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diff --git a/42283.txt b/42283.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 657219a..0000000 --- a/42283.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9075 +0,0 @@ - THE SAN ROSARIO RANCH - - - - -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 Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - - -Title: The San Rosario Ranch -Author: Maud Howe -Release Date: March 09, 2013 [EBook #42283] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SAN ROSARIO RANCH *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover] - - - - - THE - - SAN ROSARIO RANCH - - - BY - MAUD HOWE - - - - BOSTON - ROBERTS BROTHERS - 1884 - - - - - _Copyright, 1884_, - BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. - - - - University Press: - JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. - - - - - TO - My Beloved Sister, - LAURA E. RICHARDS. - - - - - SAN ROSARIO RANCH. - - - - CHAPTER I. - - "Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet, - Scatter the blossoms under her feet!" - - -The house was a large square building, simple and hospitable in -appearance. A wide 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. - -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. - -At the sound of a wagon on the driveway a warm flush mantled her cheek -and throat, and stepping to the door of the house she called out in a -sweet, high voice, "Mamma, mamma! they are coming!" - -A moment later and a large open vehicle came into sight, drawn by two -swift mules, which were urged forward by the driver, a young man in -whose face the traits of the girl on the piazza were reproduced, but -somewhat roughly. On the seat behind the driver was seen a female -figure closely enveloped in heavy travelling wraps, her features -concealed by a thick veil. As the mules stopped before the entrance, the -young woman on the piazza came forward with both hands outstretched, -saying cordially but half shyly,-- - -"Dear Millicent, welcome to San Rosario! Are you very, very tired? Let -me help you out." - -So saying, Barbara Deering almost lifted the new arrival from the wagon, -and with her strong arm supported her to a chair. - -"Thank you so much!" said the new-comer, speaking with a slightly -foreign accent, and lifting her veil; "and you are Barbara? I know you -from your picture, only you are much prettier." - -"Poor child, you must be terribly tired; you shall come and speak to -mamma, and then you must go directly to your room and lie down. Hal, you -will go down for Millicent's luggage?" - -The young man nodded an assent, touched up his steeds, and the wagon -disappeared down the red dusty road. The two young girls entered the -house, Barbara leading the stranger to a large room on the upper story. -In a low chair sat a small woman, with a face which must have once been -beautiful, and which now shone with an expression of simple sincerity -and kindliness. She held out her hand to Millicent, kissed her on both -cheeks, and warmly bade her welcome to San Rosario. Millicent Almsford -acknowledged the greeting with a courteous grace, and immediately after -accepted Barbara's offer to show her to her room. - -When the door was shut upon her, and she was for the first time in many -days alone, she 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. - -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. - -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. - -"Do not try to dress for tea, dear; you are too tired. Where shall I -find your dressing-case? You must let me take the place of your maid, -now that she has left you so cruelly." - -So talking pleasantly, Barbara unpacked the guest's dressing-bag, looked -admiringly at the silver-topped bottles with "M. A." engraven upon them, -the ivory brushes, and all the dainty _et ceteras_ which were -necessities to the foreign girl, with the long white hands and -finger-nails which shone like pale pink conch-pearls. - -"Thank you, if you would help me a little to-night, I shall quickly -learn to do for myself. If you will look in that largest trunk, you may -give me whatever gown lies at the top." - -Barbara unfolded as she was bid a sea-green cashmere dress, in which the -stranger quickly clad her slender figure. Manifold strings of tiny -seed-pearls she wound about her white throat and wrists, performing all -the details of her 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. - -"Millicent, will you sit here, on my right? Hal shall have the pleasure -of occupying the place beside you." - -The speaker was the lady whose gentle, firm hand swayed the small realm -of the San Rosario Ranch during the long absence of its master, Mr. -Ralph Almsford. - -Mr. Almsford had been a widower for the past ten years. On the death of -his beloved wife, her mother Mrs. Deering had continued at his earnest -request to make his house her home. Her two younger children, Barbara -and Henry Deering, remembered no other home, and it seemed but natural -to them that they should continue to live with their brother-in-law. -The family life was a particularly happy one, and the tie between Ralph -Almsford and the Deerings was closer than that which exists between many -blood relations. - -The advent of the young heiress Millicent Almsford, the half-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. - -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. - -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. - -After supper Mrs. Deering led the way into the drawing-room, saying to -her guest,-- - -"Will you join us at prayers in the library, Millicent? Or would you -prefer waiting here for us?" - -"I see that you already know that I am an 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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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." - -Soon