -them were O'Neil, Hartley, Ferrara, and -Mrs. Shallop, who had come over by the train; with -a party of people from the village, in whom -Millicent had never taken much interest. -Galbraith never left Millicent's side; sparing her the -necessity of talking by keeping up an incessant -stream of conversation which she heard vaguely, -and of which she understood not one word. In -after days the import of all the young man said -came back to her; and she remembered the -quaint Indian legends, the reminiscences of life -on the two edges of the continent, with which -Maurice Galbraith kept the others of the party -from her side. She realized what he was doing, -and knew that he only, in all the company, -understood and sympathized with her half-dazed -mood; and for his efforts he received more than -one little smile, sadder than tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This is one of the stories which the lawyer -told her:--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the old days, when Father Junipero and -his small band of priests and soldiers came into -the wilderness of California, with the cross -uplifted in one hand, the sword grasped in the -other, there lived on this island where we now -sit, a beautiful Indian maiden. Her name was a -very long one, and its meaning in our language -is the Smile of the Morning. She lived with -the old chief, her father, in a wigwam, where also -lived her sisters and brothers and various of her -cousins and distant relatives. The old chief had -many daughters, but the Smile of the Morning -was his favorite child; and she it was who cooked -his food for him, when he did not eat it raw, and -brought him his bow and arrows when he started -on a hunting party. The sisters of the favorite -daughter all found mates among the sons of the -tribe, but she lived alone with only the wild -bird in the madrone tree for her lover. Her -sisters, each of whom carried a pappoose upon her -back, laughed at the Smile of the Morning, and -said that she would die without a husband; but -the girl did not mind them. She was taller, by -a head, than any woman of the tribe; she could -charm the wild birds, and draw the feathers from -their tails to make head-dresses for the old chief -and ornaments for herself; she could dance -war-dances like one of the braves, only with more -grace; and when she told the stories which the -fishes in the river whispered to her, the old -chieftain nodded his head wisely and patted the girl -on the shoulder. She should find a husband in -good time; but he must be as much taller and -stronger than the other men of the tribe, as she -was fairer and wiser than her sisters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When the missionary priests came, with -their white faces and strange garments fashioned -neither from the skin of any animal nor from -the feathers of any bird, and made friendly -overtures to the old chief, the Smile of the -Morning fell upon her face in terror. The Indians -would have worshipped the men with the white -faces and strange tongue; but to prove to them -that they too were men and adored a God, the -priests held their services and kneeled to the -Great Spirit whom they reverenced. When the -new-comers had learned the language of the -Indians, and had built themselves a house and a -greater house to their God, the daughter of the -chief grew to be no longer afraid of the -black-robed figures. She eagerly learned the simple -lessons which they set for the people; and it -was because of the wonderful learning that they -gave her that she studied so industriously, and -not, like her brothers and sisters, to gain the -daily rations of corn. When the early bell -called the Indians to the church of the San -Rosario Mission, the Smile of the Morning was the -first to answer the summons; and when the other -Indians were squabbling over their breakfast of -maize, she lingered in the sanctuary, trying to -fathom the strange rites which were so much -holier than those of her people, looking into the -painted faces in the pictures over the rude altar, -and feeling curiously behind them to ascertain -whether the backs also were painted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The soldiers who upheld the authority of the -priests were encouraged by large bounties and -grants of land to marry the converted squaws; -and in the course of time several such unions -were solemnized at the Mission. Among the -stern old pioneer priests was one young man -dear to the Father Junipero, whose pupil he had -been, and who had followed the famous man on -his great mission of converting the heathen -Indians. His name was Fra Antonio. His voice -was soft and low, and his eyes open and sad, -with shadows in them, which the Indian maiden -had never seen in other eyes,--shadows like -those cast by the white clouds floating before the -sun's face on hot summer afternoons. Fra -Antonio was very kind to the tall beauty of the tribe, -and with a never-failing patience strove to make -the doctrines of his religion clear to her simple -understanding. Strange were the means by -which the fathers learned to expound their -religion to the savages. To express the great hope -of the resurrection, they put a number of insects -in a vessel of water, leaving them there till they -were apparently quite dead. Then the creatures -were placed in a bank of hot ashes, which -warmed their frozen, half-dead bodies back to -life. When the gauzy wings were spread, -carrying the insects up into the sunshine again, the -fathers marked the words ejaculated by the -Indians, and by that term they called the resurrection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"New and beautiful were the thoughts which -now possessed the mind of the Indian girl. She -learned that to forgive was nobler than to -avenge,--strangest of all doctrines taught by the priests -to the red men. She learned that the stars, pale -and fiery, were great worlds like the one in -which she lived, and not the hearts of the brave -chiefs placed in the heavens after death as she -had always been taught. Only the simplest of -the great truths which lie like jewels in the -tawdry setting of the Mother Church, did Fra -Antonio instil into her childish mind, which with -an unquestioning faith accepted all the young -priest taught. Few among the tribe--perhaps, -indeed, no one of the Indians beside the -Smile of the Morning--understood or believed -the new doctrines taught by the priests. These -were satisfied that the rites of baptism and of -extreme unction were administered, and that -the daily services were attended, quite conscious -that their most potent weapon of conversion was -the ration of </span><em class="italics">atole</em><span>, or prepared corn, which they -served out to the lazy braves. As soon as he -became a member of the church, every redskin -was cared for, and a gentle slavery was the -result, in which the priests exacted a certain -amount of labor from the Indian, in turn -feeding him and caring for his wants. The art of -weaving was taught, together with civilized -agriculture; and the fruit of the vines was -fermented into strong, rough wine, this being -reserved for the service of the altar and the table -of the priests. In the eyes of the zealous -missionaries the Indian was the rightful owner of -the soil; and there was no thought of disputing -his claim to it. It was that he might better and -more wisely enjoy the fruits of his own land, -and in the next life enter the happier home -prepared for all true followers of the Church of -Rome, that the Father Junipero and his band -of soldiers and priests lived and died in the -wilderness of California. How their treatment -of the original inhabitants of the soil differed -from that adopted by the enlightened race which -now claims the country, you have seen enough, or -at any rate heard enough, of our Indian policy -to appreciate. Instead of improving the land -for its owners, as did the brave missionary -priests, we have wrested it from them, driving -the children of those who for centuries have -owned the Pacific coast away from the choicest -spots to rocky, desolate lands which have again -been taken from them by the greedy gold-hunters. -But all this has happened since the -time when the Smile-of the Morning lived upon -this pretty island, and decked her glossy hair -with a coronet of blue-jays' feathers, that she -might be fair in the eyes of one whom she -loved. But a year had passed since the arrival -of Fra Antonio, when the old chieftain noticed -that his daughter's step had grown heavy and -slow; that her great eyes danced no more; that -her countenance no longer merited the name of -the morning's smile. He was a wise old man for -an Indian; and after thinking the matter over -for a week, during which time he smoked an -unusual number of pipes of tobacco, he came to -the conclusion that the girl had been bewitched -by one of the strange priests. Calling her to -him, he questioned her as to the cause of her -altered behavior; and from her downcast face -and embarrassed replies he quickly surmised her -secret. The Smile of the Morning loved the -fair young priest, and it was for his sake that -her tears flowed. The old chief at first scoffed -at her infatuation, and bade her take up with -one of her dusky suitors. But the girl was -obstinate; and finally yielding to her whim, the old -chief himself offered his daughter's hand to Fra -Antonio. The young priest, in holy horror, took -counsel with his superiors; and it was explained -to the chieftain that though the white soldiers -were free to mate with the maidens of the tribe, -the priests were vowed to celibacy. If the pious -young priest had unwittingly mingled an unwise -fervor in his exhortations to the Indian girl, he -bitterly regretted his fault. As day by day he saw -her elastic figure grow more feeble, and marked -her hollow cheeks and her sad eyes fixed reproachfully -on him whilst he served the mass or taught -the new converts, a tenderness for her, which -her savage health and perfections had failed to -arouse, awoke in his breast. When he saw the -young braves, each with his dusky partner, and -the sisters of the Smile of the Morning with -their children in their arms, he sometimes -cursed the priestly habit which proclaimed him -a thing apart from all other of God's creatures, -doomed to live unmated and alone. Long -vigils and heavy penances failed to ease the -grief in his heart, or to set at rest its -yearning toward the child who had been redeemed -from barbarism, through his teaching, to live -a Christian life and die in the hope of his faith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At last the battle between the spirit and the -heart grew too terrible for him to bear; he was -not strong enough; and he begged the fathers -to send him to another Mission far to the -northward. When the Smile of the Morning learned -that Fra Antonio was to leave the Mission on -the morrow, she decked herself in all her jewels, -hung her long shell necklaces about her throat, -wound her bead bracelets about her arms, and -placed her coronet of blue-jays' feathers upon -her brow. She was not to be found that night -when the old chief lay down to rest; and when -the sun rose on the day which should see Fra -Antonio far on his long journey, her sisters -found the maiden lying in the cool waters of the -river which washes this island, with the little -rosary the priest had given her locked in her -cold fingers, and the smile upon her face that -had been missing for so many weeks. They -called the fathers to come and look upon her; -and Fra Antonio prayed long beside her, with -streaming eyes and broken voice. The kiss -which his sad lips laid reverently on her brow -was felt perhaps, for all those who stood near -heard the sigh which came rustling through the -trees near by. As she had wilfully taken her -own life, the poor girl could not be buried with -the ceremonies of the church to which she had -been admitted; so she was interred by her people -near the spot where they had found her, on this -little island where we now sit. When the good -fathers sat together of an evening and discussed -questions spiritual and temporal touching the -welfare of their little flock, Fra Antonio was -often missing from their midst. Sometimes the -faint sound was heard of the church bell softly -struck by a tender hand, and the priests crossed -themselves silently, knowing for whose soul it -was that Fra Antonio solemnized the mass for -the dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A silence followed Galbraith's story, which -was broken by Millicent, who said,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a sketch in an old Italian book of a -beautiful young monk, Fra Antonio by name. -Could it be the same, I wonder?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who knows? Some of the priests were -Italians. Would the dates agree?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The portrait was dated some time in the -latter part of the last century."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It could not have been far from that time -that the Smile of the Morning met her sad fate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sad,--do you call her fate sad?" queried -Millicent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who could think it otherwise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I surely do. Was it sad to die for the man -she loved?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would have been happier if she could have -lived for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Happiness! Who spoke of happiness? Why -talk about a thing so mythical? I think her lot -was an enviable one. To her simple mind the -thought that suicide is sinful could never have -occurred. She might not follow the man she -loved; she believed that the soul now prisoned -in her breast might always be near him; so she -opened the cage and let the bird fly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You speak as seriously as if you had known -the Smile of the Morning and sympathized with her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the privilege of those who have greatly -suffered, that the grief of others can be felt and -understood by them." Millicent spoke absently, -dreamily, checking her speech at the pained -expression which her words brought to Galbraith's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later in the afternoon the party left the island -and wandered about the old bridge. Some of -them climbed the high hill; others struck into -the woods. By some chance Millicent found -herself left alone near the mill with no one of the -party near her save Ah Lam. Calling the -faithful creature to her side, she made him prepare -her a comfortable seat, and leaning back against -the wall, she entered into a desultory -conversation with her pupil. Ah Lam often told her -stories in his broken English, descriptive of the -power and character of the most august -personages of the Chinese mythology. To-day he found -an inattentive listener in his kind friend and -teacher; but he had been bidden to speak, and so -he talked on patiently, describing rites of death -and feasts of marriages, recalling the great river -</span><em class="italics">fête</em><span> which he had witnessed shortly before -sailing from his native city. As the Chinaman -paused after this last tale, Millicent heard a step -approaching the door of the old mill. She looked -up carelessly, expecting to see one of the -gentlemen. The man who stood before her was a -stranger. His face was somewhat flushed, and -he looked as if he had travelled some distance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Second time, my lady, I've see'd yer purty -face to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent bowed her head and turned away, -looking anxiously toward the wood, where she -had seen Hal disappear a few moments before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sha'n't let yer off ser aisy this time. I've -took a fancy to see the color of yer eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The look of angry indignation with which the -gray orbs were turned upon the man was enough -to have abashed any sensitive person, but to -this class the stranger did not belong. He was -a rough-looking fellow of large stature, with a -heavy animal face, crossed by a deep scar -running from the chin to the forehead on the right -side. In his belt he wore a pair of pistols, at -which the Chinaman looked uneasily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, do yer belong in these parts?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered the girl in a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I am leavin' 'em for good; we're not -likely to meet again. I 'm a gentleman, and I -don't want to trouble you for them rings o' -yourn, but a kiss won't cost you nothin'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suiting the action to the word, the man threw -an arm about the girl's slender waist, and quick as -a thought began to drag her toward the spot where -a couple of horses were tethered. With a -sudden wrench, she shook herself free from his rude -clasp, and sped down the path calling for help. -Help was nearer to her than she had thought, -and a humble friend sprang to her aid. As the -insolent creature started in pursuit of the -swift-footed girl, Ah Lam adroitly tripped him up, -bringing him to the ground with a heavy fall. -The man was somewhat bruised by his tumble, -a sharp stone having struck his arm. He arose -with difficulty, pouring out a volley of oaths the -like of which had never before desecrated -Millicent's ears. The Chinaman, knowing full well -the danger which his temerity had brought upon -him, ran quickly after his young mistress. The -path brought them to the border of the stream, -and their flight was stopped by this obstacle. -By this time, the man, blind with rage, had -caught up with the two fugitives; he seemed in -doubt which of them to molest first. Millicent -stood with flashing eyes and curling lip, her -head thrown back, her arms folded across her -breast, looking at him with an expression of scorn -that seemed to awe him for a moment. He -drew back, as if afraid to touch so beautiful and -wrathful a creature, and in his rage clutched the -Chinaman by the throat. In the scuffle which -ensued, Ah Lam's hat was thrown off, and the long -cue coiled about his head fell down. Quick as -thought, the ruffian seized the braid, and drawing -a sharp knife from his boot, cut it from the head -of the Chinaman. With a shriek which had the -despair of a double death, the Chinaman turned -and implanted his finger-nails in the face of his -adversary, inflicting ten long scratches on the -cheeks. The crushed worm will turn at last; -and the poor soul, damned for eternity by the -cutting of his hair, had turned upon the ruffian. -Quick as the fast-drawn breath of the terrified -girl, the villain lifted his long knife and, with a -horrible oath, plunged it into the side of the -Chinaman. The shrieks of the victim, the -horror-stricken screams of the girl, the sight of the -blood, seemed to madden the wretch; for he tore -the quivering knife from the wound and stabbed -him again and again. At last the rage for -blood seemed satiated; he threw the mutilated -body, still breathing, to ebb out its life on -the soil, and turned with bloody hands and seared -eyes toward Millicent, who had sunk upon her -knees, lifting the head of the dying Chinaman -to her young breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The closed lids fluttered open, the dimmed -eyes looked gratefully for the last time into the -face of the girl who had been kinder to him -than any other creature in this strange land -where he had worked so faithfully, where he -had been so cruelly oppressed in life, and so -foully murdered; hope of Heaven being closed -to him before his miserable breath had been -taken. The horror of his crime must have -overcome the ruffian for a moment, for he paused -and silently watched the death-agonies of his -victim. To that moment's feeling of horror or -remorse, what might not Millicent owe? For -soon, to her it seemed an eternity, the men, -whose answering shouts she had not heard, -appeared close at hand. The murderer saw them -none too quickly for his safety, and springing -upon his horse, which stood near by, clapped -spurs to the flank and rode off at a hand gallop -in the opposite direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Galbraith rushed to Millicent's side and lifted -the dying creature from her breast. They -placed him gently upon the bank, and Hal put -his flask to his lips; but it was too late. With -one last struggle Ah Lam yielded up his -miserable life; and Millicent's cry of pity sounded -his death-knell. Then she lifted her hands to -Heaven and prayed for the soul of the poor -creature who had so bravely defended her. An -hour ago she had smiled at Fra Antonio's -masses for the repose of the Smile of the -Morning. In moments like these the strong instincts -of men and women overcome the reasons and -doctrines of education; Millicent prayed, -believing that she should be heard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When it became evident to the little group -which had silently assembled about the spot, -that poor Ah Lam was beyond human help, -Maurice Galbraith and Henry Deering lifted the -lifeless body and laid it in the great wagon. -Millicent followed and drew over the dead face -the white cloak which she had worn all that -day. Pedro, climbing to his seat, touched the -mules into motion; and the wagon, which had -carried so merry a freight to the gray bridge -that morning, returned at sunset over the same -path with its ghastly burden,--a very funeral car.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maurice Galbraith gently placed Millicent -beside Barbara and her mother in the smaller -carriage, which was driven back to the Ranch -under the escort of Ferrara, O'Neil, and -Hartley. Then the young lawyer, with Henry -Deering to bear him company, started in pursuit -of the murderer. He had sworn a silent oath, -as he stood by the dying man, and learned that -his life had been given to protect Millicent, -that Ah Lam should be avenged. If there -were law and justice in the broad land of -California, the murderer should surfer the extreme -penalty for wilful and wicked shedding of -innocent blood. In pursuit rode the two young men, -with stern faces; and it was well for the fugitive -that he had a long start of them, for they rode -as men do when time must be gained at all costs. -Along the narrow bridle-path, over which the -murderer had passed, they took their way, and -were soon lost to the view of the three women -sitting close together in troubled silence. -Barbara's strong hands held the reins and plied the -whip, while streams of tears coursed down her -cheeks. Mrs. Deering patted her daughter's -shoulder; but it was on Millicent her attention -was most firmly fixed. The girl had not moved -since Galbraith had placed her in the carriage. -Her eyes were strained wide open, and the -expression in their depths was one which the -gentle woman never forgot,--a look as of an -endless despair and horror. Back to the happy -valley they drove silently, no joyous young voices -carolling out ballads of love, songs of battle, as -was their wont; in silence and grief they passed -over the familiar road through the gap between -the guardian hills, back to the quiet house, to -herald the advent of the humble dead to those -who had been his fellow-servants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No one told Millicent that standing near the -spot where the ruffian's horse had been tethered -was a second steed. A strong mustang saddled -and bridled was found there. A heavy leading-rein -passed through the bit, and a stout rope -lying over the saddle, gave a sinister significance -to the fact. For whom had that horse been brought?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xiii"><span class="large">CHAPTER XIII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Abroad it rushed,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>My frolic soul, for it had sight</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Of something half-way, which was known</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>As mine at once, yet not mine own."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was early in the morning for Millicent, usually -a late sleeper, to be in the garden among the -flowers. There Graham found her, white as the -gown she wore, standing with her arms filled -with dark-red roses,--standing with the -sunlight touching her pretty hair, and shining in her -cool gray eyes. He stared at her, as at one -risen from the dead; he touched her hand -before he spoke to her, to make sure that it was -really she, alive, with softly heaving breast and -warm, clinging fingers. Alive, and not as he -had pictured her a thousand times during that -terrible ride,--cold and dead, with the stain -which had dyed her kerchief, on brow and -bosom. For a long time they stood silently -looking into each other's faces; and then the -man laid her hand gently on his arm, and -together they passed down the orchard road, across -a space of sunburnt meadow, to a spot they -both knew,--Millicent's boudoir, hanging over -the narrow stream, walled by six tall redwoods -grown from the seeds of some giant predecessor, -carpeted with thick green moss, furnished -with two rough seats. Here they rested silently -for a time,--Graham drawing long breaths of the -morning air to relax his tired lungs; Millicent -resting her wearied heart with looking at him, all -her soul shining through her eyes. Graham first -broke the silence with questions of all that had -happened since they had parted. She told him -of her danger, and of the murder of the -Chinaman, in a low voice, full of awe. It had been -her first knowledge of death; and the chill reality, -the only certain thing which men look forward -to, had first been known by her now that she was -a woman grown, and could fully understand its -dreadful significance. Hitherto, death had been -a phrase only; a thing which must come to -all creatures, as a matter of course. That she -should sometime die she knew, but only by -tradition; it had meant nothing to her. Now she -understood it all, and the terrible knowledge had -chilled her life-blood. Could she ever again think -of anything but that dead face? One stronger -than the King of Terrors was driving it from her -thoughts: love was swiftly painting out the grim -picture from her memory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Step by step they went over the ground of -their mutual experiences since the time when -they had parted: the picnic, and its tragic -ending; the night which Graham had passed in the -cabin with Ah Lam's murderer,--for there could -be no doubt it was he who had dropped -Millicent's handkerchief in the hut. Of the little -journal Graham spoke sadly, gently, without anger, -as if it were a thing which concerned neither of -them. Then Millicent brokenly told the story -which the written words had simply indicated. -She told it with a sense of thankfulness that the -weight of the secret rested no longer on her -heart alone; that its pain was shared, and that -at last her lover understood and saw her -absolutely as she was. No reservation did she make, -but bared to him the inmost chambers of her -heart, sure of no misunderstanding, and upheld -by a sympathy she had never before known. -Then her confidence was returned, and Graham -spoke to her of many things of which he had -never spoken before; of the hopes and -aspirations which had sometimes made his life -glorious; of the quicksands and hidden rocks which -had often made his way dangerous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A wonderful confession,--solemn as those -first confessions made by men and women who -at maturity join the Roman Catholic Church, and -unflinchingly reveal to the confessor every -temptation to which they have yielded in the course -of their lives. To no mumbling, inattentive -priest, with store of penances and absolutions -in his pocket, was the confession made; in no -stifling confessional, with throng of penitents -outside, grudging every moment of delay. Each -spoke to a tender human heart, that filled out -the broken sentences, and echoed the deep sighs. -The roof of their temple swayed in the light -breeze, and the wild birds chanted the hymn -of praise which consecrated it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Millicent at last sat silent, not knowing -whether her lover still spoke to her in words, -or if that finer language of the spirit made his -thoughts clear to her, came at once a strange -consciousness that she was no longer a creature -of this earth, with material senses and shape. -The last words which she had spoken she -remembered as one dimly recalls what has -happened in another life. They were these:--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sorry for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There had been no answer in words or in -looks; for the power of sight had been left -behind with the outer case, now shaken off for the -first time since life upon the earth had begun. -She was a thing apart no longer; her existence -had become merged in that of a stronger soul, -to which she was an all-important part. Folded -in this spirit-embrace time was not, nor past nor -future; nothing but the perfect ecstasy of a -union which eternity should consecrate. Floating -on a celestial ether, the double soul mounted -ever higher and higher. Was it toward eternal -bliss that it was wafted? Was the long waiting -at an end?