after, the newly arrived guest bade good-night to the family, and -went to her room accompanied by Barbara. - -"She is a little like Ralph," said Mrs. Deering, "only infinitely -handsomer. How did she please you, my son?" - -"Is she handsome? I hardly noticed. It was her voice that struck me; -it has the sound of laughing waters. And can't she play, though! I -never heard such music in my life." - -"I am very glad for Barbara's sake that she is musical," answered his -mother. - -"Yes; I hope that Barbara and Miss Almsford _will_ get on together. But -I have my doubts," said Hal, dubiously pulling his straw-colored -mustache. - - -This is San Rosario to-day. Shall we go back a hundred years? It has a -history worth a word or two. To one who is familiar with the 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - "Look to yourselves, ye polished gentlemen! - No city airs or arts pass current here. - Your rank is all reversed: let men of cloth - Bow to the stalwart churls in overalls." - - -Millicent Almsford awoke early on the morning after her arrival. "What -is the matter?" she asked. - -No one answering her question, she put another. - -"Why do we not go on, what are we stopping for?" this still in a -semi-somnolent voice. On opening her eyes and finding that she was not -in the berth of the palace car, where she had for a week past always -found herself, she laughed outright and then gave a deep sigh. - -Her long journey, from the Palazzo Fortunio in Venice to the San Rosario -Ranch in California, was at an end; and here she was, to use her own -phrase, "planted in the wilderness for a year to come." - -"Heavens! how can I bear it?" she cried, 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." - -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. - -"Missie call Ah Lam?" - -"I want my breakfast now," said Millicent, somewhat dismayed at the -attendant she had summoned. - -Soon Barbara came, carrying the breakfast tray in her strong arms. - -"I am so sorry you don't feel well this morning, Millicent. What can I -do for you?" - -"But I feel perfectly well. Do I look so badly?" - -"No, dear; but we were afraid, not seeing you--" - -"Dear Barbara, you must excuse my strange foreign habits. You know I -have been only a week in your country. I did not realize that you all -came downstairs to breakfast. What time is it?" - -"After seven." - -"And you have been up since--?" - -"Since six o'clock only. Hal is the early riser. Half-past four sees -him overlooking the milking." - -Millicent shuddered; she had indeed come to a strange land. - -"I will try to learn the customs of your country," she said rather -piteously, taking up her cup of coffee. - -"Only learn those that please you, dear. As for our early breakfast, -which I see shocks you, think no more about it. I will gladly bring it -up to you every day." - -"I shall unpack some of my boxes this morning, Barbara; and later we -will try some of your duets, if you like." - -The unpacking of her Penates gave Millicent a certain satisfaction, -which was, however, 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. - -Millicent Almsford was the daughter of an American gentleman who had -lived in Venice since before the birth of his daughter. Here the -greater portion of her life had been spent, with the interruption only -of one long visit made to a relative in England. - -A month previous to the opening of our story her father, widowed at her -birth, had married for the third time, his wife being a young and -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. - -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. - -With the willing and ingenious assistance of Ah Lam, this _roba_, 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. - -The complete metamorphosis of the apartment was a work of several days; -and only when it was entirely accomplished were Mrs. Deering and her -daughter admitted to see the change. Poor Barbara! All the pains and -trouble she had taken, all the careful stitches she had set, were -unavailing. The new carpet she had bought with her own pocket money was -entirely covered by old rugs, some of which were very faded and worn; -none of them were as bright and clean as the Kidderminster. - -The warm knitted afghan had disappeared from the bed, which was covered -by a white quilt embroidered in strange floral designs. The very toilet -set had been replaced, and the pretty painted candles had been banished. - -"I have made it a little like Venice," cried Millicent excitedly, "only -the walls in my 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?" - -"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." - -"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." - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Since Millicent's arrival there had been many visitors at the Ranch. -All the friends of the Deering family who were within calling distance -had either come to make the acquaintance of Miss Almsford, or had -signified their intention of shortly doing so. - -Calling distance in California may be said to extend not over fifty -miles. The neighbor who lives half a hundred miles from you will make a -call, or in other words will come to pass the day. Calling terms cease -beyond these limits, and visits of not less than twenty-four hours are -exchanged. - -In none of the people whom she had met had Millicent felt or manifested -the least interest. She had received them graciously, but with a -cordiality of manner only. Not one man or 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. - -It was a splendid animal, fine as the buck described by Browning in -"Donald." Alas, the slender legs would carry his noble body and stately -head no further; the branching horns would never again clash against the -antlers of a rival. Millicent touched the beautiful dead creature -tenderly between the horns, and tried to close the dim eyes. At that -moment she heard a step upon the piazza, and Hal Deering joined her. - -"Why, Miss Almsford, what does this mean? You to be up and dressed"--he -hesitated, "well, yes, you are dressed, and very becomingly too; I like -that loose gown--at six in the morning! sighing over the fine piece of -venison, and performing the last kind offices of friendship too. Don't -believe you would do as much for me." - -The young man looked at the deer approvingly, and perceiving the note, -took it from the antler and deliberately read it aloud:-- - - -HONORED MISTRESS DEERING,--I lay myself at your feet, and with myself a -pretty bit of game I have just killed, thinking that the fair Venetian -might fancy a venison steak for her breakfast. I kiss your hand, dear my -lady, and am your most unworthy but loyal servitor, - -JOHN GRAHAM. - - -"Of course, knew it was Graham, queer creature. Wonder why he did not -stop and take breakfast with us. He is an unaccountable fellow." - -"What did you call him?" - -"Graham; his full name is John Douglass Graham. Just like a hero's in a -novel. But Graham never does anything very heroic, I fancy." - -"Shall you cut off his skin?" - -"Whose? Graham's?" - -"How foolish, Mr. Deering. I mean the deer's fur." - -"Oh no, certainly not; in America we always serve game with the hide or -feathers. In fact, we usually do not remove the wool from our mutton; -but knowing that you were accustomed to seeing it dressed after the -super-civilized fashion of the Venetians, I have--" - -"Mr. Deering, that is stupid. I want his skin and horns; please arrange -them for me." - -"Yes, Princess; your most humble servant will obey your mandate." - -He seized the creature by its slender legs, hoisted it deftly to his -shoulders, and 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. - -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. - -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. - -"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 Marechal roses -which climbed up the piazza and tapped with its heavy blossoms at her -casement, aroused Millicent's enthusiasm. - -The dairy, Hal told her, was fully thirty years old. But her own palace -had frowned grim and black upon the Grand Canal before the 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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - - Neither goodly clothes nor skin - Show the gentleman within. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - "And to watch you sink by the fireside now - Back again, as you mutely sit - Musing by fire-light, that great brow - And the spirit-small hand propping it." - - -John Douglass Graham, by birth American, by descent Scottish, by -profession painter, sat looking out from his tower window. It was too -dark to paint, and not yet late enough for him to light his study lamp -and begin his evening work; so he sat idle, a rare thing for him. -Before his window there stretched a fair landscape; and a man, a painter -above other men, might well be forgiven an hour's idleness in such a -place. The sun's last rays made the little copse look more golden and -dreamy than did the stronger morning light. The still pool with its -warm reflection of sky and trees, the mysterious dark wood beyond, all -shadowy and full of dreams, made a picture which his hand never wearied -of reproducing. On his easel stood a canvas which bore a reflection of -the scene on which he was looking, painted in a strong, masterly manner, -but not yet completed. "Ah, Heavens! no 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 -Dupres and Rousseaus. Shall I ever feel that I can even dimly picture -this one view? Can I ever send my testimony of beauty to the world? -Can I say the one word of truth which was given me to speak?" - -Graham spoke to the four walls to which most of his conversation was -addressed. The only sympathy he ever received in his bursts of -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. - -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 _netshukes_,--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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Good-evening, John. What luck did you have to-day?" - -"Four quail and two rabbits," replied the old man laconically, without -returning the greeting of his visitor. - -"And what have you in that old iron pot of yours? Something very good, -I warrant." - -"Stewed quail with bacon." - -"Well, you must eat it yourself, for I do not want any supper to-night; -I am going up to the house to pass the evening. Here is a package of -tobacco for you. I shall be ready at the usual time for my breakfast." - -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. - -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. - -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,-- - -"Well, Barbara, here you see me, making myself comfortable on Graham's -deerskin. It has just come home; is it not a beauty?" - -Receiving no answer, Miss Millicent Almsford turned her face so that her -eyes fell upon John Graham standing near her, with a smile on his lips, -a flush on his cheek. Was it the sudden leaping of the fire from the -heart of the great apple log, John Graham asked himself, or was it the -shining of a flame from within that lighted Millicent's face with a -strange radiance at the instant when her eyes met his own? For an -instant, a space of time too short to be counted by seconds, for -something less than one 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. - -"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." - -"Indeed, yes, they have all mentioned you frequently. Mrs. Deering and -Barbara have not yet returned