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again she saw the sunlight; again she heard -the ripple of the water; again she felt the earthly -tenement closing about the divine spirit. Before -her, framed in the green leaves, was a face dear -indeed, the face of her lover. With solemn eyes -they looked at each other; and a broken voice -whispered to her,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear, what is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She answered softly,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have never been so near to you before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then a flood of feeling swept over her, and -she would have knelt to him, her other self; but -he was already at her feet, moved by that same -instinct to do homage to the human form which -held his counter soul, and on her white feet he -laid a reverent embrace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Strengthened and uplifted by that mystic -union whose memory should never leave her, -whose bonds should ever bind her, was Millicent. -In every existence comes one supreme, all-important -moment, which thenceforth is the landmark -by which life is measured; the climacteric -point to which the past merely served to lead, the -future availing only to enshrine its memory. To -some men and women the significance of that -moment is known only when it has long passed; -to Millicent, the knowledge that her whole after -life should be controlled by that hour was not -wanting. And her lover,--would he be faithful -to that unspoken vow? The thought never -crossed her mind; she was irrevocably bound to -him; priest and rite could but make a poor, -earthy contract between what was mortal in -them both; the spiritual union was not for this -world, and might not be broken by either.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xiv"><span class="large">CHAPTER XIV.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Dust and ashes, dead and done with, Venice spent what Venice earned.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The soul, doubtless, is immortal--where a soul can be discerned."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was a pitiful story which the little journal had -made known to John Graham,--the story of a -woman grievously wronged, cruelly deceived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent Almsford's life had not been a -happy one. Her childhood had been lonely, -and she had none of those early recollections -which are so comforting in after years to people -more fortunately bred. Her father was an -invalid and a bookworm, and looked upon his -only daughter as a creature to be fed, clothed, -educated, and kept quiet. Her feeding he -intrusted to her faithful nurse, who had promised -her dying mother never to leave the child till -she should be grown to womanhood. Her -wardrobe was ordered by a relative who lived in Paris, -and who twice a year overlooked the making and -packing of her clothes, from her first baby -wrappings to the ball dress in which she was -presented at the court of St. James. Her education -he left very much to chance and her own taste, -simply locking up the </span><em class="italics">livres defendus</em><span> of his -library, and telling her English governess to order -any necessary volumes from Mudie's. The young -woman in whose charge Millicent was placed, -was more eager to learn Italian than to teach -English; to explore the literature of Dante than -to familiarize her pupil with the British authors. -When Millicent was sixteen years old, the feeble -protection of this governess was taken from her; -the woman returning to England to keep a long -protracted marriage engagement with her own -cousin. The same year old Nina died; and -then it was that the lonely girl fell under the -influence which was to darken her destiny and -turn aside the natural current of her life. -Millicent Almsford, at that age, was a very peculiar -and interesting study. Her mind had eagerly -grasped much more material than it could -master. Her vivid imagination and great talent for -music were, with a love of beauty, the most -strongly developed traits in her nature, whose -intellectual growth was destined to be slow and -late; whose spiritual existence had not yet -begun. An exquisite native refinement and a -perfect taste were among her most interesting -qualities. Singularly attractive and strangely -incomplete, she had formed few relations; and -her friendship with Edward Holworthy, the man -whose influence so marred her life, was the first -strong feeling which she had known. He was -her opposite in character, and knew life only -through people, while she had lived purely in -ideas. Her complex nature, unfathomable to -herself, was to him a novel and engrossing study, -and it was through him that she learned to -understand one side of it. The man found a great -heart which had never loved; a strong power for -working good or evil; a bold mind, that feared -not to grapple with the deepest problems of life; -and a possibility of absolute devotion to a -resolution once formed, which is rarely found among -young women. He became her mental guide, -and directed her readings; with a certain clever -intuition bringing her under the influence of -minds as sophistical and frivolous as his own. -Sympathetic to an extreme degree, her nature -quickly took from his the color of an -exaggerated cynicism, which was sometimes strongly -shaken by the inner spirit which still slept -under the untouched heart. Platonics, where -the man is of the world wise, and the woman -foolish with the innocence of childhood, are -dangerous things, as he knew full well, and she -did not. In pointing out the forces which mould -the lives of men and women, what theme is so -often upon the lips of two life students of -opposite sexes as that of love? To the girl it seemed -a strange, rather interesting force, whose power -it would not be unpleasant to test; and when -one day her mentor confessed to her that she -had bound him irrevocably by those bonds which -he had taught her were but ropes of sand, she -smiled half sadly, but in her heart laughed with -childish merriment. She now should see the -actual workings of that strange hallucination; -she should learn something of what love was. -She was as unfeeling as a young lioness, and -learned the lesson of making him turn pale and -red by turns, as quickly as she had learned the -knack of touching the chords of her mandolin. -She looked upon her quondam friend in the light -of an invalid, suffering from a dangerous but -non-contagious malady. And so things went on; -the man gaining every day a firmer hold over -the girl, intoxicated by the new power in herself -and a growing consciousness of her beauty and -charms. During the long mornings at the -Palazzo Fortunio, the two friends read and talked -together, while the Italian governess, understanding -no word of their intercourse, sat sewing -patiently beside them. In the cool afternoons, -when they were rowed by the strong-armed -gondolier, Girolomo, out into the glory of the -sunset, the same stolid companion always -accompanied them. One day, Mr. Almsford, selfish -old epicurean, perceived for the first time that -his daughter had grown to a tall and fair -womanhood. His attention had, perhaps, been first -called to the fact by the increasing size of the -half-yearly coffer which found its way from -Fashion's capital to the Fortunio Palace, and by the -proportionate lengthening of the account which -accompanied it. Yes, Millicent was certainly -grown to be a young lady. They were beginning -to send her little, demure bonnets, and -close-fitting, simple woollen dresses, made with -more of an idea of displaying her graceful figure -than heretofore. The girl was heiress to her -mother's fortune; and it behooved him to see -about finding a suitable husband for her. Whom -should he consult in this matter, but their most -intimate friend; the man who seemed at once -his contemporary and hers; the handsome, clever -fellow-countryman, who had been on the most -intimate footing in his house for the last ten -years? Edward Holworthy had started -unaccountably when, in the midst of one of the solemn -pauses of their game of chess, Mr. Almsford had -propounded the unexpected question to him:--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How shall I find Millicent a husband?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The elder gentleman, for the first time in -many months, checkmated his adversary in two -moves, and won the game in an unprecedentedly -short space of time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Holworthy's advice was given after a week's -deliberation. It was in favor of sending Miss -Almsford to her father's sister, who lived in -London, in order that she might be presented -at court and introduced to English society. -Mr. Almsford thought over the advice, which -appeared to him wise. He consulted Millicent, -who eagerly accepted the chance to see -something of the world; and finally, after six months' -exchange of letters upon the subject, the girl -was taken to London by her father, and -comfortably established, with her aunt, in a pretty -Kensington villa, for which her poorly -circumstanced relative gladly forsook a small house in -an unfashionable quarter of the town. Having -married a younger son of a great house, with -no portion but debts on his part and beauty on -hers, Millicent's aunt, with the matchless tact of -our countrywomen, had secured herself a -prominent and agreeable position in London society. -In mere worldly advantages the young girl could -have had no better chaperone than the pretty -young woman, still occupied with bets, beaux, -and bon-bons. She took her niece to all the -best houses; and soon Millicent's extreme beauty, -and the widely noised, somewhat exaggerated -accounts of her worldly goods, brought her scores -of invitations and admirers on her own account.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Six months after her departure, Millicent -Almsford returned to the Palazzo Fortunio, where the -report of her great social success had preceded -her and tickled the ears of her parent, proud of -the child for whose sake he had never sacrificed -a whim of his own. Edward Holworthy, who -had accompanied the father and daughter to -London, and remained there during the period -of the latter's stay, did not return to Venice, but -sailed for Australia, from whence he never -returned either to his native or to his adopted -country. The change which her half year's absence -had wrought in Millicent, her father attributed -to her social experience. She had left him half a -child, with a thousand absurd, whimsical ways, -which had amused him, and endeared her to him -more than any other trait in her character. Few -things diverted him; and he counted every laugh -which Millicent provoked from him as a positive -good, which he set down to her credit in their -joint account. Her stay in London had given -Millicent a certain poise and manner which -suited her marvellously well; but all the sparkle -and freshness seemed to have left her. She was -like a fresh, white lily which has been broken and -wilted by a violent storm of wind and rain. For -months she never smiled. Her life seemed to -have come to a standstill; she suffered dumbly, -hopelessly, with sad, deep eyes, made more -beautiful by the trouble in them. A sceptic and a -materialist, she found nothing in this world -worth suffering for, and smiled incredulously -when the old curé, her Latin teacher, tried to -help her from the slough of earthly despair by -promises of a glorious future, for whose -attainment the life-battle should be bravely fought. -She was conscious of no ethereal essence which -should outlive the graceful body, whose beauty -she sometimes cursed. Did it not reduce her -to the level of all hunted creatures? Was she -not a thing to be pursued by men, like a tall -deer or a fleet, timid hare?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Something had come to the Signorina," said -Girolomo, the gondolier; "and the Signor -Holworthy, where was he?" And he shook his head -gravely, the wise old creature, guessing, as did no -other soul, that Edward Holworthy was in some -way connected with Millicent's changed face and -listless demeanor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Something had come to her; but she never -confided to priest or friend the trouble which robbed -her young face of its childish curves, which -killed the youth in her, and made her a woman -in grief, while she was still a child in years. -Only one confidant had she,--the little -journal; the gold-clasped tome which all those years -after had fallen into John Graham's hands. The -story of the first passion she had ever roused, -read by the only man she had ever loved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the pitiful story of a grievous wrong -which had darkened more than one life. The -miserable consequences of a wicked act are infinite; -its influence spreads wider and wider every -day, like the broadening rings which circle on -the surface of a still pool disturbed by a stone -which a careless hand has tossed. The black -deed may be hidden from the sight of men, but -its baleful effects are felt afar off in the lives of -those who have known nought of its perpetration. -Let not the sinner comfort himself in that his -soul alone is damned for his crime. It darkens -innocent lives with its evil; and in sinning -against himself he sins against mankind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the strange country whither Millicent had -gone, Holworthy was the only link which bound -her to her home, the one being who understood -and cared for her. The dominion which he -had always held over her was now strengthened -into a powerful magnetic force. The little -journal told how that influence had been -exerted in compelling her to a secret marriage -against her own will and judgment. She had -been tricked into an elopement,--it might -better be called an abduction,--and all unwillingly -became his wife. Then all too soon, ere a week -had passed, came the terrible discovery that the -marriage was no marriage. For then came to -her the mother of the man whom she was -striving to love with wifely duty, an old woman, -bowed with grief and years. She had come very -far, across half a continent, to break to the girl -whose name she had heard linked with that of -her only son, the news that he was not free to -marry, that she must give him up. When the -tall girl with the childish, flower face fell stricken -to the earth like a broken lily, at the feet of the -older woman, she had made no cry; in the hours -that followed, she said no word. When the man -who had wrecked her life came and knelt beside -her, prayed her to be patient and her wrongs -should be righted, spoke of his remorse, told -her of his terrible mad wife from whom the law -would set him free, and make him really hers, -prayed, besought, and worshipped at her feet, -she answered him with one terrible word only. -She rose and stood before him white and cruel -in her agony, relentless as Fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go!" was the one syllable which her frozen -lips uttered; and with a gesture of command, -majestic and beautiful, she had banished him -from her presence. The secret was kept, even -from the old woman, grown more sorrowful at the -sight of the girl's dumb agony and of her son's -grief, which she could not soothe. The secret -was kept; and that very night Millicent's face, -pale and clouded, shone out amidst a group of -fair women who sat languidly chatting through -the music of </span><em class="italics">Faust</em><span> at the opera. He kept her -secret, poor wretch, and shielded her as best he -might, forcing her to speak to him and see -him before others, that no sudden breaking of -their relations might be remarked. Save in the -world, she never saw him again. That one -word of command was the last syllable which he -ever heard her speak to him directly. Not -without a struggle did he give her up, but she was -implacable. She yielded to him, and played -her part in the little comedy which the world -thought it understood. The beautiful Miss -Almsford had found Holworthy a pleasant -admirer, but her delicate American beauty and -her solid American fortune would certainly win -her a higher place in the world than that of the -wife of Mr. Edward Holworthy, her countryman -and old friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Youth and health are great physicians; and as -the years passed, Millicent recovered something -of her old spring and elasticity. She was -infinitely more interesting, if something colder and -harder, than she had been in the old days. Her -unquenchable vigor of temperament came to her -help, and gave her a keen pleasure in her studies -and in the work and thought of the people about -her. Always self-reliant, she grew to live -entirely without support from man or woman. She -was a friend to many people, but was herself -friendless. The Palazzo Fortunio, under her -reign, grew to be the centre of a charming social -circle. Musicians and painters were made -welcome by the young hostess. At once an artist -and a patron of the arts, she stood in a peculiar -relation to the men who frequented her </span><em class="italics">salon</em><span>. -If she had been without fortune she would have -made music her profession. As it was, she -studied it as faithfully as if self-support had -been her aim; and she claimed that sympathy -from her artistic friends which a mere -connoisseur, be he ever so enthusiastic, can never -arouse. To her small world she was all-important. -Her sympathy helped many a timid </span><em class="italics">debutante</em><span>, -and her counsel cheered the black days -of more than one disheartened artist. Always -gracious and kind, she had drawn about her -a group of people, to all of whom she was a -sort of exalted fellow-worker, who knew but the -poetry of art, and helped them to forget its -prose. Her heart was quite empty, but her -mind was keenly interested and fully occupied -by the men and women among whom she lived. -Happiness she had forgotten to look for, but in -enjoyment her days were not wanting. It was a -terrible blow to her when this pleasant, quiet life -was suddenly broken up by her father's marriage. -To her imperious nature the presence of the -inferior woman whom Mr. Almsford had brought -home to the Palazzo was intolerable. Where -could she go? For the first time in her life she -felt the power which her fortune gave her. She -could establish herself wherever she liked. Her -father's sister proposed a repetition of their joint -establishment in London, but at the very -mention of her returning to England Millicent's -face blanched. She would never again set foot -in that country. It was while she was in a state -of doubt concerning her future movements that -her half-brother wrote her a long and affectionate -letter, urging her to come and dwell for a -time among his people, to visit her mother's -country before she decided the important -question of where she should establish herself for -life. The idea seemed a just one to her; and -acting on a tender impulse roused by the loving -words of her unknown brother, she had telegraphed -her departure, and forthwith started on -her long journey accompanied by her capable -French maid. The Abigail discharged her trust -faithfully, as far as San Francisco, from which -city she turned her face on the very day of her -arrival, unwilling to remain longer in what she -called "</span><em class="italics">le plus triste pays du monde</em><span>." If the -truth could have been known, Millicent would -have signed away ten years of her life to have -gone back with the woman to the Old World, -the only home she had ever known.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham had not been mistaken when he -predicted to Millicent that she would grow more in -sympathy with the race from which she drew -her inheritance of character and temperament -than at first seemed possible. Nature is stronger -than habit, well called second nature; and as the -surface roughness became familiar to her, she -began to feel the strong life and vigor of the -young Western land quickening her pulses and -stimulating her whole being. The poverty of -intellectual intercourse was more than -compensated by the tremendous power of work, the -electrical force which accomplishes so rapidly in -this new land what in other countries has been -the slow growth of centuries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An answering glow of enthusiasm flushed her -with hope, with a keener, fuller, more intense -life than she had ever known before. She had -clung at first to her traditions, and fought -against the tide which seemed to be sweeping -this people on and on and ever on. But nature -was too strong for habit; her upright, fearless -mind acknowledged kinship with these -hard-working men and women, to whom pleasure is -not save in toil, whose whole life is one long -unconscious sacrifice to their country. On the -eastern margins of our land the austere simplicity -and purity have become infested with plague-spots -brought--ay, imported with care and -expense--from the Old World, and fostered like -exotics on the clean soil. But from the great -Western prairie comes a fresh, strong breeze -which sweetens all the foulness of the Atlantic -cities, and makes the breath of Columbia still -pure and fragrant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With this new sentiment for her new-found -country came the first passionate love to the -heart of the beautiful and unhappy young woman. -She had breathed the spicy air of the Californian -forests, bracing and sweet, and her cheek had -grown fuller and fairer in the perfect climate. -Her empty, hollow heart was filled by a great -love and strength, all-sustaining and soothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Graham had first seen her lying in the -fire-light, with cool, deep eyes, before the light -of love had dawned in her flower face, she had -seemed to him like a perfect white rose. Then -the rose flushed palely, as the love-light -trembled to a flame; and he brought her flowers -of the color of the sea-shells, and she wore -them in her hair. Last of all, he laid at her -feet deep-red damask rosebuds; and these she -placed on her white breast, where they bloomed -and died in a single night. He had painted -her by the waves, as he had once seen her -on that strange day when death had seemed -so near and life so beautiful. He had painted -her standing at the sea edge with pallid roses in -her little hands, her graceful head set about with -the same soft-hued flowers, and a single crimson -rose lying lightly over her heart. He had hung -the sketch against the wall where the sunlight -fell upon it early in the morning; and Millicent -had bade him remember, while he slept or waked, -that she was near him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xv"><span class="large">CHAPTER XV.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"It cannot be that love so deep as mine</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Could fail to stay you like ethereal wine."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When he first understood the full import of the -dreadful story, John Graham had been dazed -with grief. He had sought distraction from his -torturing thoughts in action, and had spent that -first day in wandering through the forest. When -he lay down to sleep that night in the lodge, his -heart was burdened with the double weight of -Millicent's secret and Millicent's deceit. He -said to himself that they had put an insuperable -bar between her and himself. He could have -pardoned the disgrace which had befallen her, -and was not her fault, but he could never forgive -her deceit toward him. The finding of her -kerchief the next morning, and the terrible -apprehension which the blood-stain had aroused in -him, swept away the anger and sorrow from his -heart, leaving nothing there but an agonizing -fear. This had been, in turn, banished by the -joy of finding her alive and unharmed, waiting -for him amidst the roses. The great fear had -softened the anger in his heart; the sudden -happiness exalted his soul from the hell of anguish -in which it had dwelt, into a perfect and pure -peace. Pride, anger, and resentment were swept -away, and love swayed him with its mastery. -He knew her now, faulty as she was; and his -higher nature forgave her, because of her great -love, because of her great wrong. But in his -stormy breast the tide of feeling flowed and -ebbed; pride had reigned there so long that -love could not all at once claim undisputed sway. -He could not learn in an instant that pride is -born of hell, while love is breathed from heaven. -In that strange moment when their two beings -had seemed etherealized, he had forgiven her all; -but in the days that followed, pride, doubt, and -prejudice came forward one by one to do combat -with victorious love. It might be that they would -conquer in the struggle; it might even be that -pride, being selfish, should make him doubt and -finally even forget love, which is unselfish. But -he had pardoned her, and loved her with all her -sins; he had acknowledged that bond of spirit -which made them one; he had knelt before her -and kissed her feet in a passionless embrace full -of reverence. No matter what griefs should fall -upon her, no matter what deed or word of his -might put them apart in this world, she should -carry through her life, and beyond it, the -knowledge that what was highest in him had leapt to -meet her love, and acknowledged that they -belonged each to other for eternity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>John Graham awoke one morning to find -himself possessed of a picture. He had seen it -between waking and sleeping, in the early hours of -the night, and it had haunted his dreams till -sunrise. He heard the wondrous carolling of -the birds just before dawn, with a joy greater -than was his wont, for it heralded the day which -should bring light for his work. French John, -coming in with his breakfast, for the first time -in his life entered and left the tower without -word or look of greeting from the artist, who, -with bent brow and serious face, was sketching -in the first lines of his picture with a bit of -white chalk. The half-finished portrait of -Mrs. Patrick Shallop looked at him with one -reproachful eye from the easel; but Graham paid no -heed to the neglected portrait; he was deeply -engrossed in pursuing his thought and preserving -it in a tangible shape. It is a rare thing, -in this age of the worship of the golden calf, for -the artist even to be absorbed in the love of his -profession. Of old, it seems that the sages and -the sculptors wrought and thought for the sake -of art and learning, the spur of ambition being -all that was necessary to urge them forward. -To-day the goal toward which such men strive -is a golden one, and the worship of money is -more in vogue than the pursuit of glory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When artists sell their souls, brains, and -talents to dealers, engaging to deliver so many -works of art in so many months, on such and -such a class of subjects, bargaining by the -wholesale for the work which they shall produce -during the coming twelve-month, what wonder that -the cry of the connoisseur is, Too much -technique, too little sentiment! "What is -sentiment?" one would ask such a babbler; is it a -thing to be measured off by the yard, or sold in -canvases to suit traders, who feel the pulse of the -public, and if it is feverish give more stimulant, -or if it is fainting prescribe an anodyne? To such -prostitution do these men strive to degrade the -arts, but in vain. Apollo's voice is still stronger -than the chink of doubloons; and there are those -whose ears are ever strained to catch his mystic -music. The art trade, the literary trade, may -flourish luxuriantly, growing like weeds, with a -rank prodigality; but the flowers of art and -literature, for all that, stand serenely strong in the -garden of our fair young world, growing day by -day in beauty and strength. Their blossoming -may be rare in this day and generation, but the -plants are sound and full of a mighty sap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Though John Graham was a man of the world, -there was no taint of worldliness about him; -he knew the world, because he had lived -somewhat in it, but more, perhaps, because he had -studied the lives of the world's people. The -painting of a picture was to him of more -importance than its sale; the conception of a work -more than its accomplishment. His enthusiasm -was apt to wane as his picture neared -completion. The great glow with which the idea -came to him kept him warm and interested -through all the stages of the crystallization of -his thought; but when the work was finished he -ceased to prize it, and either threw himself into -a new composition, or patiently labored at -uninteresting mechanical work until he was again -inspired. It was with difficulty that he could be -induced to sell his pictures; he would sometimes -keep them before him for years, waiting to alter -some detail or to remedy some defect. His -friends, knowing his reluctance to part with -them, were wont to wait till they knew the artist -to be in absolute need of funds, and then quietly -to walk away with the coveted picture, forcing -him to accept its price. A few people only in -California understood or cared for his landscapes, -or the rare works of imagination which he -produced; and it was through his portraits that he -was chiefly known. He felt in himself an -unfitness for this line of work; and had it not been -for the sake of his beloved mother, partially -dependent on him, it is not likely that he would -ever have followed it. The reason was not far -to seek why. Graham did not succeed in that -important branch of art: the individual had little -interest for him; men and women absorbed -him less than nature. Every tree and brooklet, -dead forest leaf or purpled thunder-cloud, held -for him a lesson. Men and women seen from -a distance were more likely to interest him than -those with whom he was thrown in close contact. -When their lives and actions were viewed in -an impersonal perspective, he understood them -better, and often theorized about them. His -thoughts were oftener occupied with people of -whom he knew little than with his friends and -intimates. To seek truth first and beauty second, -was his creed; but his life was not always guided -by that high rule; and the jack-o'-lantern beauty -sometimes tempted him from the pursuit of truth, -leading him on long rambles over smiling meads -and into flower-hedged swamp lands. There -would he lie undone, angry and smarting from -the thorns through which beauty had led him; -and then, turning his back upon her, would -trudge earnestly along the road which leads -truthward. Millicent had once whispered to him that -he mistook two loving sisters for dread rivals, -and that truth and beauty, when truly seen, are -found together; whereat Graham had looked full -into her eyes, long and steadily, and kissing her -hand, with a sigh, had spoken of other things.