from the station. When you came in I -thought they had returned. I think the train must be late; they drove -down to meet a friend. Will you not be seated, Mr. Graham?" - -Millicent had by this time quite recovered her equanimity, somewhat -shaken by the sudden appearance of the man who had lived so persistently -in her thoughts for the past fortnight. She seated herself near the -fire, motioning Graham to a chair on the other side. - -"I suppose that this fire quite shocks you? Mr. Deering cannot bear to -sit in the same room with it; but I have suffered so much from the -change of climate that I am allowed to have this little blaze every -evening. Do you see this pretty rug? It only came home to-day. Mr. -Deering had it dressed for me. It is from the deer which you brought -here one morning,--a beautiful, soft piece of fur." - -"Yes, it is well arranged too. Did I understand you, Miss Almsford, to -say that Miss Deering had gone to meet some visitors?" - -"Yes, but you need not mind,"--her quick ear had caught the shade of -annoyance in his voice,--"it is only poor Ferrara." - -"Poor Ferrara? Ah, I see you have already guessed his secret." - -"Who could help it when it was so very evident? Do you think Barbara -will ever say yes?" - -"I cannot tell. I sometimes hope so, but she is over-fastidious." - -"Fastidious? Is that the term to use? Surely you would not have her -marry him unless she loved him? To a woman like Barbara such a fate -would be intolerable." - -"I do not quite agree with you. You know that self-sacrifice is Miss -Deering's greatest idea of happiness." - -"I cannot comprehend it; truly I think I do not understand Barbara, -though I do 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." - -"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!" - -"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 _I_ 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." - -Millicent spoke rapidly and with shining eyes. She had at last found a -soul which, if not kindred to her own, was at least capable of an -intelligent sympathy. - -"It is not strange that you should feel as you do; and, believe me, I -can sympathize with you; and yet, do not be hurt if I tell you that this -very transplanting is the thing which you needed. Do you know how the -finest peaches are produced? To borrow another simile from nature, it is -by taking a slip from an old tree and grafting it to the sturdy trunk of -a young fruit tree, that the most perfect fruit is obtained. Be not -afraid; the wound will heal; and the strong, vigorous sap of the young -tree will make the blossom, which now droops, bloom as a rare fruit." - -"I do not want it. I do not belong here. I 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." - -"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." - -"Never, never!" she cried impetuously. - -At this moment voices sounded in the hall, and several persons entered -the library. These were Barbara and her mother, Hal Deering, and a -short gentleman with a very large round head, on which the coarse black -hair, closely cropped, stood straight in air, like the hobbed mane of a -Mexican pony. His piercing black eyes were set too close to the -well-shaped aquiline nose; and the black mustache curled fiercely from -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. - -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. - -"Sweet Mistress Deering, will you not give us some music?" asked Graham, -as Millicent left the piano. - -"After such singing as Millicent's and Mr. Ferrara's, my little thread -of a voice could hardly be heard, Graham." - -"Play for us then, my lady. Miss Barbara, are you not in the mood for a -dance?" - -"Of course she is," said Hal, "and so is Ferrara. Come, Princess, I -will give you your first lesson in the American waltz." - -The young men rolled back the huge rugs, leaving the hard-wood floor -exposed. Mrs. 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. - -"Good-night to you," he cried. The deep, musical tones were answered by -a farewell greeting from the girl who stood there alone in the night -watching his retreating form. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - "Then, in the boyhood of the year, - Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere - Rode through the coverts of the deer - With blissful treble ringing clear; - She seemed a part of joyous Spring." - - -Though the greater part of his time was spent in the old tower, John -Graham was well known in San Francisco. His studio, at the top of a -tall apartment-house in one of the unfrequented thoroughfares of the -city, was familiar to most of its aspirants to artistic fame. In this -large bare room, with its strong north light, there 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,-- - -"Well, Horton, you may go now if you must, but do not fail to come -to-morrow. I have your name correctly,--Daniel Horton? Where do you -live?" - -The stranger declined to give his address, and promised to come the next -day at the appointed hour. After he had left the room the artist had -something to say about expression, characterizing the face of the model -as one indicative of brutal cunning and impudent daring. - -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,-- - -"Graham, where did you pick up that model this morning?" - -"I found him lounging about the station. Why do you ask?" - -"He has such a bad face. You should be more careful about the men you -engage to pose for you." - -"And why, Arthur?" - -"Because you lead such an unprotected life in that terrible old ruin." - -"What a fanciful creature you are, Northcote. As if there was anything -to be gained in 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." - -"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." - -"What manner of man was he?" - -"The president of the county bank." - -"Well, my dear Arthur, when I become a bank president, or even a -railroad treasurer, I will take better care of my worthless self. At -present I am not a promising prize to the most sanguine kidnapper. I -can fancy your feelings on receiving a notice that, unless five thousand -dollars be left in the hollow of a blasted pine-tree on the high-road at -San Rosario, a slice of my right ear would be forwarded by way of a -reminder! When are you coming out to pass the night with me?" - -"When I have sold my Diana, or when Patrick Shallop gives me an order -for a life-size statue of himself." - -"Come with me to-day. It will do you good to pass an afternoon in the -woods." - -"Do not ask me. I will take nothing more from you, Graham,--I -cannot,--not even a piece of bread, until--" - -"Well, if you are so obstinate, farewell to you. I must hurry or I shall -miss my train." - -The two men shook hands the sculptor 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. - -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. - -"So you like Graham?" Henry Deering was the speaker. - -"Of course I like him. I told you I should, from the moment you -described his queer tower and his solitary life to me. I always like -people who have something to characterize them and set them apart from -the mere dead-level rank and file of mediocrity," answered Millicent. - -"But may not a hermit like Graham be mediocre like everybody else?" - -"No, the fact of his living alone does not make him interesting; but he -would not live alone if he were like everybody else. Ordinary people -all herd together." - -"You must find all of us very ordinary people, I should think, after the -people you have lived among,--romantic Italians and that sort?" - -"But Italians are by no means all interesting. The great charm about -them is that they are usually a happy people, and that it does not take -so much to make them contented as it does you more complex Americans." - -"_You_ Americans? How soon are you going to call yourself an American? -But you do not answer my question. How can you manage to get on as well -as you do with commonplace people like ourselves?" - -"_You_ are not commonplace. A man who knows how to milk cows and digs -potatoes, who rubs down his own horse and feeds his stock, and can -withal dance like a city beau, and keep a table full of people laughing -from the soup to the coffee, cannot be called commonplace." - -"Thank you, Princess, most heartily for the compliment. I see you will -not be pinned down by my rather personal question. Let me pay you with -some of your own coin. I think it quite remarkable that you have so -quickly fitted into the life here, and have accepted so quietly things -which must be very strange to you. The difference of the way of living, -the surroundings, the very strangeness of being waited on by these -Chinamen, must be very uncomfortable, I fear?" - -"Do 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?" - -"They all do that; they are the most generous creatures in the world. -What did Lam bring you?" - -"The prettiest little China silk handkerchief, which he presented with -these words: 'I solly got no more, I _so_ poor.' Was it not touching?" - -"How do your lessons get on?" - -"Very well. Lam learns ten or twelve new words every day. I give him -the English word for an article, and he gives me the Chinese; and the -following day we catechise each other; but I have never remembered a -Chinese name, and Lam has never forgotten an English one. Then I set -him copies, which he writes out beautifully with his queer little -camel's-hair brush dipped in India-ink. I fear the sentiments will not -greatly benefit him, but I try to explain them to him." - -"Give me an example of your copy-book maxims; I am sure they are -something new, quite unlike those I was brought up on." - -"I take my verses all from Mr. Lear's 'Nonsense Book;' they will help -him geographically, if not otherwise." - -"You have given him the 'Old Man of Moldavia'?" - -"Assuredly." - -"Truly, Princess, you are the most 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." - -"_Eh bene, cosa volete_? I--" - -"Now what is the use of talking Italian to me? You know I can't -understand a word of it, and--" - -A third voice interrupted Deering. It was that of a man who had joined -the pair unnoticed by either of them, the sound of his footsteps being -muffled by the deep grass. - -"If Miss Almsford knew how pretty her manner of speaking English was, -she would never have resort to the weaker language of her birthplace to -express her thoughts." - -"What, Graham, with a gallant speech upon his lips! Wonder of wonders! -Princess, he has the sharpest tongue and the keenest wit I have ever -known. Beware of him! When did you come?" - -"Just now; I rode over to see if Miss 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." - -"It is the thing of all others I should enjoy," said Millicent; "I will -be ready in ten minutes." - -Deering strolled off, rather disconsolately, in the direction of the -dairy, Graham accompanying him as far as the stable, where he proceeded -to put Barbara's saddle on the back of a sturdy cob, which from his -immovable character had been named Sphinx. - -The artist had visited the house several times since his first meeting -with Millicent, and had promised to be her guide to the high hill-top, -whence a view of the Sierra Nevadas was to be obtained. Up the narrow -bridle path toiled the two horses, Graham's leading the way. The road -was a difficult one, underbrush and rolling stones making it dangerous -for any horse which was not sure-footed. Old Sphinx set his feet firmly -on the solid ground, avoiding all pit-falls in a wary fashion. The air -was sweet with the spicy breath of the madrone tree, whose