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lying beside him on the floor, as he worked -upon his newly imagined picture, was a painting -nearly finished, on which he had been working -the previous day. A wooden panel, on which -was represented the ever-new subject, fairest of -themes to artist and poet,--two lovers, -standing together in the rosy dawn of love, ere the -scorching sun of passion has deepened their cool -morning into a fervid midday. The man's figure -was strong and graceful, his attitude one of -protection; the girl's rounded and delicate body -swayed toward her lover, whose arm enfolded -her. His face was turned away, the eyes looking -far, as if into the future; while her delicate -features were turned toward him, her glance -trustfully fastened on his face. The color of -the warm woodland background was mellow and -rich, bringing out the deeper tones of the figures. -The resemblance of the girl to Millicent -Almsford could hardly have been unintentional, one -who knew her well would have said; and yet -Graham was only half-conscious that the face -and figure recalled her chief traits. He had -thought of her as he worked; and beneath his -brush her bronze hair and luminous face had -been shadowed out more distinctly every day. -A rare picture, full of beauty and sentiment; -but thrown aside to-day for the new inspiration -which had seized upon the artist. The subject -to be treated was the entrance of the Poet to -the abode of the Muses. He sketched the Poet, -mounted on his winged horse, just crossing the -narrow, defile which led to the sacred spot. -With knit brows and earnest face, Graham -worked at the sketch all day; only leaving his -tower when the daylight failed him. As he -wandered through the dim forest aisles, he -thought of Millicent for the first time, -remembering that he had agreed to ride with her in -the afternoon at three o'clock; it was now past -six. Without the slightest feeling of remorse -at his failure to keep the engagement, he -determined to ride over to the house and see her. -Millicent received him rather coolly, having spent -the afternoon crying with worry and disappointment -at his non-appearance; and he, only half -noticing her mood, failed to understand it. He -was dimly aware that her society was not as -agreeable as usual, and consequently he devoted -himself to Mrs. Deering during the evening. -At first Miss Almsford kept aloof from the -conversation; but later, when her lover began to -talk brilliantly, she drew near to where he sat -and listened to his words with downcast eyes. -Graham was in wonderful vein that night; his -every gesture spoke of a strong under-current -of excitement. His eyes shone, and his deep -voice had a thrill of enthusiasm which stirred -the pulses of the calm-browed girl, sitting -near by with softly folded hands and parted, -breathless lips. But it was neither for -Millicent, nor because of Millicent, that the young -man talked so brilliantly. A more stimulating -influence than hers had touched him, and he -was beyond the reach of her sympathy; exalted -by the wings of his genius to that clear, cool, -lonely communion with the immortals which only -such as he experience. Dismayed, and yet full -of reverence for this new phase of his nature, -Millicent was filled with a great pain. She was -left behind; she could follow but not -accompany the flight of his fancy; and a sense of -lonely desolation chilled the hot heart-blood with -a depression the like of which she had never -before known. The ethereal quality of her being -recognized and did honor to his bold up-winging; -but the personal, selfish side rebelled at the -neglect to which she was subjected. The -struggle in her breast was at that time unintelligible -to herself; in after days, when the baser nature -had been overcome, she realized it all, and knew -that the long death-struggle of self began that -night when Graham's eyes looked beyond her -for inspiration, up to the blue-starred empyrean -over both their heads.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>More from habit than because he needed her -society, her lover asked her to step for a moment -upon the piazza before he left. As they stood -side by side, he absently took her firm, small -hand in his and kissed the pink fingers one by -one, as if she had been a child. All at once he -perceived that she was weeping, her slender form -shaken by a storm of sobs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Millicent, my child, what is it? Are you -ill?" he asked, tenderly stroking her hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, only unhappy. Graham, why did you -not come for me to-day? I waited for you all -the afternoon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I not tell you, dear, that I was very -busy? I have begun a new picture. I quite -forgot my engagement with you,--I am very -sorry," he answered, puzzled at her emotion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it is your picture that is my rival. I -hate it, I hate it! I never want to see it!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Millicent, what do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her only answer was to lay her aching head -upon his breast, to twine her arms about him, -and to sob out incoherent words of love and -grief, all of which puzzled and wearied him. -He soothed her tenderly; and when they parted -there was a smile upon her lips, though her -breast still trembled with the slow after-waves -of a grief which shook her whole being. Graham, -unnerved by the tempest which he had all -unwittingly aroused, reached his tower in an excited -and irritable frame of mind. The first thing that -met his eyes was the picture of the lovers lying -at the foot of the easel. He picked it up, placed -it on the table before him, and long and -critically surveyed his work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I painted better than I knew," he sighed. -"Yes, thus it is that we stand toward each other, -man and woman, and ever shall stand,--the -man looking out beyond, above, the woman, and -she finding her utmost limit of self-projection in -him. Alas and alas!" He placed the painting -with its face toward the wall, and with a moody -brow turned to his new sketch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah, I can do nothing, see nothing in that -picture; I have been too rudely summoned back -to earth, to the little griefs of humanity, by a -woman's tears. I was never meant for it, I -cannot bear it." So ran his thoughts impatiently. -He had been living in the passionless perfection -of art, and had been suddenly recalled by -a little creature, full of small human feelings, -to this narrow world. Nettled and unstrung, -he threw himself upon his hard bed, to dream -of Millicent,--a happy dream, in which she -knelt before him, acknowledging her fault, -pleading his forgiveness; a dream of sweet -reconciliation, wherein was memory of that hour -among the redwoods, of that mystic soul-embrace -but once known to him his whole life through. -He awoke refreshed and strengthened, with a -love-song on his lips tender as that of the -mourning dove. Sundown showed him again at his -easel after a long day's work; but that evening -Millicent listened in vain for the patter of Tasso's -hoofs among the softly rustling autumn leaves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the week which followed Graham did not -venture to see Millicent again, fearing her -disturbing influence on his work. He sent her -every day by his faithful henchman some little -memento. One morning it was a quick sketch -of the sunset of the previous night. Another -day it was a bunch of pretty brown quails, the -result of an hour's shooting. Once she found -hung upon her window-ledge a garland of dewy -red roses; and easily guessed what strong, light -figure had swung itself up the piazza post, and -over the trellis-work, to lay this offering before -her curtained window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Henry Deering, passing by the piazza on the -night the lovers had parted, heard the sound of -weeping. In the days that followed, he noticed -Millicent's reddened eyes and restless mood. -He felt sure that some misunderstanding had -arisen between them; and as the days passed, -and Graham failed to appear, he began to -believe that the breach was a serious one. In the -old days he had loved Graham as a brother; but -in the last months his affection had grown cold, -and held a weak place in his heart, from whence -jealousy was fast banishing it. Now that he -believed his old friend to have grieved the -woman they both loved, a feeling of antipathy -and an undefined distrust possessed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After the long day's work it was his custom -to sit for an hour or so upon the piazza beneath -Millicent's window, watching the beam of light -which shone through her closed blinds until it -was extinguished. One night, as he sat alone, -the drowsy humming of the insects soothed him -into a light sleep. When he awoke with a start, -the moon, which had not before been visible, -was high in the heavens. As he was about to -go in-doors he heard a footstep on the path -outside the house. He remained motionless in his -chair, resolved to see who was abroad so late. -The footsteps were uncertain and stealthy. -The person first approached the house, and -then retreated to the turf, where the steps -were hardly audible. Deering stepped lightly -to the edge of the piazza and peered through the -honeysuckle screen. At a distance of twenty -feet from him stood a man looking up at the -house, at Millicent's window. His face was -hidden by a muffler and a broad hat pulled low -over the brows. Deering drew his revolver and -cocked it. The click of the lock evidently -reached the intruder's ears, for he turned and -fled toward the orchard. Deering sprang from -the piazza, and shouting, "Who are you? -Stop, or I 'll fire!" ran down the path. The -fugitive neither answered nor slackened his -pace. Deering fired, aiming low down; but the -ball whistled by the man and buried itself in the -heart of a peach-tree. In the close shrubbery -which surrounded the orchard Deering missed his -man; and three minutes later he heard the swift -tramp of a pair of horses on the path which led to -the high-road. He ran to the stable. Nothing -there but the mules and old Sphinx; his own -fleet mare and Millicent's thorough-bred were -grazing in the pasture. He slipped a bridle -over the old mustang's head, and sprang on his -back without waiting for a saddle. By the time -he reached the highway the riders were out of -sight, and the echo of the distant hoof-beats -reached his ears. Pursuit was useless; they -were well mounted; and Sphinx had gone dead -lame the day before. The young man listened -to the faint sound of the hoofs until it died in -the silent night. Then he dismounted and -examined the road. There were the traces of two -horses. As he looked closely at the impressions -left on the thick dust, he saw that only one of -the horses had carried a rider; the other had -been led.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he returned to the house he found the -family aroused. Barbara met him on the piazza, -asking anxiously what had happened. The -report of the revolver had awakened her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a bear, Barbara," said her brother. -"It is a shame to have roused you all, and for -nothing, too. I thought I had a sure shot, and -that we should have bear-steak for dinner to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A bear, Hal? How strange! Why, this is -the first time one ever came so near the house, -is n't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; Ralph killed two long ago, before you -can remember. Go to bed now, and get the -house quiet, for heaven's sake!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man kept his own counsel, and the -next morning made a careful examination of -the grounds near the house. On the farther -side of the orchard there were traces of a pair -of horses having been tethered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two more days went by, and still Graham -did not come. Millicent was distressed and -puzzled at his long absence; and finally, after -thoughtful deliberation, she decided to write to -him, telling him how grieved she was at her -own unreasonable behavior.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham found a letter early one morning -folded in an embroidered kerchief, and laid -before the door of his tower. That heavy -unpainted barrier could have told a tale like that -of Tennyson's talking oak, had it been given the -power of speech. Trembling lips had pressed -timid kisses upon its weather-beaten panels. -Strange old door of the tower, roughly -fashioned by the Mission priests a century ago, what -secrets have you not shut in; what hopes have -you not seen pass out between your time-rusted -lintels!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the first letter Millicent had ever -written him; he had but once before seen her -handwriting. The girlish, weak hand which -had traced the words in the little journal was -greatly altered. It was now a graceful, flowing -chirography, full of that individuality which -stamped everything appertaining to her. -Graham studied the superscription carefully -before he broke the golden seal, with its device -of Psyche with new-found wings. It ran as -follows:--</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="small">BELOVED,--Forgive me! forgive me if you will, for -I cannot forgive myself. I was wrong to grudge you -the time passed with your work. It was weak and -selfish of me; but now that I know my fault, be not -afraid. Believe that I am strong enough to overcome -it. For the red roses at my window I thank you; -and for the fair picture and the graceful couplet, for -all the tender thoughts which prompted you to send -me these tokens, bless you a hundred times. But -oh! my lover, come to me; and let me read in your -strange eyes, that are now bright and cold as ocean -deeps, and again burning with Promethean fire, that -I am forgiven. Not rose nor picture, not poem nor -sweet garland, can tell me as can they that you -love me.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">MILLICENT.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Graham read the letter through twice, and -folded it away, with a sigh. "Do I love her? -Does she love me?" he queried; and all that day -the doubt tormented him. While he worked, -while he took his afternoon ramble through the -woods, while he sat at his solitary supper, it -rankled in his mind. He could not solve it; -could she? It were best at least to ask her. -It was only right that she should know of his -doubts of her and of himself. He found her -flushed with pleasure at the sight of him. She -had anticipated his coming, and was dressed in -soft colors which he approved, and fair with -a hundred little efforts of coquetry to please -him. Her bronze hair seemed to the man but -a mesh to snare him. He turned his eyes -impatiently from the pretty, bare arms, and the -cool, snowy shoulders shining through -transparent draperies. His judgment should not be -turned aside by her loveliness. He greeted her -coolly, barely touching her outstretched hand; -and then stood looking gloomily into the -distance, not knowing what to say, uncertain of -the truth, doubting her. The woman, quick to -see his trouble, spoke to him tenderly, with a -low, soothing voice, thanking him for coming -to her, telling him how long the time had -seemed since they had met.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And tell me all about your new picture."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot, Millicent; your letter spoiled my -day's work. I have done nothing since I read it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear, what can you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This, Millicent,--that my work must always -be first to me. I had thought that you would -help me in it, but it is not so." After a pause, -"Millicent, I think we have made a mistake, you -and I. We cannot help each other, and -therefore we hinder one another. You dazzle me -with your beauty, and send me back to my work -unfitted for it; while I only make you unhappy, -and fear I can never do anything else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Graham, you kill me." She looked indeed -as if a blow had been planted in her breast, as -she reeled, all white and trembling, to a seat. -Her words seemed to deepen the nervous -agitation which possessed him, for he said -impatiently,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What can I do? It is not my fault that -you have neither the best love to give me, nor -the power to arouse it in me. I tell you, child, -that we have been mistaken, and that it is time -for this thing to end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, Graham; you are angry, you know -not what you say. In mercy speak no more." She -had sunk upon her knees, her clasped -hands stretched toward him in an agony of fear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not kneel to me, but listen; for I am -right. If things had been different, it might -have been; but as they are, we have been mad -to think of it. There is no help for it, my girl; -we must kiss and part. You never loved me -as you should, Millicent, because you could -not. A woman can love but once, and that is -the first time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not true. You, who are a man, say it. -What woman ever said it? It is a lie, a lie! -You shall not say it, you must not think it. -You would make us creatures without souls -indeed. Are they right, then, the Easterns? -If when we women are sold, or stolen, or -entrapped, we must love, and only then, you deny -us other life than that of the earth. Of what -man would you hold this doctrine to be true? -It is utterly false! it is wicked! it is unworthy -of you!" She moaned where she had fallen on -the ground, and tried to speak again; but the -man continued with a pitiless stream of words, -sincere, earnest, spoken for her good as well as -his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have been loitering together for a time, -child, on life's way, and have chased the golden -butterfly of pleasure which men oft mistake for -love. Before we are too deeply entangled in the -briers, we must turn from the chase, we must -forget each other. We can be of no good, one -to the other; and I will be no more harm to -you than I have been."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could not see her face now; it was hidden -on her arm as she crouched where his words -had thrown her. The pathos of the attitude -touched him; he gently lifted one of the tightly -clinched hands, and loosened the fingers which -so fiercely bit the delicate palm. He was in a -strange mood, when heart and soul seemed -absent from him, and only the clear, strong brain -prompted his words. Her passionate grief -hardened rather than softened the look in his eyes. -This girl, who had been as wax in his fingers,--glad -when he smiled, weeping when he sighed, -swayed invariably by the mood which possessed -him,--now denied by piteous word and gesture -the words which he was speaking. Her hand, -unlocked by him, would have clasped his stronger -palm; but at the caress he dropped her arm and -turned his eyes from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot give you up," she murmured; "you -must not leave me so. Oh, my love, you wrong -me, you wrong yourself! I love you, Graham, -with all my soul; I love you as I never thought -to love before! Cruel--cruel! It is not with -lips and eyes that I have loved you, for you -could lose that, and yet miss nothing from your -life. Turn not from me, if you would not leave -that which is best worth having by the roadside, -and press on to find that goal towards which -your ambition spurs you, empty and void without -me at your side! It is your worse nature which -doubts mine. Graham, Graham! what matters -it if hand and eyes have been another's? My -soul is only yours, wakened first when your -strong spirit called it from the sleep begun -before it was vested in this body, ere it was -divided from your own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last words, faintly whispered, hardly -reached his ears. To-day their import could -not have been felt by him. In other times he -understood, and sufferingly admitted the truth -of those incoherent words, which died on the air -as soon as they were breathed, and yet whose -memory abode with him his life through. He -had come to Millicent not knowing what he -should say, and the words seemed to have spoken -themselves. He was sorry, as is the surgeon for -the pain which he inflicts; but, like the physician, -he felt that mercy lay in mercilessness. As -she lay weeping at his feet, a strong tide of -emotion swept over him, leaving him pale and -trembling. He lifted her with eager hands, and on -shoulder, brow, and pallid mouth he pressed -cruel, parting kisses, which carried no balm to -her broken heart, and brought no ease to his -fevered spirit. Then he broke from her with a -mighty effort, passion and pride wasting him -with a terrible warring, and fleeing through the -night left her there cold and nerveless, like a -broken lily amidst the dews and damps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the days which followed, Barbara watched -with tender solicitude Millicent's changed face -and nerveless step. Only through her -sympathetic perceptions did she know of the girl's -trouble; of what nature it was she surmised, not -incorrectly. Lovers' quarrels are usually looked -upon with a tolerant amusement by intimate -friends and relatives; and when they are of short -duration, it is usually considered advisable to -ignore them altogether. But as weeks passed, and -Barbara learned that Graham was in San Francisco, -she redoubled her little attentions, and -shielded Millicent as best she could from her -mother's anxious questions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Angry and rebellious was Millicent in these -days, with that terrible under-feeling of anguish -which must outlive anger and rebellion; that -fainting of the soul, when all that has supported -it seems to have sunk away, and it is left -absolutely without power to resist an all-devouring -despair. Her happiness had been so short-lived; -her misery was so terrible, so unending! Her -young life, which had been balked of its natural -joyousness and youth, had suddenly been -illumined with the pure and perfect light of the -love which passeth all understanding, and now -she was in darkness blacker than she had ever -known. The anguish of that great love was not -wanting, and she suffered with a new sense of -her capacity for pain. In her dumb grief she -knew that the agony was not undeserved; this -was the bitterest drop in the cup of tears. She -had not told him her sad secret; she had -deceived him! She had meant to tell him of -the blot upon her name, before their lives had -become irrevocably joined; but she had put off -the dreaded moment until it was too late: he -knew all now, and not by her confession. Would -she ever have had the courage to tell him? She -almost doubted herself. Was she deceitful by -nature? she asked herself a hundred times, -questioning her deep eyes in the mirror's depth. No, -she knew that her frank, sincere character had -been warped and distorted by the evil influence -of the man whose name she would have cursed, -had not the grave closed over him, burying his -sins and her reproaches in the cold earth. Poor -child, poor women all, the weaker creatures in -this remorseless world! When they are bruised -and broken by the force of their masters, is -it strange, is it unpardonable, that the weapon -of the weak tempts them? Who forged that -weapon for them, who forced them to use it? If -there were no unjust oppression among men, no -brutal abuse of a superior force, would women -be driven to deceit, that refuge of the weak?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this sophistry she wrapped herself, but was -not satisfied. She had been tried and found -wanting. This it was that had lost to her the -lover for whom she had faced death. He might -not know it; he had never said it; but she -recognized what had driven him from her side,--the -fault was hers. Was it unpardonable? Could he -never forgive her? Must their lives be -separated, now that spirit had kissed soul? Must -the long waiting last until time should be ended -for them both, and Eternity begun?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of all cruel gifts, is not that which lingered in -Pandora's box the one through which men suffer -most fiercely? O Hope! if thou hadst escaped -along with the rest of the heathen god's -blessings, how many tortured souls would now be at -rest in a fixed and accepted grief which struggles -not, neither rebels at the decrees of destiny! -Unquenchable art thou, robbing sad mortals of -all repose; even in death shall they not find -rest; thou troublest the dying with thy visions -of a future! With resolute hands sorrowing -women seize upon thee, and would stifle thee -in their breasts; but though thou dost -sometimes simulate death, when the watchful hands -loosen their hold thou springest up stronger and -more cruel than before, and tormentest the -sufferer with thy struggles!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it would only die--if it would only die!" -moaned Millicent, as she paced her room, her -hands crossed heavily upon her breast, as if to -stifle some tangible spark with their weight. A -thousand times she submitted to the rest of a -despair which was all too quickly routed by the -fever of a hope which could not die.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xvi"><span class="large">CHAPTER XVI.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>"If we should part and pass to separate ways</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>With stifled sigh, averted head,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Within a land where centuries are as days</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Our love shall live though flesh and wrong lie dead."