dark red bark -and brilliant glossy leaves gleamed out here and there through the -darker foliage of the great redwoods. The young man turned his head -over his shoulder, letting his mustang find out the path, and talked to -his companion, who was not yet at home in the saddle. One of the new -delights which the western country held for Millicent was that of -riding. Most of her life had been spent in Venice; and she had had -little opportunity for indulging in that most 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. - -From a point in the road whence a view of the happy valley was to be -obtained, Graham reined in his horse. The wide, pleasant valley lay -below them, the house, its central point of interest, standing -surrounded by the orchard and garden. A brook wound like a silver -ribbon through the wide fields and wooded groves, under rustic bridges, -here and there breaking into foam over a mass of stone, or a sudden -shelving of the land. - -When they again started Graham dismounted, and, passing his arm through -the bridle of his horse, took Sphinx by the rein and led him over the -rough bit of country. Whether from an exaggerated idea of courtesy, or -because the head covering was irksome, Graham doffed his hat and walked -bareheaded, the little shafts of sunshine touching his dark hair with -points of light. The tall girl noted the sun and shadow which made this -and all else lovely on this fair afternoon. As the ascent became -steeper, the trees were less dense and the path grew wider. Graham still -walked beside her horse, though there was no longer need for him to do -so. As 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!" - -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. - -"You are more tender-hearted than Miss Barbara." - -"No, but I could not bear that those two glorious creatures should be -put out of the warm sunlight which they love so well." - -"Miss Barbara is an excellent shot; she could have killed the stag from -this point." - -"And yet Barbara is really much better-hearted than I, and feels other -people's troubles as if they were her own. Everything is in habit and -education; she has looked upon deer in the light of venison, as I have -always considered oxen in the light of future beef. And yet, though -Barbara is so kind and good, I do not find her _simpatica_--how shall I -say?" - -"You might say sympathetic or congenial, Miss Almsford, if you could -content yourself with the English language." - -"But it is not the same thing,--sympathetic and _simpatica_; indeed it -is an untranslatable word. I cannot always express my thoughts in -English." - -"Would you allow me to suggest that it may not be entirely the fault of -the language, which did not fail to express the thoughts of Chaucer and -Shakspeare, that you find it difficult to make yourself understood?" - -"Do I speak it so badly then? You are not complimentary." - -"It is not that you speak it badly, but that your vocabulary is limited, -and that your mind far outruns its limits. I fancy you have never read -or thought much in a serious vein in the simplest and the strongest of -tongues." - -"No, I have read very little English, but I challenge your last -statement. I do not find English the greatest language. It is coarse -by the side of French; it is prosaic compared to Italian. Think of the -fine distinctions, the delicate shades of meaning, of the Gallic tongue. -Your English can only express the extremes." - -"And yet to-day it is more a lender than a borrower of words. You -cannot take up a German or a French newspaper without finding an -Anglicism in every column." - -"What does that prove? Merely that the Anglo-Saxon race is more -restless than all others. They are the Goths of the nineteenth century, -and invade every corner of Europe, Asia, and Africa, carrying with them -their 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." - -"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?" - -"I cannot account for it save as an aberration of the brain. It is -strange, too, for you Americans are not a patriotic people." - -"You think not?" - -"It does not strike me so." - -"You are mistaken, Miss Almsford; but your mistake is a natural one. -These ideas, believe me, are not worthy of you, and have been derived by -you from some perverted mind. Your own is too clear to have formed such -opinions. They have been engrafted or inherited. How should you really -have any idea but the most chimerical one, of America or Americans? You -have passed your life among a race of people most unlike them, and you -have been taught to ignore the country and the race to which you belong. -You consider the matter of your birth as a misfortune, and you have -learned to look down on your country, from below. I have had some -experience of life in the various American colonies in Europe, and I -think it a great misfortune to be one of those expatriated Americans. -They are people 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." - -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. - -"Are you rewarded for the long ascent, maiden from afar?" - -"Yes," answered Millicent softly. - -As they made the steep descent together Graham talked, in his strong, -sweet voice, of his life in the old tower, of his work, of the pictures -he had painted, and those which he dreamed of making some day. The -self-dependent and 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. - -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. - -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. - -The loud summons of the supper-bell struck the ears of the young people -as they drew near the house; and the family stood waiting on the piazza -as they reined in their horses before the door. - -"Are you tired, Millicent?" was the anxious question of Mrs. Deering. - -"Did you get a clear view of the mountains?" asked Barbara. - -"How did Sphinx go?" said Hal. - -"I cannot answer you all at once," cried 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." - -"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?" - -"I like it here," Millicent answered, as she walked slowly up the steps; -"but if you all want to go, I am willing. Who are the Shallops? Where -is San Real?" - -Graham had torn open his letter, which he quickly perused. Millicent -looked inquiringly at him, and he answered her unspoken query: - -"Yes, Mrs. Shallop asks me to join your party for a week at her pleasant -house. Very kind of her, I am sure; but I never do that sort of thing. -I--" - -"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." - -"I am yours to command in this and all things, Madame," said Graham, -offering his arm to his hostess; "and there stands Ah Lam ready to weep -because the muffins are growing cold; and I am famously hungry after our -ride." - -Tea being ended, Mrs. Deering and Graham paced the gravel path around -the house for half an hour. It was evident to the group on the piazza -that a discussion was going on between them. They spoke in low, earnest -voices, whose tones did not escape Millicent's sensitive hearing, though -she failed to catch the import of the words. - -"For my sake," she finally heard Mrs. Deering say in a pleading voice. - -"Dear my lady, is it just to put it on that ground?" - -"But if you will hear to it on no other," she argued. - -"Think what it is you ask of me. To leave my tower and my man Friday -for a luxurious household with plethoric master and servants; to -stagnate for a week among those ridiculous people who fill San Real in -the summer; and all this not because it will do me or any one else any -good, but to the end that I may begin the portraits I have already -refused to paint. You know that I am not suited to that sort of hack -work. How can I make a picture of that over-fed Shallop or his pinched, -good little wife?" - -"But our work cannot all be that which is best suited to us--" - -"It should be--" - -"Remember, Graham, that in three weeks the payment for the studio is -due--" - -"Ah, kindest one! you never forget me; bless you for your sweetness and -thoughtfulness. Yes, I will go and do my best to make Shallop look like -something other than an ex-blacksmith, but it is indeed bitter." - -"You will find that there will be 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. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - Where have we lived and loved before this, sweet? - My will ere now hath led thy wayward feet; - I knew thy beauties--limbs, lips, brows, and hair-- - Before these eyes beheld and found thee fair. - - -Mrs. Deering's arguments carried the day, and Graham decided to -accompany the young ladies to San Real. Ferrara was to be of the party. -It was a bright morning which saw the departure of the three travellers -from the Ranch. Hal drove them to the station in a very disconsolate -frame of mind. During Ralph 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. - -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"Yes, far happier than those of us who have lost all belief in anything -beyond our own bodies, and the facts which that body's senses reveal to -us." - -"And you believe--" - -"Ask me not, maiden, what I believe. I can only hope. But this I know, -that there is need to you and to me, to all of us of this generation, to -whom the old fallacious dogmas of dead creeds are meaningless, of faith. -This is not the age of belief. The things which have been considered -necessary draperies to religion are stripped off; but because truth is -naked, it is none the less truth. Faith in that part of ourselves which -is not of earth, we must hold fast to, when all else is rent from our -feeble natures." - -"You should be a preacher. I think that you have got the right end of -the truth, perhaps--" - -Barbara, who had sat a silent listener to this conversation between the -two young people, now spoke for the first time. - -"I know little of the modern scientific 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." - -"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." - -"_Apropos_ 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." - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"It appears, O fair Venetian, that you are surprised at this grandeur. -Did not Miss Barbara prepare you for it?" - -"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. - -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. - -The guests found Mrs. Shallop awaiting them in a long dim drawing-room. -She was a skimpy pattern of feminality, with a pitiful, pinched face, -great sad-looking eyes, colorless, sandy hair, and a thin, angular body. -Though it was early in the afternoon, the elegance of her dress would -have been suitable to a ball room. The heavy folds of rich blue brocade -stood out from the poor little figure whose emaciated lines its rich -fabric refused to indicate. She advanced toward her guests with -something of an effort, as if the burden of dress which was laid upon -her were greater than she could bear. Her welcome was, however, very -cordial; and her bony little hands, with their weight of jewels, clasped -Barbara's strong fingers affectionately. - -"I am real glad you have all come, Miss 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?" - -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 _bric-a-brac_ which decorated the walls and cabinets of the lofty -apartment. It was in truth a rarely beautiful room, the prevailing -color a deep, soft crimson, the wood-work all painted white and -delicately carved. Below the ceiling ran a frieze, the work of John -Graham. The subject treated was the history of Cupid and