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And her lover, where was he? In the heart of -the city, working in a garret on his great -picture, for the sake of which he had forsaken the -woman he loved. Intolerant of opposition was -Graham; and when once an idea had been -accepted by him, it was next to an impossibility -for him to give it up. He had become -convinced that his love for Millicent would make -him faithless to his work; that the love of -woman was not compatible with the highest -devotion to art. Her fond dependence on him would -drain his strength. Without his work he could -neither be satisfied nor satisfy her. The closer -she clung to him the more did he recoil from -her. In the strength of his genius, he laughed -at the idea that a loving companionship was -necessary to him; and yet hours came, at the -end of a long day's work, in the quiet watches -of the night when the city slept about him, in -which all his theories were overset, in a terrible -longing for the girl whose sad eyes haunted him. -To see her and to touch her; to hear her low, -deep voice; to forget all the grievous striving -of his life, in the restful warmth of hers! He -thought of her always as he had first seen her, -lying before the fire, her slender figure robed in -white, her head supported in the hands which -he had so often caressed. Waiting for him, she -seemed to have been then. Waiting for him, -he loved to fancy her always. These tender -thoughts drifted through his mind in the soft -twilight, or before the dawn. In the fervid -daylight he only remembered her as she had been -on that last evening, rebellious and close-clinging, -desperate, beautiful, and full of unrest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The city tired him with its everlasting sounds -of traffic. The tread of dray horses and the -rumbling of carts sounded in his ears from -earliest dawn till late night. There was no peace -here amongst his fellow-men. He longed for -the solitude of his tower, for his forest -neighbors, for the sound of the woods, the wide arch -of blue sky, seen now through one narrow slit -between the opposing houses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One morning he determined to take a day of -rest; and, after making a light breakfast at a -coffee-house near by, he started for the San -Rosario Ranch, with a lighter heart than he had -carried in his bosom for many days. It was a -bright morning; the air was crisped with a -prediction of winter weather, genial enough in this -region at its worst. As he passed through the -familiar country he traced some likeness to -Millicent Almsford in every object on which his -eyes lighted. Now it was the golden-brown of -her hair seen in the shiny coat of a sleek filly -frolicking in a pasture; now it was her graceful -movements traced in the trembling branches of -a straight young sapling; again, her gray eyes -smiled in his face from under the brows of a fair -child playing by the roadside. The harsh voice -of the wheels thundering over the steel rails -seemed to be repeating her name; and his heart -kept time with the refrain, beating out the -syllables rhythmically,--Millicent, Millicent, -Millicent! He was weary of reasoning with himself. -For six days in the week his work was all-sufficing, -and he needed no other companionship; -but on the seventh day he longed for rest; he -needed beauty, he needed love. He knew that -it was weak in him to waver in his resolution -not to see Millicent again; he knew that it was -a wrong to her, and that he would bitterly -regret it in after days. And yet he yielded to -that exquisite golden haze which seemed to have -dropped about him, flooding his life with a -passionate delight, an ecstasy of expectation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He alighted at the station, and stood watching -the receding train with strained eyes. He -wished now that he had not come. He walked -up and down the narrow platform, flushed and -unnerved with the tumult in his breast. On -his right lay the dusty carriage-road which led -to the house; on his left a narrow bridle-path -pierced the woods, over which he must pass to -reach his tower. Which should it be,--a day -passed with the creatures of the forest, under -the blue sky and murmuring trees; or an hour -of the soft delight which Millicent's voice, -Millicent's eyes, Millicent's lightest finger-touch, -wrapped about him? He realized now how he -had cheated himself. He had said that it was -the wood-birds whose voices wooed him from the -city! He knew now that beneath that longing -for the free air of his forest home lay the deeper -desire which had tempted him to leave his -picture half finished, his palette half set.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Which road should he take? Not more -unstable was the blue ring of smoke which the -breeze carried from his lips, tossing it hither and -thither in a cloudy wreath upon the white air, -than was this man between the opposing -influences which divided his nature. At last he -tossed his cigarette upon the platform, carefully -quenching its spark with his foot, and with a -light, fleet step ran down the wide carriage-road -which led to the house--which would bring him -to Millicent. He had known all along, with that -inner consciousness which decides with lightning -rapidity a question which the intellect debates -long and seriously, that his feet would follow -that pleasant, open road rather than the dark -wood-trail; and yet the train had sped twenty -miles further on its journey before he turned -his face toward the happy valley. So clumsy is -reason compared to instinct; so tedious are the -modes of thought to the working of the feelings; -so useless is the grave gate of wisdom to -check the tumultuous torrent of feeling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found the wide piazza deserted, the front -door fast closed, the blinds of the library and -dining-room tightly drawn. The hospitable -house was silent and deserted. His -imperative summons was finally answered by a -domestic, the successor of poor Ah Lam, who in his -ridiculous vernacular informed the visitor that -"Alley folk go waly." Which, being translated -into English, signified that no one was at home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham felt as if a flood of cold water had -been dashed into his face. He shivered, as he -turned from the door and descended the steps; -and yet before he had walked two miles in -the familiar road which led to his tower, he -gave a profound sigh of relief. It was better -so! The exercise had cooled his fevered blood; -the crisp forest air had brought reason back -to his passion-tossed breast. It was better -that he had not seen her. Something of -the fatalist was there about this strong-brained -rationalist. He half fancied that it was not -chance alone which had decreed that Millicent -should be absent from the Ranch that day. -But he sang no more as he had done on his -way to the house; and his serious face lost -that smile of hope which had lighted the eyes -and touched the mouth into an unaccustomed -softness. If he was silent, the wild birds -were melodious, and he walked between choirs -of invisible songsters; while the whirring of -a partridge, the fleet step of a wild fox in the -thicket, gave him the assurance that he was -not alone in the mysterious wood. At last the -distance was accomplished; and at high noon, -when the shadows had all shrunk back into -the tall trees before the ardent heat of the -sun, he reached the ruin of the old church. -He leaned against the fragment of a pillar -which stood at the foot of the staircase, and -looked up at the square gray tower with its -close-clinging pall of moss and yellow lichens. -From a rift in the wall burst a blaze of -color,--a clump of wallflowers stretching its flame -of blossoms upward toward his window. He -noticed that the casement was open; and as he -looked he saw the fluttering of a bit of drapery -over the edge of the sill. It must have been -the curtain, of course; but the sight of it gave -him a strange sensation, not unlike one that he -had experienced before on that spot, when he -had been tricked by the moonlight into fancying -that there was a woman straying in the aisles -of the old church. He remembered that night -and what it had revealed to him; and at the -black thought the sky seemed to have darkened -over his head. He had stood dreaming at the -tower foot for fifteen minutes, and in that time -the sky had become overcast, a cold wind had -sprung up and now blew into his face, carrying -a host of big drops with it. The rain had come -at last! After the long spring and summer -unmarred by clouded skies or rude gusts, the first -rain had come. With a rough tenderness it -dashed itself against the parched land and shook -the tall trees till they murmured a delighted -welcome. The dusty ferns growing low down -about the knees of the great trees caught the -happy news, and uncurled their tender fernlings -that they might feel the welcome touch of the -rain-drops, as they filtered through the greedy -leaves and raced down the straight stems to -reach the myriads of thirsty mouths yearning -for their balm. The rain had come; and the -languid stream, which had pined and shrunk to -a pitiful thread of water, leaped joyously down -its rocky bed. It would grow strong and young -and beautiful again; its banks would bloom -with flowers; its course would no longer run -painfully over heated stones, between seared -brown edges,--the rain had come!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the narrow stairway Graham paused, near -the top. Something shining lay on the step -before him. The object proved to be a small -silver arrow, tipped with a feather of brilliants. -He picked up the jewelled toy, which he had -once before held in his hand,--one evening -when he had withdrawn it from the soft tresses -which it caught together behind a small white -ear. His hand trembled as he remembered the -soft rushing of silken curls over his arm, the -fragrance which had floated about him, the look -of loving reproach which had punished his -audacity. Wondering how the arrow had found -its way to the threshold of his tower, Graham -tried to open the heavy door with his key. To -his surprise it refused to yield; the bolt was -drawn on the inside. Some one was in his -tower. Thinking that the Frenchman, in whose -care his room had been left, might be at work, -he lifted the heavy brass dolphin which served -for a knocker, and rapped loudly. There was -no answer. The rain by this time was falling in -torrents. He was entirely without shelter; and -he knocked a second time, calling out to know -who was inside the room. He heard a light step -approach the door, and a hand was laid upon -the lock. The old wood-cutter could never have -walked with that musical footstep; the soft rustle -of garments could not have been made by him. -Graham's heart leaped from its quiet beating -into a very tumult of pulsations, as the bolt was -gradually drawn and the heavy door swung -slowly open. On the threshold of his lonely -tower stood Millicent, with downcast eyes and -pale face. For a moment he was silent, looking -at her, doubting his own vision; fearing to move -lest she should vanish from before his eager eyes -as she did in his dreams. Could this beautiful, -colorless creature, with marble cheeks and fallen -lids, with sombre garments and nerveless, pallid -hands crossed upon the breast, be Millicent -Almsford? He stepped nearer with outstretched -hands to touch her, to feel that it was in verity -the woman who had lain weeping at his feet -that night among the roses. He would have -folded her to his breast, but the white lids flashed -open, the sad, tear-worn eyes looked into his -own with an expression which made him draw -back; and the girl, without a word, passed out -of the doorway and stood unprotected in the -driving storm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before her mute grief, his passionate longing -was turned to a great and holy pity. He stood -beside her and said gently,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Millicent, you will not leave me without a -word? You must not go out into the storm; -I will leave you here alone, if you wish, until the -rain is over. Do not be so cruel as to doubt -me, dear one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped, for his words had made her -tremble. She feared him no longer, and with a -little sigh laid her hand in his and suffered him -to lead her into the room. The artist placed -his visitor in a great chair, and busied himself -in making a fire on his cold hearth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now this is more cheerful, fair lady, is it not?" -he cried, in a pleasant voice. "And pray tell me -what brought you to my lonely dwelling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had always wanted to see your tower, -Graham; and this morning they all went to San -Francisco for the day, and I thought I would -ride over and look at it from the outside. I -found old John airing the room, and accepted -his invitation to rest here for half an hour -before riding home. He came up just now to tell -me that it was going to rain, but as he thought it -would be only a shower he had put my horse -under shelter. This is how I came here; and -now tell me what brought you so unexpectedly -from town."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot tell, white one. Your will, perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, friend, that has never swayed thee one -hair's-breadth from thine appointed course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head sadly, and looked out of -the window. She did not know--it was better -for her perhaps that she never should -know--how great an influence she had wielded over -his life. She did not know that for her, faith -and youth had bloomed in his heart when he -had thought them dead. Her untruth was -killing them, and their death-agony had shaken -and worn him cruelly. She thought him hard -and relentless. It might be easier for her to -dull the pain in her heart, with this consciousness -of injury received. He would never tell -her of the irreparable wrong she had done him. -If he was not forgiving he was magnanimous. -No word of reproach should pass his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside the rain was pouring down, but less -steadily; the patter of the drops sounded more -and more lightly on the window-panes. The -shower would not long continue. Graham took -note of the clearing sky, and sighed heavily. -With all her faults he loved her; the tower -would be lonelier than ever when she had flitted -from it like a sprite of the rain-storm. The -great trees outside lifted up their branches -with a mighty wailing, echoing his sigh; and -Millicent, as if conscious that love was pleading -against pride in that strong heart which had -never learned the lesson of forgiveness, turned -her white, appealing face towards him. The -man's being had been swept that day with fiery -impulses from the first moment of consciousness. -Passionate love, pity, scorn, and anger -had in turn written their impress on his mobile -face. He came close to her side, and taking -both her hands in his, knelt at her side:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O Millicent, Millicent! could he not have -spared you? We could have loved each other -so truly! Poor child, poor child! What fiend -was he to have betrayed you! But now it can -never be, never, never, never!" The words rang -out drearily, the death-knell of all that had made -life beautiful to them both. The pale girl sat -motionless, speechless, her eyes dark with -horror, her hands nerveless in his passionate grasp. -Tears fell upon those white fingers which he had -so often kissed,--cruel tears wrung from the -bruised heart of the man she loved; tears that -she had no power to check, tears that had their -source in her own sin. In that hour of agony, -if remorse may in aught atone for error, -Millicent must have been forgiven of the angels. -The proud man knew how to suffer, but he -could not forgive. He arose and dashed the -tears from his eyes; they had cost him mortal pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rain was over, the gray sky had cleared; -and Millicent, like a gray shadow, slipped from -the tower, leaving her lover alone, with the -mocking sunlight shining on his dark, -tear-stained face.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xvii"><span class="large">CHAPTER XVII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Our bread was such as captives' tears</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Have moistened many a thousand years,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Since man first pent his brother men</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Like brutes within an iron den."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was a long chase that brought Hal Deering -and Maurice Galbraith face to face with the -ruffian, whom Hal readily identified. They found -him with a group of new-found friends in the -chief liquor saloon of a small, rather -disreputable town, fifty miles from the Ranch. When -the two young men entered the place, the man -they were looking for asked them to join in the -"all-round drink" he was about to "stand treat -for," which invitation was promptly declined by -Hal Deering. After a whispered word, Galbraith -had left the shop; and Hal, seating himself at a -table, awaited the return of his friend, quietly -enduring the insulting remarks which the -offended Horton heaped upon him. The loafers -in the shop had a kindly feeling toward the -man who had treated them, and did not -discourage him in his attempts to force the -new-comer into a quarrel. But Hal was imperturbable, -and answered neither with look nor word. -Stimulated by the whiskey he had imbibed, and -the admiring attention of his friends, the rowdy -finally called out in a brutal voice,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you think yerself too good to drink with -this yere crowd, p'raps yer would n't mind -amusing 'em by showing 'em the last style of dancing -down in 'Frisco. 'T would raley please us to see -you step out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke he drew his pistol from his belt -and pointed it at Deering. The more sober -ones of the party here interfered; and the burly -saloon-keeper stepped forward with the remark, -that he "did n't mean to 'low anything but fair -play in his shanty; and that if the genl'm'n had -a difference between them they must settle it -outside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man whom Deering was after seated -himself astride a hogshead of beer and cocked his -pistol, advising the "boss" to keep out of the -affair if he valued his "sweet life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, then, young man, if yer don't cut a -caper before I count three, I shall be obliged to -see how much of your right boot-heel I can -carry away with this bullet, without endangering -them handsome feet o' yourn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hal, only afraid of losing his man, answered -coolly,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can shoot if you want to. I am a -stranger in this place, and I prefer to do my -dancing at home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The proprietor again interposed, and laying -his hand on the bully's shoulder, ordered him to -put up his shooting-irons. Horton threw him off, -and things were beginning to look rather -serious; when Deering saw Galbraith crossing the -street with two men, one of whom he recognized -as the county sheriff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen," he said, "I have come a long -distance to find this man; I am anxious to have -his company as far as the San Bernardino prison, -where he will find comfortable board provided -for him. If you are law-abiding citizens, you -will not interfere with the arrest of Daniel -Horton on an indictment of murder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he finished speaking, the three men -entered, and the sheriff laid his hand on Horton's -shoulder. Murder is an ugly word, and a silence -followed Hal's speech. The crowd instinctively -drew back from the man who had been charged -with the foul crime; and a silence ensued, which -was broken by the sheriff, a high-voiced little -man, who said in a loud tone,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I arrest you, Dan Horton, for the murder of -Ah Lam, committed at Carey's Bridge, on the -afternoon of Wednesday last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A revulsion of feeling was manifest in the -faces of the crowd. The horror for a person -who has committed the unatonable crime of -murder had been felt; but when it transpired -that the victim was a Chinaman, the case -appeared to be very much altered. The man, quick -to see the favorable change in public sentiment, -cried,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wall, boys, you see I am 'spected of having -done the business for one of these Chinese -vermin. What sort of a town 's this as will see a -man 'rested for that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Daniel Horton's experience of life in the -rough mining towns, where the last five years of -his life had been spent, gave him the hope that -the men in the saloon would help him to escape -from arrest. But though sympathy for him was -evinced by the group of idlers, there was no -attempt at resisting the officers; and the sheriff, -assisted by Galbraith and Deering, finally -succeeded in placing the hand-cuffs on his wrists. -When he saw that there was no help for him, he -submitted to be led from the saloon, giving one -parting look of scorn at the friends whom he -had won by a glass of liquor and lost on the -appearance of an officer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of all the derned mean skunks as I ever -met, this town numbers the most," he muttered, -as the screen door swung to behind him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The examination of the prisoner was to be -held in the court-room of the county prison of -San Bernardino. Millicent was summoned to be -present. Escorted by Deering and Galbraith, -she arrived before the entrance of the gloomy -building, one bright October morning. It was -a day when life seemed a pleasant thing, if only -because there were sunlight and color in the -odorous woods and pleasant highways. Just as -they reached the doorway, a line of people filed -out from the narrow portal. They were the -discharged prisoners, some of whom had been -in confinement for twenty-four hours only, while -others had not breathed the free air for many -weary months. A girl not older than Millicent -passed them with a slow, inelastic step and -downcast eyes. Her slender figure was poorly -but decently clad in a gown of rusty black, her -hair neatly arranged, her hands and face clean -and of a remarkable pallor. She alone among -the little group seemed loath to leave the prison, -where at least she had been among those who -could not look down on her. At the threshold -she paused and shuddered, as if the wide street, -with its row of young shade-trees and neat -sidewalk, were more forbidding than the narrow -prison-yard, with its spiked rails and dismal -barred windows. Those who were behind -became impatient at her delay; and she was -pushed not ungently into the street by the man -next to her in the sad procession. As she -found herself alone outside the dreary stone -building, she gave a low groan, clasping her -poor thin hands together over her breast. -Millicent, moved by the pathetic gesture, spoke to -her gently, asking if she could in any way help -her; but the girl shook her head as if annoyed -by the question, and walked quickly down the -street, taking the first turn which led her out of -sight of the prison. All those who followed were -men, most of whom wore a conscious expression, -as if they were more embarrassed at being -seen leaving the prison than mortified at -having merited the punishment which they had -undergone. As the last of the queue filed out, -Galbraith entered the doorway, Millicent -following him, and Deering bringing up the rear. In -the wide stone hall which they entered were -groups of men talking together or leaning idly -against the rails. A heavy grated door swung -open with a rusty, grinding sound, and two men -appeared, arm-in-arm. The taller of the two -was a handsome young fellow, with blond, -curling hair, blue eyes, and fresh rosy cheeks. His -expression was almost infantine in its beauty; -and this, with his jaunty air, contrasted strangely -with his companion's ugly, stooping figure and -downcast, shamed face. The latter was a -misshapen creature, with a humped back and a large, -ugly head furnished with coarse hair and beard. -As the grate clanged behind the couple, -the handsome young fellow laughed cheerily, -stretched his limbs, and drew a long breath of -relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ta-ta, bully, hope I won't see you soon -again," he said, nodding impudently to the -door-keeper. The smaller man was lame, as well as -deformed; and the under-warden, who had joined -Galbraith, asked him kindly how his leg was doing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better, sir, thank you," croaked the unfortunate -in a harsh voice; "it came hard on me not -havin' George here to help me; but it's all right -now. Good-morning to you, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me about those men," said Millicent to -an official whom Galbraith had introduced to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are brothers, George and Pete Marcy. -Which of them do you think paid a twenty-dollar -fine to get his brother out of prison -just now? Likely you 'll think it was the -good-looking chap; but 't was Pete the dwarf. He 's -the tinker and general useful man of the town, -is Pete; and George is one of the biggest -rascals in the State of California. But he covers his -tracks well; and though we know a good many -things about him, we can prove nothing more -against him than an occasional assault and -battery."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And did the poor little creature pay the fine -out of his earnings?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless you, yes; and pays for his clothes,--nice -ones, you remarked, mebbe? Pete gives -that rascal every dollar he earns; and the only -thing George does toward supporting himself, -is to rob an occasional hen-roost when he wants -to give a supper party."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The outer door now closed with a grave -sound; it had let out its day's quota of men and -women who had legally expiated their crimes; -it had taken in its one breath of sun and air. -From a narrow window Millicent saw the Marcy -brothers walking down the street, George with -head erect and swaggering gait, Pete shambling -awkwardly along at his side, vainly trying to -keep pace with his handsome brother's long -strides.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The warden now led the way to the court-room. -The keeper of the gate, a stern-looking -man, with iron-gray hair and iron-rusted clothes, -stopped Millicent as she was about to pass -through the grated door, saying,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put up your veil, please." Three inches of -transparent red tulle masked her face from the -brow to the mouth. So slight a covering was -it that the superior officer had not noticed it; -but nothing escaped the lynx-eyed jailer, who -added curtly, "Must keep it up all through -the prison. No woman is allowed to enter or -leave this place veiled."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent looked a little puzzled as she -unfastened the bit of lace; and the grim guardian -added, in a voice which was something softer -than the grating of his key in the lock,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need n't be ashamed to put up your -veil, with </span><em class="italics">such</em><span> a face as yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent smiled an acknowledgment of the -compliment, and passed through the gate, -holding fast to the slip of yellow paper and the red -ticket which had been given to her, and which -were necessary to secure an exit from that -precinct which is so easily entered and so difficult -to leave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have captivated that grim old fellow -with one glance, Miss Almsford. How do you -do it?" queried Galbraith.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean? I don't," answered -Millicent rather inconsistently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had by this time reached the prison-yard; -and Millicent, with a shiver, looked up -at the high, smooth stone walls, with their cruel -topping of iron spikes. In a certain angle she -stopped a moment, attracted by a little fern -which had found place for its slender roots in a -cranny of the masonry. She suddenly started, -and with a horrified expression ran back a few -paces, grown pale to the lips. The warden, -who had looked at her with an odd expression, -said,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were standing, just now, miss, on the -spot where the gallows is always erected."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew it," said the girl, in a shaking voice. -"I saw it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maurice Galbraith quietly drew her arm under -his own, and said gently, but authoritatively,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, my child, do not be nervous; you -have a great deal to go through with to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He fixed his deep, serious eyes on her face -for a moment; and the girl, sensitive to his quiet -influence, quickly recovered herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They passed up a narrow, dark stone stair-case, -and along a corridor running outside the -cells. Most of the heavy wooden doors were -open, the outer grating of iron revealing the -interior of the cells. In one of these a young -mulatto, the Figaro of the village, stood leaning -against the bars talking to a respectable-looking -man of his own color, who proved to be the -pastor of a Methodist church. The young man -was a handsome fellow, carefully and neatly -dressed. He seemed somewhat excited, and -talked in a loud voice, which he lowered at the -approach of the party. Galbraith inquired -what crime he had been charged with, and -learned from the officer that he had wounded -his brother mortally in a quarrel; "They both -was waitin' on the same gal," the attendant -added in explanation. A man lying at -full-length upon the floor sprang to his feet as they -passed his door, and walked furiously up and -down the narrow room, shaking his head from -side to side, reminding Millicent of a caged -panther she had once seen. Each dreary, -cramped apartment imprisoned some unfortunate, -either suffering the penalty for, or awaiting -the judgment of, his crimes. Millicent felt the -chill air of the prison damp and fetid upon her -cheek, and yet she did not hurry down the -corridor, but walked slowly, apparently looking -neither to the right nor left, but with one quick, -sidelong glance, taking in the details of each of -the cells and the faces of the malefactors, -impressions which never faded from her memory. -Some of the men laughed impudently as the -little group passed their cells; and one fellow of -wild aspect buried his face in his hands, with a -sudden movement, as if ashamed of being seen -behind the disgraceful bars. A pair of youthful -criminals were engaged in playing </span><em class="italics">moro</em><span>, the -great Italian gambling game. One of the youths -was a native of Italy; and he had evidently -taught his companion in confinement the simple -but exciting game. No cards or dice, checkers -or other paraphernalia, are needed; the game -is played with the fingers only. Those of the -left hand keep the account of the game. With -the right hand a quick movement is made by -both players simultaneously, showing a certain -number of fingers; while at the same moment -each calls out his guess of the number which -his antagonist holds up,--"due"--"cinque"--"tutti." The -familiar words fell upon Millicent's -ears, and she stopped outside the door, her -cheeks dyed with a flush of pleasure, her eyes -sparkling at the sound of her native language. -She did not remember that she was in a prison; -she thought of nothing but the fact that here -was a compatriot; she spoke to him in a low -voice a few words of greeting. The fellow -stared at her at first; and then, seeing that hers -was a friendly face, left his seat on the corner -of the narrow bed, came close to the grate and -poured out a torrent of words in the patois of the -Venetians. When he learned that the signorina -was not only of his country, but from his city, -the poor fellow, whose crime had been nothing -more than participation in a street-fight, was -moved to tears. Millicent forgot her -companions and the strange place of meeting, and -listened with sympathizing attention to the story -of the man with the dull red-gold hair and white, -delicate features, whose face recalled more than -one friend in the far-off city of her home. His -profession was that of a cobbler, his name -Giovanni Brogli. He had drifted out to this strange -country through a love of wandering, and had -been drawn into a street-brawl by some chance -acquaintances, who had robbed him of all that -remained of his small fortune; and when he -would have fought his betrayers, they turned him -over to the police. True or false, the story was -a pitiful one. The creature could speak next to -no English; and Millicent's tender heart was -troubled by the recital of his griefs. She had -no money with her, and before either of her -companions was aware of her intention, she had -untwined a gold serpent of exquisite workmanship -from her throat and held it through the -bars to the man inside the cell. He looked at -her with wondering eyes, and taking the white -fingers in his own rough, blackened hand, kissed -them reverently, murmuring a blessing which -brought tears to her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, Princess, you must n't do that sort -of thing;" said Hal, thoroughly scandalized, -pulling her by the sleeve. "Come on! you -can't stand talking to these rascals and giving -them your jewelry,--it is n't sensible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She answered impatiently, and then saying -a word of farewell to the prisoner, she submitted -to be led away from the grate by Galbraith, -followed by a fervent parting blessing from -Giovanni of the reddish locks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you wouldn't be so absurdly -soft-hearted. What did you want to give that -beggar your lovely necklace for?" said Hal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had no money with me," half penitently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I could have let you have some. But -it's against the rule. I should n't wonder if -you got into trouble for doing such a thing," -continued the young man, who was genuinely -shocked at Millicent's behavior.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was no harm done, was there, -Mr. Galbraith? I won't be scolded. It was my -serpent; I will do what I choose with my own -things, and will not be dictated to by -you." Millicent was angry at Deering's very natural -interference; and Galbraith, anxious to spare -her all annoyance, gave Hal a warning kick, -and hurried her towards their destination, lest -she should feel moved to part with any more -of her personal property for the benefit of the -prisoners.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They now entered a small apartment; and -Millicent learned that before the opening of the -trial, she was called upon to identify the -murderer of Ah Lam. The question was asked,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could you identify, on oath, the man you -saw at Carey's Bridge? You were under great -excitement at the time; you could hardly be -expected to remember anything beyond the -fact of the killing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am positive I can identify him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On oath; are you sure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How could you surely recognize a man you -have seen but once, under very painful -circumstances, six weeks ago?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I remember his face distinctly; I should -know his voice among a thousand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be careful; what you say may be put to the -test. What you state in the court you must be -able to prove."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am ready to prove it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the moment came for the identification -of the prisoner, Millicent's eyes were bandaged; -and twelve men filed into the room, among -whom she was told was the man arrested for the -crime. As she had made the assertion that his -voice alone would betray the murderer to her, -she was asked to listen to a sentence repeated -in turn by each of these men. Three of them -had said the stipulated words, and the fourth -was about to speak, when those who were -nearest to Millicent noticed that she shuddered -violently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let the next man speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fellow looked at Millicent askance, and -then repeated the sentence in a low, unnatural -voice. He had said but three words when she -interrupted him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The person who is now speaking is the man -who assaulted me at Carey's Bridge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The judge, who had taken a keen interest in -all Millicent had said, now motioned to the men -to change places. The bandage being removed, -she glanced at the row of men and said,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He now stands at the end of the row -nearest the window."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her expression, as she turned her eyes and -looked in the face of Daniel Horton, was cold and -set as that of one of the younger Fates. Aversion -and horror were therein painted. As she spoke -she pointed at the guilty wretch, who moved -uneasily under her gaze, and dropped his bold -eyes before the light in her gray orbs, as if -their fire scorched him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The preliminaries accomplished, all the -participants adjourned to the court-room, which was -a bare apartment, very grimy, and sadly in need of -paint and soapsuds. At one end was a slightly -raised table, behind which the judge seated -himself. He was a singular-looking man, and wore -his hair long, in greasy ringlets falling as far as -the coat-collar. His stout person was adorned -with a large amount of rather flashy jewelry, and -a pink cravat was supplemented by a bunch -of fuchsias worn in the button-hole. The space -in front of the bench was railed in by an iron -balustrade painted green. At the long tables -sat groups of men busily engaged in writing or -in conversation. A policeman standing near -the judge's desk, when the clamor in the -court-room became unusually loud, pounded on the -floor with his club, whereat the voices grew -lower for a brief space, and then the hubbub -began again. Somebody seemed to be addressing -the court, though Millicent thought that no -one paid much attention to him. The entrance -of the prosecuting council in the case of -manslaughter soon to be called, with two of the -chief witnesses, made some stir; and Millicent -was conscious, as she took her place, that the -eyes of all present were fixed upon her. She -looked wonderingly about the dismal -apartment, with its dirty wooden settles and bare -floor, at the judge on the bench, and at the -crowd of poorly dressed people in the seats -behind her. Galbraith now entered the little -pen, and, seating himself at the table, proceeded -to look through some papers which his clerk -handed to him, while the man who was -haranguing the court continued his discourse, in -which nobody seemed to take any interest. -Millicent had never been in court before. Her -only experience of the abodes of justice had -been the long afternoons passed in the -court-rooms of the Doge's palace, studying the -frescoes and beautiful carvings of those famous -apartments. She had always invested the -precincts of justice with a vague majesty and -splendor. A judge, in her imagination, was a stately -man clothed in crimson and ermine, with grave, -reverend features, majestic in mien, deliberate -in speech. When Hal pointed out Judge Croley, -as one of the most distinguished of American -jurists, she was greatly astonished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will he try the case in that dress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes; I heard Croley condemn a man to -death in very much the same costume as that -which he wears to-day. The cravat was a little -brighter pink, I think; and I remember he wore -carnations in his button-hole. He said in a -pleasant, nonchalant voice, very much the tone -he would use in ordering his farmer to kill a -pair of chickens, 'You are condemned to be -taken to the San Bernardino prison, there to be -hanged by the neck until you are dead, on the -third day of May at twelve o'clock; and may -God have mercy upon your soul!'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent shuddered as she heard the case -called, and faltered for the first time in her desire -to see justice done to the murderer of Ah Lam. -It is such a terrible responsibility, the taking -of life; can man's law make it guiltless? The -great question which all of modern thought has -not yet solved, troubled the mind of the young -woman, who could accept no judgment or creed -on faith; she painfully and laboriously solved -the problems of life by the force of her own -reasoning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is Pierson, the counsel for the -defence," whispered Hal, as a little man strutted -up the aisle between the benches full of people, -and entered the green-railed enclosure. He was -perhaps the most grotesque-looking person -Millicent had ever seen. His height could not have -been above five feet; and this, with his small -hands and feet, gave him an exceedingly -effeminate appearance. His small round head was -like a ball, on the surface of which little globular -eyes and a beak-like nose had been very -casually placed. These features did not seem at all -a necessary part of the head, which resembled -that of a parrot. Before he spoke he put his -head on one side, in a bird-like fashion; and he -occasionally shook himself, very much as a -canary does when anything has ruffled its -composure. Millicent had learned from Galbraith -that this man was the most prominent criminal -lawyer in California. As she looked at his high, -narrow forehead and mean, pinched smile she -thought that among all the malefactors in San -Bernardino prison she had seen no face as bad -as that of Pierson, the great criminal lawyer. The -prisoner was now brought into the court. After -stating his name, age, residence, and occupation, -he was asked the question,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you guilty or not guilty of the wilful -murder of Ah Lam at Carey's Bridge, on the -afternoon of Wednesday, October 16?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The noisy court-room had grown perfectly -still; and the prisoner's low-spoken answer was -heard in the farthest corner with perfect -distinctness,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not guilty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The counsel for the defence now stated that -the prisoner acknowledged having been at -Carey's Bridge on the day of the murder. He -had there seen and spoken to Miss Almsford, -but had fled at the approach of some -gentlemen of the party. He admitted that he had -assaulted Miss Almsford, but pleaded that he -had no intention of injuring her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What were you doing at the mill?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I come there to meet a man as I had 'gaged to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What man was it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The prisoner declined to answer this question, -and finally declared that he did not know the -man's name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For what purpose did you meet this man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To do a job as we was hired for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what were you hired to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To carry off the young lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this astonishing statement a moment's -silence fell upon the court-room, which was -broken by Pierson's sharp voice: he asked his -client to name the person who had engaged -him to kidnap the young girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With clasped hands and startled eyes, Millicent -looked into the face of the ruffian, waiting -to hear the name of the man who had plotted -against her. John Graham, in the excitement -of the moment, stood up in his place to get a -better view of Horton; while Maurice Galbraith -sat with an unmoved countenance, keenly watching -the features of the prisoner at the bar. The -question was twice put to him,--"Who was the -man?" but he did not speak. A third time he -was asked. Finally, he looked at his lawyer, -who nodded slightly; and then, with a defiant -glance toward the artist, at whom he pointed an -unsteady finger, he said,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The man as hired me to do the job stands -in this yer court-room. He calls himself John -Graham."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A moment of silence followed this astounding -statement, succeeded by an incredulous murmur -which ran from mouth to mouth. From the -confused sounds rang out a deep, clear voice -uttering these words:--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a shameful lie!" Millicent it was who -had spoken, rising to her feet and stretching out -her arms toward Graham with a gesture of -womanly protection, as if to shield him from -the ruffian's slanderous breath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence was at last enforced, and the -examination of Horton proceeded. He repeated his -statement that he had not killed the Chinaman, -and that the abduction of Millicent had been -attempted at the instigation of John Graham. -The artist, after the first moment of surprise, said -nothing, but remained perfectly silent, his eyes -fixed intently on Daniel Horton's face. The -story told by the prisoner was one which bore -some semblance of truth. He had met his -confederate on the morning of the picnic as had -been previously arranged, and had attempted -to carry off Miss Almsford; but hearing the -voices of the gentlemen had fled. He had -undertaken the affair some time beforehand, -and had twice visited Graham's studio, where -the artist had made a painting of him in order -to explain his presence there. A scrap of -paper, soiled and tumbled, was produced, on -which were traced these words in Graham's -handwriting: "Come to the place I told you -of, to-morrow at one; you shall be well paid." One -o'clock had been the hour of the picnic; -and this note, it was affirmed, had been sent to -Horton on the previous day as per agreement. -On being further examined, the fellow showed -a dogged persistence in his story; and Maurice -Galbraith's adroit cross-questioning failed to -make him contradict his original statement in -any particular. The day waned as the storm -of words raged; and at dusk the trial was -adjourned until the following day. As the crowd -filed out of the court-room, Millicent found -Graham at her side. He was pale, and his dark -eyes flashed angrily. He was about to speak -to her; and she turned toward him with smiling -lips and eyes, when Henry Deering stepped -between them, and, bowing coolly to the artist, -drew her arm through his own, and, before she -was well aware of his intention, led her from -the room. The eyes of a dozen curious outsiders -were fixed upon her, and she submitted to be -placed in the wagon, which Hal drove off at a -sharp pace. The artist remained in the -court-room, where he was presently joined by Maurice -Galbraith, who in a formal voice asked him to -accompany him to his apartment, in order that -they might discuss the new and unexpected -feature in the case. The two men walked -together down the street, both too much excited -to trust themselves to speak. As soon as they -found themselves alone in Galbraith's chamber -at the inn, Graham cried excitedly,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Galbraith, no one can for a moment believe -that infamous lie,--you can make the fellow -eat his words to-morrow?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lawyer folded his arms across his breast, -and looked into his companion's face with a -searching gaze, before he answered slowly and -ironically,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I to understand, Mr. Graham, that you -deny all collusion in the attempt to carry off -Miss Almsford?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Great God! of course I do. Can you for -a moment doubt me? </span><em class="italics">I to carry off Millicent</em><span>? -Are you mad to ask me such a question? Why, -don't you know, man, how much I have cared -for that girl?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not difficult for the most indifferent -observer to detect your admiration for Miss -Almsford."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what does that prove? It is a point -against you that you are supposed to be in love -with the young lady, and gives color to Horton's -accusation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham sank into a seat, and the lawyer -continued,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your great intimacy at the Ranch and your -marked attentions to Miss Almsford were -apparently unaccountably discontinued by your -removal to San Francisco. This feature is -against you. You must have seen that in the -eyes of Henry Deering, Horton's statement -needed strong disproving."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you, Galbraith, can you for an instant -suspect me of so base, so vile an action? Is it -possible that a man can be so misjudged?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All I have to say, Mr. Graham, is that it is -my hope to prove you innocent of the crime -in which Horton has implicated you. As the -friend and counsel of Miss Almsford, I prefer to -believe that she was menaced by a vulgar -ruffian and not by a man who might have aspired -to the honor and privilege of guarding her from -every harm. If you will excuse me, I will see -you in the course of the evening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With these words the lawyer left the apartment, -his nervous face suffused by a deep flush. -John Graham stared after him for a moment, -and then passed down the corridor and out -into the quiet night, to seek counsel from the -stars in this strange hour of doubt.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xviii"><span class="large">CHAPTER XVIII.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"... the passions of her mind,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>As winds from all the compass shift and blow,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Made war upon each other for an hour."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Millicent! Millicent! are you awake?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the evening of the first day of the trial; -and Miss Almsford, sitting in her chamber warming -her pretty feet before the fire, recognized the -voice and answered,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Bab, come in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was very late, past twelve o'clock; but -Barbara brought news of a visitor, who would keep -them both from their sleep an hour longer. -Mr. Galbraith was downstairs and must speak with -her. Miss Almsford gave a little tired sigh, and, -folding her white wrapper about her shoulders, -caught the thick tangle of hair together with a -silver arrow, and, without glancing at the mirror, -left the room and joined the young lawyer in the -library.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am so sorry to disturb you, Miss Almsford; -I know you must be tired, but I could not get -here sooner. Miss Barbara, do not be offended, -but I must ask you to let me see Miss Almsford -alone for a few minutes; would you mind -waiting in the next room?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When they were alone, the young man seemed -at a loss how to open the interview which he -had sought. Millicent, tired by the events of the -exciting day, did not seem inclined to help him. -After a long and rather awkward pause, she -turned wearily to her visitor and said,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is about the trial, of course?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Galbraith bowed an assent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About the statement made by that man--" She -shuddered, as if unable to pronounce his -name. The young man silently assented again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there is nothing to be said by me -beyond what I have already said: it is an infamous -lie! It is so apparent a fabrication that I should -hardly have thought it necessary for you to give -yourself the trouble to come so far, merely to -hear me repeat what I asserted this afternoon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is your honest opinion, then, that Mr. Graham -has been slandered?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My </span><em class="italics">honest</em><span> opinion, Mr. Galbraith? I do not -know how to give any other. Are you come to -make me angry? You had better not, for we -Italians are more easily roused to anger than -soothed. I am so tired, too; can you not spare me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice dropped from the deep, indignant -tone, to a pleading note like that of a tired child. -Maurice Galbraith, leaning quietly against the -mantel-shelf, with downcast eyes and calm face, -seemed strangely moved by the words of the -woman who stood before him, so white and so -beautiful. He turned toward her; and when he -next spoke, a tenderness had crept all unawares -into his face, which shone with a light whose -meaning she could not fail to understand. His -very voice seemed a caress addressed to her ear, -so low and gentle was it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My child, you do not understand me. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> to -make you angry, to add one annoyance to your -life, which is so sad? Ah! you little know how -gladly--" He stopped suddenly, warned, by the -rising flush on her cheek, that he was saying -other words than those which he had come to -speak,--"you little know how gladly I would -have spared you the question which it was -necessary for me to ask. I am now answered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you do not believe me? I see that--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would believe you if all the angels in heaven -should deny your truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him curiously; she was infinitely -touched by his emotion. He cared for her; he -loved her with a passion which she could -understand. He would gladly--oh, how gladly!--have -folded her life about with a protecting care, -keeping the very winds of heaven from her face -if they should blow too roughly; have taken her -in his strong arms, stood between her and all -the world, given her all and been content with -the giving, asking for nought but the right to -protect her. That she did not love him he -knew; that she cared for another he more than -imagined; and yet he would have been content -to try and win her regard by a life's devotion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of all this he spoke not one word, as he stood -looking into her face with burning, tender eyes. -He did not speak, and yet he knew that he was -understood. The woman gave a little weary -sigh; it was in vain! To her there was but -one man in all the world. He said no word, but -stepped toward her with outstretched, pleading -hands, with tender love and pity, asking -nothing, giving all without questioning, without -doubt. She, who had befriended so many, and -was yet without a friend, who had been -tempest-tossed and shipwrecked before her life-journey -had fairly begun, knew what it was that lay in -Maurice Galbraith's outstretched hands,--the -love of a life, a haven of peace and quiet. He -was about to speak, to let the love which was -troubling his heart pour itself out in a flood of -words at the portal of her ear; but with a -movement she checked him. The repellent gesture of -her hand, her averted head and downcast eyes, -answered him. He understood her as well, -better perhaps than if he had spoken and she had -answered. It left him another chance, too; later, -when he had shown her how faithfully he could -wait, he might speak the words which she now -refused to hear. So both were glad that they -had spoken only with their eyes. She had been -spared the pain of putting into words that which -it would have been hard for him to hear; and -he was glad that she had not spoken the cold -truth which he read in her face. When she -spoke again, it was to ignore that silent prayer -and its denial. She took up the thread of the -conversation where they had dropped it:--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad that you are convinced of this -truth; and I trust that you will bring the others, -Henry Deering most of all, to feel as you do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tender look of love died out from Maurice -Galbraith's face. He turned gloomily away from -the fair woman whose beauty was not for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot tell, I do not know; what man can -judge another? I said that I believed you; did -I imply that I trusted him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of all cruel griefs endured by Millicent -Almsford, this was the most bitter,--that her lover, -through her fault, should be misjudged; that -in the eyes of others he should suffer. She -realized now in what a light he had appeared -to Galbraith, to Hal and Barbara, to all the -small circle who had seen their friendship flower -into love, and that flower tossed to the earth -before it had ripened to its fruition. His -sudden disappearance, her own too obvious grief, -to what could they attribute it but to his -faithlessness? And now that this base slander had -been cast upon him, they believed it. He was -compromised, dishonored in their eyes; and the -fault was hers. As the full significance of all -this struck her, she groaned aloud, clasping her -hands together over her grieved heart as if in -mortal agony. How could she right him in -their eyes? How could she dissipate the cloud -which darkened his stainless honor?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was but one way,--to tell them all the -sad truth. Her honor against his! How could -she hesitate, loving him as she did? And yet -there was a moment of awful suspense. Her -proud spirit, which had borne unaided and alone -the burden which would have crushed a feebler -soul, revolted at the thought of a new humiliation. -A man's honor is writ on a strong shield -that can be easily cleansed. It may receive -many a hard blow, and show many a dint, -and yet be as good as those carried by his -mates. It can be burnished bright again, and -held up for all men to see, its very scars -proving through what battles it has been worn, and -adding, rather than detracting, from its present -lustre. If all else be lost, let him but give his -life to expiate his sin, and the blot is washed -out from the shield. But with a woman it is -not so. Her honor must be maintained by a -shield of crystal, on which the faintest breath of -slander leaves its foul impress; which one blow -dealt by a man's hand shatters irrevocably. This -is man's code of honor; and as man's voice is -strongest in the world, it is the world's code of -honor. Only the greatest men set it aside as -unjust; only the strongest refuse to recognize it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All this Millicent knew. It was not wonderful -that she hesitated, that she was silent, or -answered the searching questions put to her by the -young lawyer slowly and evasively. She was -putting off the moment in which she must decide -between his honor and her own. She remembered -the indignant look Deering had cast upon -Graham in the court-room, the cool manner in -which Barbara had spoken of him, Mrs. Deering's -grieved silence respecting the man who -had been so valued a friend to her, and, worst -of all, Galbraith's openly expressed doubt of his -innocence. A woman of a smaller nature who -had endured Millicent's cruel experience might, -too, have doubted Graham; but she had -fathomed his nature more truly in a few months -than had his lifelong friends. She knew that -in it there was no room for one ignoble thought. -His faults she recognized more clearly than -if she had loved him less. She knew him -to be selfish, with the selfishness of genius; hard -of heart, with the indifference to human pain -common to those men who are capable of -enduring the most terrible suffering; intolerant of -those who differed from him, with the steadfast -knowledge that his thoughts and opinions had -been moulded from no contact with other minds, -but attained with pain and weariness of spirit, -built up from his inner consciousness, the -result of thought and experience, not of the study -of other men's minds and actions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Galbraith continued to question her, she -answered clearly all that he said, while her -mind, with a dual consciousness, carried on its -separate train of thought. She realized that if -Maurice Galbraith were not himself convinced of -Graham's innocence, his efforts to disprove -Horton's accusation would be half-hearted, -perfunctory, and without the moral weight of honest -conviction. If he were to learn the true reason -of the breach between Graham and herself, he -must know it immediately,--that very night. -That her confession would clear the man she -loved from every suspicion she never doubted, -and yet--she did not speak. It was so hard to -tell the story of her broken life; she was not -strong enough. To any other it would have -been easier to bare her secret than to this -man who reverenced her, who had told her, -with look and deed and tender thought, that -he loved her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barbara, weary of waiting till the long -conversation should come to an end, had taken her -place at the piano in the adjoining room; and -after playing for some time she struck the -chords of a song full of tender associations to -Millicent. A wild, passionate melody of -Rubinstein, full of love and hope and youth. Millicent -had sung it on that night when Graham had -found her waiting for him in the firelight, with -his name upon her lips, though they were still -strangers. She had sung it then with an -intensity which had brought the grave artist close to -her side, full of enthusiasm for the song, of -admiration for the singer. She remembered how -he had thanked her silently with a look, while -the others, whose presence she had forgotten, -had been full of warm praises. A mist of tears -rose to her eyes and gathered itself into -crystal drops of pain. Moved by the flood of -memories which rushed about her with the tumultuous -waves of sound, she rose, her pride swept away, -her love triumphant; and, with a brow peaceful -with its victory, she spoke. She told them -all her sad story; while Barbara, summoned to -her side, wept softly at the piteous tale, and -Galbraith, strong man that he was, trembled -with emotion at the words of passionate grief. -Without reserve was the revelation made; the -tragedy of her young life, her meeting with -Graham, her love for him, and the deceit to which -it led,--all were told. No word of anger had -she for the false friend and dead lover, and no -thought of condemnation of Graham's action. -He was right; he could not have acted -otherwise; he had been frank and true and honest -with her; and she had deceived him! He had -left the San Rosario Ranch to spare her the -pain of seeing him, and because it was best for -them both that he should go. The bar between -them was of her forging; the breach was -inevitable; it was her fault, all her fault. His -thoughts of her had been white as the snow,--"and -cold as ice," muttered Galbraith, to -whom this panegyric of his rival was anything -but gratifying. At last she was silent; all her -story was finished. She had spoken standing, -her expressive gestures and changeful face -having done more than half the telling. She had -begun quietly and with downcast eyes and pale -cheek; now neck and brow were suffused. She -was pleading the cause of the man she loved with -all the eloquence of youth and beauty. She -now stood silent, looking eagerly from Barbara's -tear-stained face to Galbraith's pale, set -countenance, to read there the acquittal of the man they -had suspected of baseness and cruelty to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barbara put her arm about the tall girl, and -caressed her tenderly, holding the glorious head, -with its tangled crown of hair, close to her -womanly heart, weeping tears gentle as summer -dew. Maurice Galbraith reverently lifted to his -lips one long tress which flowed over her -shoulder; and then, leading Millicent from the -apartment, he turned to Barbara.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You understood it all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask you to think of that thing which is -most sacred to you in all the world. By that -holy thought, swear to me that no word of what -has been said here to-night shall ever pass your -lips; that you will not dare to think of it even, -when you are not alone, lest your face betray you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He held out his hand to her; and with wide -eyes and trembling voice, Barbara gave the promise -he asked, laying her cold palm in his hot grasp. -To guard the secret of the woman they both -loved, this loyal man and honest woman bound -themselves by a most solemn oath. To each, -the other was nothing but an ally in this cause. -Their own personalities were lost in the strong -affection for Millicent; they would love her and -protect her always. As they stood thus, Millicent, -passing up the stairway, saw them through -the open door. She saw and understood their -compact. She saw, as they did not, into the -future; and from her heart rose an unselfish -prayer, that the secret of her great misery -might be the first link in a chain that should -bind these two together for life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent Almsford had pleaded that night -for the man she loved; she had cleared him in -the eyes of two persons whose opinions would -sway those of all who knew anything of his -relation to her. She had done more: she had -made for herself a friend of a discouraged lover, -a champion who would fight her battles to the -death; and she had bound a gentle, loving -woman's heart to her own by an indissoluble tie. -She had striven only to exonerate John Graham; -and she had made Maurice Galbraith glad that -he loved her, though hopelessly and passionately; -she had filled Barbara Deering with the deepest -sentiment which woman can hold for sister -woman,--a compassionate love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Though wearied by his long ride and the -exciting events of the day, Maurice Galbraith slept -little that night, and the morning found him -pale and restless. He had a hard day's work -before him, and perhaps the most trying part -of it was the first duty he had set himself to -perform. He felt that he owed John Graham -an apology for the suspicion which he had -entertained against him, and which in that moment -of excitement he had made no effort to conceal. -Had not the young lawyer been deeply in love -with Millicent, and consequently extremely -jealous of Graham, it is hardly possible that he -could for an instant have believed the -preposterous charge made against the artist. But as -Love is blind, and Jealousy is deaf to reason, it -is not strange that, unprepared as he was for -Horton's accusation, he should have believed that -it might have some truth. Millicent's revelation, -and the calmer reflection which had followed -the interview with her, proved to him how -greatly his judgment had been at fault. -Fervently as he disliked Graham, he had always -respected him; and to his generous mind, the -injustice he had done his rival was abhorrent. -He found the artist at the inn, where they had -parted the previous night. Graham received -the lawyer with a cold formality: the latter did -not fail to observe the nervous clinching of -the artist's hands as he entered the room. The -fierce natural instinct of redressing an insult -by a personal chastisement moved the refined -man. Poet-artist as he was, he would rather, -a thousand times, have grappled with Galbraith -in a fierce struggle, than have been forced to -receive and accept his apology. Maurice -Galbraith, had he yielded to the impulse which -shook his determination, would have spoken -words which might have justified such an action -on Graham's part. The men looked angrily at -each other for a moment. Maurice Galbraith's -words of apology would not utter themselves, -and seemed like to choke him. He saw that -clinching of the hand, and his brow reddened as -he stepped forward as if to strike the man who -had so easily won, and who so lightly valued, the -love of Millicent Almsford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a land where a lower code of ethics and -of honor exists, the insult each burned to cast -upon the other would have been uttered; and -the result would have been a so-called "affair -of honor," in which both men would have run -the risk of bringing blood-guiltiness upon their -souls, and the stigma of murder upon their -honorable names. The struggle in Galbraith's -breast was short, and human intelligence -triumphed over brute instinct. His few words -of apology were spoken with cold courtesy, and -accepted with quiet dignity. The men did not -shake hands; each understood the position too -clearly for that. They could never be friends; -but, as they were honorable gentlemen, all enmity -was at end between them, for rivalry does not -necessarily entail hatred. Then they spoke of -the trial, and their conversation lasted until the -hour of the opening of the court.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent, escorted by Henry Deering, arrived -at the court just as Graham and Galbraith -entered the room together. She saw Graham -whisper something to the lawyer, who bowed -courteously in answer. The significance of the -action was not lost upon her,--her revelation -had not been made in vain. She now heard her -name called in a loud, harsh voice. She started -violently, but did not stir from her seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," said Hal, "you must go up to that -little platform and answer all the questions they -ask you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked quietly to the place indicated, -took the customary oath "to speak the truth, -the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," and -answered the preliminary questions in a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is your name?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Millicent Almsford."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where were you born?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In Venice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What state?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In Italy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How old are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One and twenty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were present at the killing of Ah Lam, -at Carey's Bridge?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell the court all that you saw on that -occasion." Galbraith was the speaker. He knew -that Millicent's natural eloquence would give -the story with more force if she were allowed -to tell it in her own way without the usual -questioning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She began speaking in a low voice, her eyes -fixed on the ground before her. As the memory -of that dreadful day came back to her, she -seemed to see it all again,--the peaceful -woodland scene, the quiet river, the forest road, and -at her side her humble friend and pupil. The -walls of the court-room faded from before her, -and judge and jury, lawyer and audience, were -forgotten; she looked at Graham only, and -spoke to him alone; his grave eyes met hers, -and the sympathy in them made the task of -telling her story an easy one. Aiding her -recital with expressive gestures, she told of the -appearance of Daniel Horton on the peaceful -scene; she repeated his insolent words, -unconsciously imitating the man's manner and -voice; she described the affront offered to herself -with burning cheeks and flashing eyes; her -voice grew tremulous and low when she spoke -of the dead servant's efforts to save her from -the insolent ruffian; when with a deep, horrified -voice she told of the murder and death of Ah -Lam, it was as if she were describing a scene -still enacting itself before her eyes. A strong -impression was made by the girl's words on all -her hearers. The noisy court-room had grown -perfectly still; the very recorders held their -pens useless in their hands; and the eyes of -the judge with the pink cravat were riveted on -her face. As she ceased speaking, a -sympathetic tremor ran through the crowd assembled -in the court-room, and a low murmur was heard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Maurice Galbraith, usually the most quiet and -reserved of men, was evidently undergoing an -unusual excitement, those who knew him thought; -and Pierson, the counsel for the defendant, -seemed rather disconcerted by the strong -impression made by the witness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Graham came upon the stand and told -his story of the night passed in the shooting-lodge, -Millicent listened breathlessly. The young -painter gave his evidence with a certain -picturesqueness, describing the arrival at the cabin -of Dan Horton, his demand for food and shelter, -his troubled sleep, his wounded face, the peculiar -nature of the scratches, and finally, the finding -of Millicent's handkerchief after his departure -on the following morning. An effort was made -to disprove the evidence, and an </span><em class="italics">alibi</em><span> was sworn -to by two new-found friends of the prisoner, -who claimed to have passed that night in his -company. These witnesses, carefully prepared -by Pierson, gave their evidence with few -blunders; and Dan Horton, closely following every -word of the defence, gave a satisfied smile at -the new turn which the skilfully devised </span><em class="italics">alibi</em><span> -seemed likely to give to affairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pierson's aim was to disprove Horton's -identity with the man who had killed Ah Lam and -had afterwards seen Graham. He endeavored -to show that there were two men engaged in the -affair,--Horton, who had spoken to Miss -Almsford, and his confederate, who, it was argued, -must have committed the crime. When -Millicent had told of the wounds inflicted by the -Chinaman on the cheeks of his murderer, it -was shown that Horton's face bore no trace of -these scratches. It was argued, in reply to this, -that in a man of Horton's vigorous temperament -such wounds might easily be healed in as short -time as had elapsed between the murder and the -trial. At this point Galbraith had a trump card -to play, the existence of which neither prisoner -nor counsel had suspected. Neither had it been -learned by the omniscient reporter, through -whose instrumentality evidence is too often -prematurely made public, cases are lost, and -offenders are enabled to escape apprehension.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would inform your Honor that I have -other proof of the identity of the prisoner with -the man who passed the night following the -murder in the shooting lodge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A new witness, by name John Du Jardin, by -profession a wood-cutter, was called to the stand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you ever seen the prisoner before?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, before wonce," answered the old Frenchman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When was that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The night after murder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you see him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At the little 'unting 'ouse of M. Graham."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What were you doing at the lodge?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham looked at his henchman with a -perplexed expression, and smiled slightly at the -answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I were not in the cabin, I were by the window, -lookin'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you were looking in at the window; and -what did you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see monsieur, 'e sleepin'. I see dat man," -pointing to the prisoner; "'e come, and -monsieur give 'im to drink and to eat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What else did you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see </span><em class="italics">cet homme</em><span>, dat man lay 'imself </span><em class="italics">près</em><span> -side by the </span><em class="italics">feu</em><span>. Presentlee 'e sleep, monsieur -'e mark 'im; 'e take faggot from fire, 'e make -point, 'e draw one picture of 'im."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here Pierson asked the witness what he was -doing outside the lodge in the middle of the -night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was watch monsieur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That seems very strange. Why did you -want to watch him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'E 'as not slept the night; 'e 'as nothing eat -the day; I fear 'im </span><em class="italics">malade</em><span>. I follow him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Galbraith continued his examination, and -elicited from the witness the admission that he had -remained outside the cabin that night, concealed -in the bushes, and had only left it after Horton -had taken his departure. He had then started -to return, but after he had gone a mile he -retraced his steps with the intention of cooking for -his master's breakfast a brace of quail he had -shot on the way. He found the cabin empty, -and on the wall the portrait which he had seen -sketched. It was where it would have been -easily effaced, and so he had loosened the board -on which the drawing was made, and carried it -to his house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham was now recalled and questioned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Graham, you have told the court that -you are an artist by profession. Is it your habit -to make drawings of persons of a striking appearance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have the habit of sketching any -remarkable-looking people whom I happen to meet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the night in question, were you impressed -by anything uncommon in the appearance of the -man who slept by the fire in the lodge?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you make any notes of the impression -made on you by the man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did. I sketched him as he crouched in the -ashes of the fire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What materials did you use?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A charred piece of wood, and a smooth board -in the side of the cabin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you recognize your work if you -should see it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Undoubtedly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By what means?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should recognize it as you would your -own handwriting; besides--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have other means of knowing it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My initials will be found in the upper -right-hand corner of the sketch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this the sketch?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a craning of necks, and a murmur -of recognition from those present who could -obtain a glimpse of the strong drawing held up -by Maurice Galbraith. Graham's words in -answer to the last question were hardly -necessary to prove the resemblance. Horton, sitting -in his chair, his head thrown back, his hands -clasping his knees, had all-unconsciously assumed -the pose in which Graham had sketched him. -The resemblance was indubitable, and the cheeks -bore the bloody testimony of Ah Lam's hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was evidence which there was no breaking -down; and Horton, when the sketch was at -last turned so that he could see it, gave an oath -under his breath, which was not lost upon the -jury. The twelve men with whom lay the -decision of Horton's guilt or innocence were for -the most part tradesmen and mechanics, the -only exception being in the person of Mr. Patrick -Shallop, the mining king, who by some strange -chance had been impanelled on this occasion. -The voice of such a man would carry great -weight in the decision. The case was evidently -going against the prisoner. The evidence of the -prosecution was very damaging, and Horton's -friends in the crowd were greatly discouraged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The trial occupied several hours, and ended in -the conviction of Daniel Horton. Maurice -Galbraith made a speech which has already -become famous. He had induced a Californian -jury to pronounce a man who had killed a -Chinaman guilty of voluntary manslaughter. He had -obtained this almost unprecedented verdict, and -a full sentence from the court of ten years' -imprisonment. The efforts of the defending -counsel to turn the main interest in the case from -the chief feature, by endeavoring to implicate -Graham in the attempted abduction, were -useless. Horton's real confederate was found, and -the truth of the matter arrived at. Through -the newspaper accounts of Millicent, published -at the time of her rescue of Graham, these men -had learned that she was a rich heiress, and had -conceived the bold idea of carrying her off in -order to extort a large sum of money for her ransom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The flimsy tissue of lies which Pierson had -woven was quickly unravelled by Galbraith. -The fact that the jury had for a time been -misled by the false evidence, made their verdict -more immediately unanimous than it might otherwise -have been; and the cloud which had for a -moment overhung John Graham was dispelled -as quickly as a noxious vapor is blown away by -a brisk westerly wind. He was cleared of every -suspicion. Galbraith had surpassed himself in -his management of the case, even in the eyes of -his warmest friends. Had he not been working -for the woman he loved? In exonerating his -rival, he had done the only thing that in him lay -to win Millicent's gratitude. She had thanked -him, and blessed him for his eloquence with tears -and smiles. He had gained her friendship; and -does not friendship soften into love more often -than love crystallizes into friendship?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xix"><span class="large">CHAPTER XIX.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Je me dis seulement; à cette heure en ce lieu,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Un jour, je fus aimé, j'aimais, elle était belle.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>J'enfouis ce trésor dans mon âme immortelle.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Et je l'emporte à Dieu!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"A letter for you, Mr. Graham."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well; lay it down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The burly landlady placed the missive on the -small, unpainted pine table which stood near -the artist's easel, and with a last glance at the -feminine superscription, and the device of the -golden Psyche which sealed it, left the room. -It was late in the afternoon,--there would be -only an hour more of light in which he could -paint. Graham did not glance at the letter. -If it had been a telegram it would have waited -till the tender gray of the sky had been laid on -the canvas. At last it grew too dim for him to -distinguish the tints on his palette, and, -throwing down his brushes, the young man rose and -stretched his cramped limbs. He had not moved -from his stool for four hours. As he paced up -and down his narrow room, the letter caught -his eye. He had quite forgotten its existence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was from Millicent. He stepped close to -the window, and by the waning light perused -the words traced by a hand that surely had -trembled in the writing. Twice he read it -through, as if not understanding its import. -Then, with a groan, he cast the letter upon the -floor, and sank upon a low seat near by. His -head supported by his hands, his elbows upon -his knees, he sat, the picture of despair. With -a sudden movement he grasped the missive and -crushed it between his two hands, as if to avenge -upon the senseless paper the pain which it -brought to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could not bear it in the cold, dark room; -the streets would be full of people who might -divert him. He soon found himself in a crowded -thoroughfare. It was six o'clock, and the city -was full of hurrying men, women, and children -returning homeward after the long day's work. -The girl from the millinery establishment under -his room, whose sweet, childish face he had -painted from memory the very day before, was -just leaving the shop as he stepped into the -street. She was very poorly dressed, with a -hat which would have disgraced anybody but -a milliner's apprentice. Her dress fitted neatly, -however, and she gave her close-cut jacket a -tug to make it smooth about the shoulders -before she reached the corner. A tall, pale, -dyspeptic-looking youth joined her just outside the -druggist's. Graham recognized him as the -clerk in a dry-goods shop near by. Their -greeting he could not but overhear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am late, George--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twenty minutes; I almost gave you up," in -a surly tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am so sorry; don't be angry." The man -hesitated a moment; then her pleading voice -got the better of his ill-temper, and, taking her -by the arm after the fashion of his kind, he led -her across the street, and in a moment they -were lost to Graham's sight. He next stopped -at the cobbler's around the corner to call for a -pair of boots which had needed repairing. The -narrow stall was brightly lighted, and he saw -through the window a little child holding up -its face to be kissed. The cobbler's girl had -just brought her father his supper. As -Graham entered, the man pushed the little figure -gently into the street. "Tell mother I 'll not -be late," he said; and wiping his blackened -hands upon his dirty ticking apron, he greeted -the artist civilly, and proceeded to find his boots -for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They need re-soling, Mr. Graham, but I did -not like to do the job without orders. The -patches are all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham paid the man for his work, and went -out. He had thought to find distraction in the -street, but what he saw there only made him -more desolate. He was alone, while all other -men had some loving soul to greet them after -their day's toil. The pair of lovers, the cobbler -and his child, made him feel his loneliness more -acutely, and emphasized painfully the news which -the letter had brought to him,--Millicent was gone!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had passed as suddenly and unexpectedly -out of his life as she had entered it. He had -not seen her since that day in the court-room. -And now she was gone, back to the Old World, -to Venice the mysterious, the silent, to the old -Palazzo Fortunio, with its lofty halls and marble -corridors, back to the old home, which he knew -could never be home to her again. All the -color seemed to have faded out of his life; she -had taken it with her. He suffered deeply, -impatiently, angry at himself for suffering, yet -powerless to forget the pain which the letter -had given him. He picked it up again from -the floor when he came back to the lonely -studio, and marked that though the letter was -crushed and torn, the device of the golden -Psyche was still intact.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the following day he found some consolation -in his picture. He came back to it after -his vigil with an uncherished grief, with less -enthusiasm than before; but from that hour -until he had laid the last stroke of paint on the -canvas, his hand faltered not, if his imagination -sometimes flagged. He could not serve both -love and art. He had chosen his mistress, and -would be faithful to his choice. He dared not -think, while he painted, of the woman whose -influence had so warmed his frozen existence. -To do so seemed an infidelity to his Art,--a -breach of faith which would not escape its -merited punishment. So he resolutely put her -from his mind, and labored day and night upon -his great picture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Summer and autumn were past, and the first -month of winter was drawing to its close, when -Graham finished his picture. He had painted -it as he always did his best works, without -interruption. From the morning on which he -had made the first rough chalk sketch, until the -day when he reluctantly drew the fine veil of -varnish over his work, he had hardly looked at -any other canvas. He was not satisfied with -it,--what true artist ever is satisfied with his -work?--and yet he was convinced that it was the best -he had yet accomplished. He had sometimes -realized what he had sacrificed for this picture; -and as he touched in the crimson line of sunset, -the fancy came to him, that the sky was stained -with heart's-blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His few brother artists--there was but a -handful of them in the city--and his pupils -requested him to set a day for them to see the -new picture, and Graham had consented. The -young sculptor, who had the next room, threw -open the door which separated the two studios, -and both rooms were in holiday trim. Northcote -had been in the country all the previous day, -gathering flowers and ferns with which to deck -the bare apartment. He placed a jar of roses -before the picture with a reverent face; he loved -the artist whose light purse had for the last -two years kept a roof over his head and life in -his body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham was greatly admired by the knot of -artists who lived, or starved, in San Francisco. -They were the pioneers of art in the new -Western land; and their work, if crude and -untutored, was not wanting in certain strong -qualities. Several of them were men of promise; and -they were all wise enough to feel that in -Graham's genius lay the brightest hope for a new -school of art which should combine the knowledge -of the Old World with the fresh vigor and -hope of the New. They looked up to him as a -leader, and he earnestly wrought and thought -for their advancement. It was for this that he -had left Europe and his many agreeable -associates there, and returned to his own country, -that whatever power for good there in him lay -should redound to her glory. His fellow artists -all revered him, and they would gladly have -loved him; but the sensitive man shrank from -that familiarity which popularity entails. In -their work he was always interested; and in -whatever touched the art they all served, he was -active and ready to labor endlessly without -recompense or recognition. But in their lives and -personalities he felt no wish to mix; and so it was -that he who labored most for them as an artist -was farthest removed from them as a man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was but one verdict rendered by the -men who stood grouped about the easel. It was -a masterly picture, they all said. For an hour -or more, one or another of them discussed -certain technical points with Graham, who with -kindled face listened and talked with his -associates, more himself than he had been since the -night when he had first dreamed of the -picture. The young sculptor was less loud in his -praise than were the others; in his eyes the -classic subject was a trifle labored and cold. -After having praised, the men felt at liberty -to criticise; and if Graham had followed one -half the advice offered to him, there would -have been little suggestion of the original -picture left.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Standing in a corner, with its face to the wall, -was a panel which, as the little circle was -about to break up, Northcote asked Graham's -permission to show. The new picture was taken -from the easel, and the neglected canvas put in -its place. Its surface was dusty, and the young -man wiped it with his silk handkerchief. There -was a minute's silence, broken by the oldest of -the party, a disappointed painter whose life had -been one long series of calamities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My boy, this is worth a dozen of the other. -It is the biggest thing you have done yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The younger men all chimed in, echoing the -opinion of their senior. Graham looked -incredulously from one to the other; there was no -doubting their sincerity. Like many another -before him, he knew not how to distinguish his -successes from his failures. The old artist, who -had all his life been on the eve of painting his -great picture, underrated the value of the new -picture, but he was not mistaken in placing -The Lovers far above it. Graham looked at -it for the first time in many weeks, with that -impersonal criticism of his own work which is -only possible to an artist when a certain period -has elapsed after its creation, and the mind has -been occupied with other interests.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was late that night when the artist returned -to his room, after dining with his sculptor friend -at a restaurant near by. The moonlight flooded -the studio, lighting its farthest corner. It -showed him the vases of rose-bloom and the -dark-browed Circe on the wall; it showed him -the blackened hearth, where the embers still -smouldered. And what was that in the -fireplace? A charred wooden frame with a heap of -ashes lying 'twixt its sides. Graham sprang -forward with a cry of apprehension, and lifted -the blistered frame. His fear had not been -groundless: this bit of wood and that handful -of cinders were all that remained of his great -new picture! He gave a deep groan and -staggered back against the wall. Before him, on the -easel, gleaming through the pure silver light, was -the picture of The Lovers. Millicent's dreamy -face, radiant with hope and love, smiled at him -from the arms of the lover who now stood, -half crazed with grief, gazing at the ruin before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young sculptor stood beside him, full of -a sympathy he knew not how to express. At -last he spoke:--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Graham, look up, and do not grieve for what -is past help. I tell you, man, that your -greatest picture stands before you. The Lovers has -the one quality which your work has heretofore -missed. It is human, it is full of natural -sentiment. It does not appeal to an aristocracy of -thought, but to all men and all women, learned and -untaught. I know not what influence swayed -you in this picture, but I know that it lifted you -to a higher plane than you had before attained. -I care not for the loss of your Poet; it told me -nothing of you that I did not know before; it -was a step backwards to the time when you -made that wondrous wicked Circe with her herd -of swine. Let it go, and submit to the influence -which inspired this picture, for which the world -is richer to-day than for a score of such works -as the other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Graham looked at the speaker with doubting -eyes. The words seemed to rouse an echo in -his soul. They told him that he had served the -altar of Art with Moloch sacrifices. Instead of -the peaceful offerings of love, he had brought -the anguish of two strong hearts to desecrate -her temple. A dim perception of the truth -entered his mind, and his grief for the lost -picture was for a moment forgotten in a doubt -which rose before him, never to be dismissed -again until it was fully solved. A doubt of self, -of his own judgment, of his own inflexible will.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Millicent was gone! The six straight -redwoods whispered the news one to another, and -shook their tall tops sadly, while the sweet south -wind sighed through their branches. Millicent -was gone! and the roses that clasped and clung -about her lattice died on the night she left them, -and the vine bloomed no more, and bore for that -season nothing but leaves. Millicent was gone! -She had set wide the door of the golden prison -where her love-birds had lived and sung so -merrily through the long summer. But the little -white creatures, prison-born, prison-bred, were -too timid to venture out into the roomy forest, -and had clung to the only home they had ever -known; and so Barbara, gentle, sweet-souled -Barbara, took them into her sunny room; and -cared for them as Millicent had done. For a -day they were silent, and then they sang as -merrily as before. There was still sunshine; and -crispy groundsel and clear cool water were given -them by hands as gentle, if not so fair, as those -which had tended them before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The New Year was at hand, and the </span><em class="italics">châtelaine</em><span> -of the San Rosario Ranch had summoned -a group of friends to her hospitable home to -pass the holiday time. So Barbara was full of -household cares, and Hal was busy with -shooting and riding expeditions. Ferrara was there, -just back from Alaska, with a tribute of rare -furs to lay at Barbara's pretty feet. Maurice -Galbraith and John Graham were missing, and -that other whose absence was still keenly felt. -Mr. and Mrs. Shallop, O'Neil, and Hartley -were come, with a half dozen other old friends, -all bound together by the magnetic influence -which radiated from their hostess, in whom all -their various interests were concentrated. Each -was friend to other for her sake, whom they all -loved. In the existence of every one of the -group her pure and unselfish nature was a real -factor. When faith in human nature, in one's -self, is faint and wavering, then is the time -when the remembrance of such a spotless life, -so pure a heart, steadies the wavering belief in -truth, and strengthens us to fight the good -fight. By loving help and by high example, -Marianne Deering had succored and befriended -each of the friends who on that New Year's -eve assembled about her dining table. With a -face bright with that beauty of the soul which -knows not the marring of time, she presided -over the gay festivity. Three pretty cousins -from San Francisco added their bright faces to -the charming scene. The apartment and the -board were garlanded with flowers. Banks of -heavy ferns panelled the walls, and bunches -of white, heavy-scented magnolias were outlined -against their dark green. Through the open -windows were seen the gay lanterns hung about -the veranda, illuminating the festoons of fresh -creepers, and giving glimpses of the soft velvet -turf outside. The merriment was at its height -as Barbara lifted the loving-cup, filled with a -sweet, strong wine, and, calling out the toast, -"To absent friends," set her rosy lips to the -brim, and drank from the cup in which each -of the joyful company was to pledge some -distant dear one. It was a custom at the San -Rosario Ranch which had become time-honored. -The girl smiled gayly as she passed the -crystal beaker to Juan Ferrara, who sat upon -her right; but her eyes were dark with unshed -tears, and the man sighed as he drank, -omitting to repeat the toast. What were absent -friends to him beside this woman who smiled -in his face, but whose tears fell for one who -was far from her! Round went the cup from -hand to hand, and to every heart came a thrill -of joy or sorrow at the thought of the absent -one, toward whom it turned in this loving -communion. O'Neil, sitting by his hostess, was -the last to take the cup. The warm-blooded -Irishman was in high spirits. The glances of -the dark-eyed "girling" at his side, and the -general good-fellowship of the occasion, had -brought out in him the irrepressible good-humor -of his nation. The ceremony of passing the -loving-cup, and the invocation to absent friends, -had carried something a little serious with it, -which, to the jolly Irishman, was thoroughly -antagonistic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear hostess," said he, placing the cup -before him on the table, "I do not like the -sentiment of your toast; 't is ungallant. How can I, -sitting between two such lovely ladies, find time -or power to salute an absent one, howsoever -fair? May I give you my toast for the -loving-cup? Have I your permission to sing a stave -from one of my national songs on the subject?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was answered by a general acclamation -of assent. Rising to his feet, the blond, burly -giant held up the cup with its low ebb of -crimson wine, and sang in a clear, strong voice the -following couplet:--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Oh! 't is sweet to think that where'er we rove</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>We are sure to find something blissful and dear,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>And that, when we 're far from the lips that we love,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>We 've but to make love to the lips that are near.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>The heart, like a tendril accustomed to cling,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>It can twine with itself, and make closely its own.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Then oh! what pleasure where'er we rove</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>To be sure to find something still that is dear;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>And to know, when far from the lips that we love,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>We have but to make love to the lips that are near."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Amidst the general laughter and applause -which followed O'Neil's song, Madame -Marianne's gentle word of disapproval was lost. -The song had restored the jollity which, for a -moment, seemed to have left the party. O'Neil -now drained the cup to the last drop, turning -the crystal vessel upside down to show that it -was empty, and whispered a saucy compliment -to the bright-eyed girl beside him. At that -moment, when the merriment was at its height, -when O'Neil stood with the empty cup in his -hand, the door opened, and, as if in answer to -the toast, John Graham entered the room. He -was greeted by a dozen voices as he made his -way to Mrs. Deering's side. Taking her -outstretched hand in his own, he dropped upon -one knee, and kissed it respectfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear my lady, I have come to wish you the -happiest New Year, and to join in your -loving-cup, in your toast to absent friends--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Always welcome, dear Graham," said the -lady, laying her hand upon his head for an -instant; "there is always a place for you at our -table, but alas--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are too late--too late!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Barbara who spoke, interrupting her -mother brusquely, her voice full of a reproach -inexplicable to all but Graham. He looked at -her fixedly for a moment, and then O'Neil -clapped him on the back, and held up the empty cup.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Too late, old fellow, as Miss Barbara says. -Never mind," in a lower key, "I have promised -Deering to brew an Irish punch, after the -ladies withdraw."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The artist stared a moment at the goblet, and -shivered as he took the place which had been -made for him beside his hostess. Soon the -signal was given for the ladies to leave the room; -Graham's arrival having precipitated the -breaking up of the party. The new-comer did not -long remain in the dining-room, but presently -followed his hostess into the library, where he -found Barbara at the piano. Mrs. Deering -signalled him to take a place at her side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fear I took too great a liberty in coming -unasked. O'Neil says I stalked into the room -like a stage ghost, and cast a gloom over the -party."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know you are always welcome here. -You used to call the Ranch your home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I still a right to do so? Things seem -so changed, my lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will never find me changed while I can -help you. I did not send for you, knowing that -you would come if it was best for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet I came too late!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Graham, there are no such words as too late -to those who know how to wait. That phrase is -only for the impatient, not for the steadfast. -But now tell me of yourself, of your work; it -is so long since we have seen you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of myself, no! of my work, yes. I have -finished my picture; it has gone to Paris. It -will now be judged by other men." He did not -tell her of his loss, or that he had sent The Lovers -in the place of the burned picture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May they prove kindly critics."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I do not want that; I do not insist that -they shall praise my work; I only question, can -they understand it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But that is the least of it all, you have -sometimes said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! Madonna, I have been wrong. What -use is there for me to speak if there be no one to -hear? If they do not understand, the fault must -lie in me. I must learn to speak the broad -language of humanity. I cannot ask men to -puzzle themselves with my small vernacular." The -man sighed deeply, and his friend noticed -that he was paler and thinner than she had last -seen him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have been over-working, Graham; you -lead an unnatural life when you are in town, -now that your people are away. Why not come -back to the tower again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I will, Madonna."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had been over-working, and for what? -That the picture for which he had sacrificed so -much, should be seen one brief hour by a dozen -men! He now felt in what a strained condition -his nerves had been. The picture was gone, -and with it the strong excitement which had kept -him alive and alert. The tension was relaxed, -and an intense depression had followed, which -was in turn losing itself in a new feeling. A -lonely longing, a craving for a tender womanly -sympathy, for the only human being who had -never misunderstood his many moods, who was -always in sympathy with him in joy or sorrow. -She alone in all the world could have helped -him at this time; to her he could have confided -all those delicate shades of thought which drifted -through his mind, too fragile ever to be prisoned -in words. She could have divined those -half-formed ideas and crystallized them into steadfast -utterances. He was cold, bitterly cold, and -suffered for that loving human sympathy as the -parched hillsides had but now longed for the -refreshing rain which had made the earth green -and fair after the long summer drought. He -had chosen Art for his mistress, and she had -smiled upon him chastely and coolly; and yet he -was not content.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barbara left the piano, and Graham joined her. -The over-punctilious courtesy with which he had -always treated her was forgotten. He spoke -suddenly and sharply:--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you mean by what you said to me,--why -am I too late?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I meant too late for a draught from the loving-cup."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You meant more than that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you choose to fancy--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot but choose to </span><em class="italics">know</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By this time the gay group from the dining-room -had flooded the library with their ringing -voices, their merry faces. Only these two were -pale and out of harmony with the scene. -Barbara, with downcast eyes, stood by the piano, -tapping her fingers nervously on the polished case.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have interrupted your festivity; I have -been a very skeleton at the feast; forgive me,--I -could not help coming,--forgive me and answer -me one question, and I will go and leave you in peace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, Bab, we are going into the -drawing-room to tell ghost stories. O'Neil has a -splendid one,--a real Irish family banshee yarn. -Come on, you and Graham."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In a moment, Hal, don't wait for us; we will -join you before you are all settled and Mr. O'Neil -has begun."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The library was again empty. The voices of -the holiday folk reached their ears across the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me what you have heard from her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no need of speaking her name. -Her face looked at them from its place over the -mantel-shelf,--a quick, strong sketch made by -Graham. From a leafy background white -shoulders, and a fair face with deep eyes, were -shadowed forth. The firelight, falling restlessly -upon the picture, touched into light now the full -red mouth, now the ivory throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have not heard for some time. She was -in Venice again, very ill from the long journey, -when she last wrote."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have not heard since?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think she is well now, and--and at peace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What reason have you to doubt her well-being?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man looked at her searchingly, as if he -would read her very soul, and then turned away -with a word of leave-taking,--"Good-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stay a moment. I have something to tell -you. I do not know why I am forced to speak -to you of the last interview she had in this room, -but I must do so. Before she left,--on the -night when she cried out in the court-room,--you remember?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Did he remember? Ah, Heaven! only too -well he remembered the last words she had -ever spoken to him,--valiant words, full of -love and protection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That night Mr. Galbraith came to see her. -It was very late, and they had a long conversation. -I could only hear their voices from the -next room; and then she called me to her, and -told us both all her sad story,--all that had -passed between you and her. She took all -blame upon herself, and would have made us -both acknowledge that you had been right and -just in acting as you did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And was I not just?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just, perhaps; but how ungenerous! What -have you to do with justice? You, who never -painted till you painted her; you, who were so -cold and unfeeling till her smile made you -human for a little time. Then your own selfish -egotism froze you again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you for what you have told me, and -good-by. I shall not see you soon again. You -were very good to her; bless you for it! Every -one was good to her,--every one but me, it seems."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You speak as if she were dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not hear her last words. He was -already out of earshot, taking leave of his -hostess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he was alone with the stars he could -think better than in that heated room, with -that dear vine-crowned face before his eyes, -with Barbara's voice in his ears. He saw how -Barbara misjudged him. He knew that most -men and women would have held him as she -did; and yet he had thought that he was right. -He had fought the good fight, and he had -conquered. What mattered it if all the world -saw in him a monster of selfishness? He had -chosen poverty, hard work, and loneliness, when -wealth, worldly success, and a painless love -might have been his. Sybaris had been open -to him; and he had turned his back upon the -perfumed island for an attic, a crust, and a -mistress who demanded all, and had yielded -nothing but hope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But now things were altered. He felt angry -and outraged at the thought that others knew -her story, that she was pitied by them because -of her great love for him. He longed to -protect her, to suffer for her, to make her forget -in his love and care the cruel lot which had -been hers. He yearned for her sympathy, for -her love, for that sense of peace which had -come upon him as he sat by her side. The -tide of love, which not once in a million years -is at the full in two human hearts at once, -rushed over him, sweeping away pride, reason, -selfishness, ambition,--all, all routed and o'erset -by that warm, delicious flood of emotion. He -had fought against love so long, that at last -the overthrow of will brought him an ecstasy -of delight. He ran like one crazed through the -cool, starry night, singing a love-song strange -and tender, a song of submission, of hope and -passionate love. Through the orchard he passed, -startling the birds with his wonderful song. The -prisoned love-mates heard it in their little nest, -and folded their snowy wings closer together; -the white roses heard it, and trembled at the -sound; the six tall redwoods listened and -whispered gravely together as he came among them -and sank upon his knees at their feet, on the -very spot where she had sat that day. That -day! How could he have forgotten it, and all -that it had meant to them both? What mist -had risen again between them and hidden its -memory from his sight? Before, it had been -her want of faith in him, her fault, her only -fault. Her atonement for that sin against her -own soul, against him, had been bitter indeed. -And afterwards what veil had blinded him to -the great truth that they loved each other -absolutely, that their two beings were each -incomplete without the other? His pride! It had -been his pride which had kept them so long -apart! But now it was over. He would go to -her, and tell her all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Millicent, Millicent, I love you!" he cried -aloud, his eager voice surging from his breast -as if to relieve its weight of love. His cry was -joyous, bounding, full of life and love and hope. -The night wind bore back to his ears a tender, -mournful cadence,--"love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Millicent, my love, I am coming; wait for me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait for me!" sighed the echo.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the young moon, pale and shrinking, -dropped behind the high tree-tops from his -sight; while the redwoods swayed tremulously, -shaken by a sudden blast, and the echo again -sighed its faint response,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait for me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the tide on the Pacific was at the flood.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xx"><span class="large">CHAPTER XX.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Malheureux! cet instant oû votre âme engourdie</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>A secoué les fers qu' elle traine ici-bas,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Ce fugitif instant fut toute votre vie;</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Ne le regrettez pas."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was a wonderful morning which saw the -birth of the new year in Venice,--one of those -clear, bright days on which Winter lays aside -all his severity and assumes the smiles of the -Spring still asleep in the bosom of the stiffened -earth. The </span><em class="italics">piazza</em><span> was filled with a motley -crowd of holiday folk, and the lagoons swarmed -with a fleet of gondolas and </span><em class="italics">sandalos</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before a mighty marble house which stands -where one of the smaller thoroughfares sweeps -its waters into the Grand Canal, a gondola has -paused. A young man, a foreigner evidently, -steps from the boat and passes under the fretted -archway, with an admiring glance at the -beautiful carving. He is pressed for time, but he -stops for a moment to glance into the square -cortile, with its group of almond-trees and its -playing fountain. He is met at the wide -doorway by a servant, of whom he asks, in the best -Italian he can muster, for the Signorina -Almsford. The black-browed menial politely replies -that it will be impossible for him to see the -signorina; she is not at home to visitors. No -further answer can the stranger obtain to his -eager inquiries. A gold piece unlocks the tongue -of the menial at last, and he informs the young -man, in excellent English, that the signorina -has been ill ever since her return from America, -a month and more ago.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She has been very ill; Girolomo says that -she will die, and the Signor Almsford himself -fears the worst. She has not left her room -once. To-day being a </span><em class="italics">festa</em><span>, she has fancied to -go out with Girolomo in the gondola, and I am -to help him carry her downstairs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he finished speaking, the man noticed that -the visitor had grown very pale, and now stood -leaning against a marble pillar as if for support. -When he spoke again it was to send his card -to Mr. Almsford. On being admitted to an -outer reception room he sank upon a chair, his -face hidden in his hands. Soon he was bidden -to enter. The signorina had learned of his -arrival, and it was her pleasure to see him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man passed through a long suite -of stately rooms, scarcely noticing the rich -furnishing and decorations. Before a curtained -doorway he hesitated for a moment, but the -servant, pushing aside the heavy portiére, left -him no choice but to enter. Before him, -reclining in a great chair, lay a figure which he -had last seen full of health and strength. From -a pile of sea-green cushions smiled a face which -he had known when it was glorious with the -freshness of youth. The color which the red -rose of love had brought to her cheek had faded -now; she was like a flower no longer, but a great -white pearl shimmering through pale waters. -She smiled, and held out her hand to her -countryman; and Maurice Galbraith, bowing low over -the small fingers, strove to hide his face from -the great hollow eyes which looked inquiringly -into his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am so glad you have come. I do not -even ask what has brought you, it is so good to -see some one from home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had become "home" to her now, the country -which she had so long repudiated. "Home" -after a half year's residence; "home," though the -language spoken there was to her a foreign one. -The meeting is not without its tears, the -pleasure not unmixed with pain. Eager questions -are asked, and faithfully answered. Millicent's -visitor brings her tidings and tender messages -from far-off friends. He is rewarded for his -pains by a faint smile which glimmers over the -pale features, rising in the deep eyes and losing -itself in the tender curves of the mouth. Beside -the couch stands a delicate bronze table wrought -by no less cunning a hand than Benvenuto's. A -vase of flowers and a crystal bell are here placed. -The musical note of the bell now summons a -domestic, who bows at the order given, softly -disappears, and soon re-enters, bearing a salver -on which are a plate of fruits and a bluish -decanter, with glasses of the dainty Venetian -fashion. From the delicately tendrilled flask -Millicent pours a clear golden wine whose perfume -permeates the apartment. She fills both glasses, -and, touching the edge of hers to the rim of his, -bids him drink to the health of the dear ones at -home. Galbraith stops the musical ring which -the contact has drawn from the tumbler by -touching the edge with his finger in a -mechanical manner. It was one of the -superstitions which had waned to a habit with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you drown that sound of good cheer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because my grandmother told me when I -was a little child that if a glass rang itself out -to silence, the sound was sure to prove a death-knell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Listen, you can still hear mine faintly. It -is a wonderful wine, connoisseurs say, this -Lacrymæ Christi of ours. How different, is it not, -from the strong red wine of California that you -gave us that day,--do you remember?--when -we feasted with you under the fig-tree."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As different as you were to the rest of us -gathered about the board that day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet I would give all the wine that lies -mellowing in the cellars of the palace for one -cup of your good Los Angelos vintage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wine seemed to spread through her frame -like a flame. It brought a flush to the pale -cheeks and strength to the fragile body. She -arose and walked unsupported across the room -to a dusky mirror. She wrapped herself in a -garment of silvery fur, and together they left the -room fit for the boudoir of a princess. At the -doorway Girolomo awaited them. Waving aside -the domestic who stood ready to assist him, the -strong gondolier lifted the delicate figure and -bore it unaided down the marble stairs. He -laid her light weight gently among the cushions -of the gondola, and assuming his oar with the -incomparably graceful movement of his guild, -rowed the black-hooded craft down the Grand -Canal. To the young American, the awe and -mystery of the place are not yet familiar; and -as the boat glides between the rows of mighty -palaces, he wonders if the strange scene is the -fabric of his own dream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But no; when he looks into the face of the -woman lying amid the cushions, he knows that -it is all true, and that this shadowy figure is -more real to him than all the men and women -he has ever known. Presently they emerge into -the broader waters of the lagoon, where lie the -fisher craft, with their many-colored sails spread -to dry in the afternoon breeze. The smooth -green water is marked here and there with the -black mooring-piles, which throw a shadowy -outline on the changeful tide. To the American, -bred in a land where Art is in its cradle, and -beauty exists in its more austere aspect alone, -the glory of the spectacle, the wondrous -architecture, the wealth of color, are intoxicating. -The western sky glows with the first pale tints -of the sunset, against which a score of spires -are darkly outlined. The air is musical with soft, -distant chimes, and the song of the gondoliers -is rhythmic to the motion of their oars. From -the shore come cheerful sounds of holiday folk; -and now and then a </span><em class="italics">sandalo</em><span> sweeps past them -with a freight of joyous pleasure-seekers. In -one of these a group of masqueraders are -singing a gay love-ballad. Millicent hums the -refrain to herself, and answers pleasantly to the -noisy greeting with which one of the party hails -them. A young girl, with the red-gold hair of -her people, turns and looks long into Millicent's -face. She wears over her broad shoulders a -leopard-skin for warmth; while her head, with -its glorious crown of hair, has no other -protection than the doubtful one of a garland of roses. -As she looks at Millicent, she takes the fragrant -wreath from her brow, and, with a graceful -salutation, tosses it into the gondola. In a moment -the strong strokes of the two rowers carry the -</span><em class="italics">sandalo</em><span> out of sight, and Galbraith lays the -flowers in Millicent's lap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May the saints bless the child! 'T is the -tribute of happiness and beauty to grief and pain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The air has grown chill with the down-dropping -of the sun, and Girolomo, unbidden, turns -the gondola homeward. As they float past the -familiar places, Millicent looks long and steadily -at the scenes which are so dear to her. She -shivers as the Bridge of Sighs looms dimly forth, -and smiles again at the familiar faces of the -boatmen on the steps of the </span><em class="italics">piazzetta</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am so glad that you have seen me in the -city of my birth; you can understand me now -as you could never have understood me over -there. Dear, dreamy Venice, where great vices -and greater virtues have flourished more grandly -than anywhere else in the world! And now it -is all past, her glory and her pain; and knowing -this, we make the best of the pleasant things -left to us. We steep ourselves in her rich beauty, -content with its perfection; we con over her -mysterious legends, and forget that other nations -are living, striving, working, and making their -histories, while we are dreaming and playing our -lives away. Your great Saxon virtue, 'Truth,' -is meaningless to us; we are content with Beauty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you are happy--contented; you are -willing to pass the rest of your life here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and no. I could never be satisfied to -drop back into the old easy life. I have drunk -too deeply of the strong, new wine of Los -Angelos, to be content with the mellow vintage of -the Abruzzi."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet there is fermentation of a strong, -new wine here, in your wondrous Italy. All do -not dream of the past; there are men and women -who foretell a new existence to the land, now that -the old shackles of tyranny and superstition are -dropping from her cramped limbs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; but it is a volcanic soil. Everything -is so sudden and so shifting. There will be -changes, but it is the making over of an old -garment after all. Liberty may sponge and cleanse -herself a vesture, but the old stains and spots -have eaten deep into the tri-color."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will return then; you will not pass your -life so far away from us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled a little wearily and said, "I think I -shall never see America again. But I am, oh, so -thankful to have known my home! I, who have -lived a Venetian, shall die an American."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet--?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet I am glad to--do not be shocked, -kind friend, if I say that I am glad to die in my -own Venice where I was born. I have two -selves. One was born and nurtured here under -the shadow of the silent palaces; the other -sprang up full-grown among the madrone trees -of San Rosario. The two have warred and -struggled </span><em class="italics">here</em><span>; their battle-ground has been -my breast, and the new self conquered the old; -but the victory will be short-lived."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Galbraith looked at her intently. She had -spoken a little wildly, as if her mind were -clouded. She saw his look, and with a sigh -smoothed the lines from her brow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am a little mad, you think? Yes, yes. But -I am so happy to see you. You understand me, -dear friend; and you understand him, a little. -You will see him again, though perhaps I never -shall. You will tell him--No, do not look so -grieved. It is very likely that I shall get well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lifted her pale hand and touched it to -his lips, as a Catholic might kiss the cross.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will be well and strong again, my child. -Do not speak so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It may be, and yet I do not wish it. Life -looks so hard and cold and lonely. I do not wish -to live,--and yet I am so afraid to die." She -shivered, and Galbraith drew the gray cloak -closer about her. "If I could only fall quietly -asleep, and wake to find this poor weak body -left behind--but you remember that poor -creature's death? It was so terrible--I can -never forget it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must not think of it. What message -was it that you wanted to send home?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was to Graham. I can speak to you -about him and to no one else. You must tell -him how thankful I am that I left my old home, -my old life, and came to his country. Tell him -that he has nothing to reproach himself with; -that the only thing that has made my life worth -living has been my love for him. Tell him to -remember me tenderly and without regret; it -should be a sweet memory without a shadow of -bitterness. Tell him--but what am I saying? -You could never repeat it all even if you would. -Give him this; it will tell him all; it is a token -the trace of which he will find on my hand -when we meet again, if souls retain aught of -their old vesture in the twilight world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed wandering again. From her -slim finger she slipped the little ring which -Galbraith took and kept.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Barbara, dear good Barbara. She is -white with that spotless purity of a passionless -womanhood. Do you know, Mr. Galbraith, that -dying people sometimes have a power of seeing -into the future? Shall I tell you what face I -see beside Barbara's in the bright coming years -which I shall never know? It is that of a brave -and loyal man,--a man whose love would make -such a woman happy and complete. It is the -face of the friend who has brought me great -peace on this New Year's Day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The black gondola now floated at rest under -the archway of the grim old palace. From -beneath the sable hood Girolomo lifted the -slender frame. The old fellow's eyes filled with -tears at the gentle words which his young -mistress whispered to him as he carried her -through the marble archway and up the long -steep stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Tanto ricca, tanto giovine, tanto bella, e -bisogna che muore.</em><span>" Galbraith understood the -words muttered by the old servant as he passed -him after having laid his burden at rest in the -great chair. He understood, but he would not -believe them. It could not be true.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was late that night when the soft-footed -nun who was Millicent's nurse laid her patient -on her couch, with a gentle reproof for her -wilfulness in being so wakeful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it was not my fault, my sister; I could not -sleep earlier. Now I am better and shall rest." She -smiled in the quiet face which bent over -her under its snow-white coif of linen. The -heavy gold-bronze hair was not plaited that night, -Millicent was so tired. The sister smoothed it -tenderly over the pillow, her hard fingers -thrilling at the touch of so much beauty. Her own -close-shaven head had once been covered with -thick black curls, one of which slept on the -heart of the dead man for the repose of whose -soul her prayers were offered at every hour -of the day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My sister, sit by me. I want to talk with -you a little while. I know your story, blessed -one. Let me ask you a little of your life in the -convent, among the sick. Is it peaceful, is it -happy? Do you feel that you are nearer to the -spirit of your dead lover than when you were -in the world?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My child, I may not speak of these things; -it would be a sin. Our words we can control, -if not our thoughts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, sister, I need your help. You know -that I have not your faith, and never could -have. But I have loved as you once loved, and -I shall never see the face of my lover. What -shall I do with my empty life? I am so weak!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All the greater need have you for a stronger -help than mine, for a haven from the ills of the -world. I cannot think you would find that place -in our cloister. There must be workers in the -world among the living and strong, as well as -with the sick and dying. It is in that world -that you, my child, with your power, your wealth, -your beauty, should find your work. The arms -of the Church are wide, and embrace the toilers -in the market-place as well as those who watch -and pray in the cloister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is only work, then, that will bring peace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Work and prayer, my child. You must not -talk of this to-night; you should sleep now. -To-morrow you shall tell me more of the needs -of your soul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only work! I am so tired, I am so weak, -I cannot work alone. If there had been one to -help me--" She lifted her white hand, so -nerveless now, and let it sink wearily beside her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bring the great candelabrum, and set it at -the foot of the bed. Light all the candles. I -want to drive out the shadows from the dark -corners. Ah! hear them singing below there -in the canal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat up among her pillows listening to the -chorus chanted by a band of belated merry-makers. -It was the love-song that the people -in the </span><em class="italics">sandalo</em><span> had sung that afternoon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Dame un pensiero, sogna me, ed io ti sognerò.</em><span>" "In -dreaming give a thought of me, and I will -dream of thee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me my little golden crown, sister, and -then lie down upon your couch and sleep. You -do not mind the lights?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Millicent was fanciful and wilful that night; -and the nun, knowing that it was best to humor -her, brought her from its velvet case the gold -fillet of olive leaves which Graham had laid on -the brow of his love in the forest of San -Rosario. The girl set it on her head, and called -for a mirror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am beautiful still, my sister, though so -pale, am I not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The nun nodded her head smilingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now that is all, and I shall sleep. Good-night -to you. Say a little prayer for me, sister, -and one for a strong, proud man who will be very -sad to-night with me so far away from him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She folded her palms upon her breast, as they -fold the hands of the dead. The sister stood -beside her, watching uneasily the light slumber -into which her patient had fallen. Her pulse -was full and even, the breathing regular, and -the sleep peaceful as that of a child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A strange fancy to light those candles, and -to put that wreath about her head. Poor child, -she is beautiful, indeed, as the vision of a saint," -murmured the sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last the black-robed watcher laid aside her -coif, and, lying down upon a couch near the -bedside, fell asleep. She could not have told -how long she slept, when a sound awoke her. -The quiet of the night was broken by a sudden -gust of wind blowing through the long -apartment with a deep sigh. It trembled among -the tresses of the sleeping girl, and stirred and -lingered in the strand of hair which overhung -the tiny ear. It blew the flame of the candles -straight out from the wick, and fanned the -embers on the hearthstone to a last up-flaming. -It blew over the lips of the sleeper, and bore -these softly spoken words to her ear,--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I come, I come! wait for me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl turned on her pillow, and smiled in -her sleep. All was going well. The nun -replenished the dying fire with fuel, and, -extinguishing the candles, lay down to sleep again -by the light of the night lamp, muttering an -Ave Maria.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And the breath of the west wind passed out -of the silent sick room, and went roystering -through the long suite of stately apartments, -where it met no man. It was a strong puff of -wind, which had travelled far and sturdily across -wild seas and smiling lands. It had raced with -man's toy of steam and iron, and laughed in -derision at the poor engine and its boasted -speed; it had swayed dim forest-trees in a -far-off land; it had ruffled a quiet ocean into -deep furrows of foam; it had breathed upon a -band of icy mountain giants, and had grown -cold at their contact; it had come sighing down -the Grand Canal, and had entered the great -palace unceremoniously; it had fanned the cheek -of a sleeping woman beautiful as the vision of a -saint; it had whispered in her ear its message. -And now, at the doorway of that great palace, -the bold wind ceased its blustering, and died -away into the still air of the ante-chamber, -getting behind the heavy arras, and imparting a -trembling motion to the faded figures of -warrior and horse. A dim, gray Presence had -entered the palace, before which the merry west -wind had grown quiet. The hush of deepest -night was on all the sleeping house, and the -tide of the Adriatic was at the ebb. Silently -the Presence crept toward the sick-room, and, -as it crossed the threshold, the spark of the -night light flickered and went out, while the -nun crossed herself as she slept.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When Maurice Galbraith called at the Palazzo -Fortunio early on the morning after he had seen -Millicent, to inquire how she had passed the -night, he found the porter's room empty. He -rang at the door of the apartment, which was -opened, after some delay, by a weeping woman. -He could not understand what she said to him, -and made his way to the boudoir where he had -last seen Millicent, without meeting any one. -He heard voices in the next room, which he -knew to be her sleeping apartment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It must have been quite painless," he heard -a strange voice say in English. "See! she has -not moved; the clothes are quite unruffled. It -is doubtful if she woke at all. Sister Theresa -says she was in this attitude when she last saw -her. If she had even breathed heavily the nun -would have heard her, she sleeps so lightly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A chill fell upon the young man's heart. What -could those strange words mean? The door -opened at last, and two men entered the room, -the younger carefully closing it behind him. He -was evidently a physician. The elder man passed -him with bowed head and clasped hands. Galbraith -touched the younger man on the arm, and -asked him what his words had meant. The -doctor waited till the father had left the room, and, -turning to the stranger, answered him gently and -compassionately; told him the little there was to -tell beyond the great fact that Death had entered -in the night and stolen the breath of the fairest, -while she slept.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I could but fall quietly asleep!" he -remembered her words of yester eve. Her prayer had -been answered. The grim visage of Death had -been hidden by the tender veil of sleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The physician was very patient with the -stranger who asked him so often if it were -certain, if there could be no mistake regarding -the dreadful event. At last, when he was -satisfied that there was no hope, he turned to go, -stumbling over a chair as he went. The doctor -made him take a glass of wine, and bade him -rest awhile before going out. Maurice Galbraith -was a strong man, and after the first faintness -which the news had brought him, he nerved -himself to meet the terrible grief, and bear it as a -strong man should.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are Mr. Galbraith, from California, of -whom she spoke last night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you could help me in a little matter -which Mr. Almsford has asked me to attend to. -This telegram came an hour ago. It was directed -to her, and is dated California. Do you know -the sender, and the meaning of the message?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Galbraith took the slip of blue paper, and read -these words:--</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="small">"I am coming to you. I start to-night.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">"GRAHAM."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"You know the person?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, very well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As we have not his address, would you kindly -answer the despatch and tell him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be a great favor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the last but one that I can ever do for -her now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found his way to the telegraph office, he -never knew how, and with trembling hand penned -this message, which should fly swifter than west -wind or shifting water, to John Graham on the -far golden shore, where the tide was at the flood, -and the earth glad and green in the promise of -the new-born year:--</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Millicent died last night.</em><span>"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CHOICE FICTION -<br />FOR -<br />SUMMER READING.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>VESTIGIA. By GEORGE FLEMING, author of "Kismet," "Mirage," -"The Head of Medusa." 16mo. Cloth. Price, $1.25.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A NEWPORT AQUARELLE. 12mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE USURPER. An Episode in Japanese History. Translated -from the French of Judith Gautier by ABBY L. ALGER. 12mo. Cloth. -Price, $1.50.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE SAN ROSARIO RANCH. By MAUD HOWE. 16mo. -Cloth. Price, $1.25.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>SUWANEE RIVER STORIES. By SHERWOOD BONNER. -With illustrations by F. T. Merrill. 16mo. Cloth.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>TREASURE ISLAND. By ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. With -illustrations by F. T. Merrill. 12mo. Cloth. Price, $1.25.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>MOODS. A Novel. By Louisa M. Alcott. 16mo. Cloth. Price, $1.50.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>BY THE TIBER. By the author of "Signor Monaldini's Niece." -16mo. Cloth. Price, $1.50.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE HEAD OF MEDUSA. By the author of "Kismet" and -"Mirage." 16mo. Cloth. Price, $1.50.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>BLESSED SAINT CERTAINTY. By the author of "His -Majesty Myself." 16mo. Cloth. Price, $1.50.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>DOCTOR JACOB. A Novel. By Miss M. B. EDWARDS. 12mo. -Cloth. Price, $1.00.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>OFF THE SKELLIGS. By JEAN INGELOW. 16mo. 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