Psyche. The -scenes were divided into panels by twining sprays of rose-vines -charmingly treated. The first represented the meeting of the two -lovers, their marriage being the next in order. In the third -compartment the doubting Psyche looks for the first time on the radiant -beauty of the sleeping God. Next the artist had portrayed the forsaken, -love-lorn bride sitting alone, crushed with grief, repenting the fatal -curiosity which prompted her to peer too closely into the 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. - -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. - -"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. - -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. - -"It is the only house Mr. Graham has ever arranged, and he says he will -never do another. He was in Europe while it was being built, and mamma -persuaded the Shallops to give him _carte blanche_ to buy all the -beautiful things he could lay hands upon," Barbara explained. - -The guests were shown to their rooms by the hostess, and Millicent gave -an exclamation of delight on entering the apartment allotted to her. It -was indeed a unique room. The walls were panelled in ebony to a third -of their height, a bright light pattern in flowers running to the -ceiling, and relieving what might 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. - -"It is my Venice!" cried Millicent, "it is my home!" Her eyes were full -of tears. She caught Barbara by the arm and rapidly described to her -the point from which the picture had been painted. - -"Mr. Graham will be very much pleased that you recognized the spot." - -"Is it _his_ picture? Yes, I ought to have known it." - -"Why, are you clairvoyant?" - -"Yes, Barbara, sometimes." - -Millicent seemed somewhat disconcerted at what she had said; and, -without noticing 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. - -"_Entrate_," was the response, in obedience to which she opened the -door, and found Millicent lying on the low, crescent-shaped sofa, her -fair head resting on a pile of cushions. Her 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! - -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. - -"I was reading, and I fancy I had fallen asleep, Bab, what can I do for -you?" - -"Mrs. Shallop suggested our all having tea here, if you liked. They do -not dine till eight to-night. Mr. Shallop has been detained in San -Francisco." - -"Very well, dear, just as you say. You did not mean to send for the -gentlemen?" - -"Oh, yes, this room is always used for a tea room, unless you object, of -course. If you prefer to 'sport your oak,' you have a perfect right to -do so, and we will go downstairs." - -"No, no, let us have it here by all means, if it is the custom." - -Barbara rang the bell, which was answered by a ponderous butler with a -condescending 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. - -"Very good, miss," answered the functionary in the driest possible tone, -his features curled into an expression of scorn toward the whole human -race. His bow was so terrific in its icy grandeur that Barbara shivered -as he left the room. - -"I hate that man, and he knows it. He always spoils my appetite by -glaring at me all through dinner; and I think he takes an evil delight -in handing all the most impossible dishes to me first, which I have to -refuse, because I don't dare to attack them." - -The man shortly after returned and laid a low round table in the -bow-window for tea. Barbara placed herself behind the old-fashioned -silver urn and busied herself with tea-making, while Millicent drew up -the blinds and let the sunset into the room. Soon Graham came in, -begging for a cup of tea, a sure bait to him, he said, 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. - -"Neither will I reproach my luncheon, nor insult the excellent dinner -which I am sure Mrs. Shallop will give us, by the uncivilized fashion of -drinking tea at this hour." - -"Miss Almsford thinks we are too civilized here, Ferrara. She almost -fainted when she learned that I was the possessor of a dress-coat. She -hoped to find us in eternal suits of corduroy and flannel, with -top-boots and bowie knives." - -"You have exactly described the costume in which I first saw you, Mr. -Graham; so you surely should not blame me for believing that, in wearing -it, you followed the prevailing fashion of your country." - -"That alters the case; but are you not 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." - -"But I had seen you before that, though you had never seen me." - -"When, fair lady? May I hope that our first encounter was in your white -dreams?" - -The girl shook her head and laughed. - -"Was it perhaps in another existence? Did we dance together, you and I, -in the old happy days when Pan reigned? Now I think of it, were you not -the wood-nymph who vanished from me into the arms of a great tree? Did -you not tread one measure with me in the merry wood-dance, and then -leave me desolate with a tryst appointed but never kept?" - -"Did you not soon find another partner?" - -"I waited long alone." - -"And if I could not come sooner?" - -"Well, you have come at last to keep the tryst. Will you finish that -dance which was begun so many eons ago?" - -"Ay me! and can we now dance the same measure, you and I? Would not our -feet tread inharmonious steps?" - -"Which of us can say? Shall we try?" - -"If you say my word was given, I know not how to break it." - -The room had grown dim, and Barbara and Ferrara in the recess of the -window were 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. - -"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?" - -For answer the girl bowed her head. - -"Nay, I must hear it from your very own lips. Is it for this that you -have come?" - -"Yes." The word came soft as twilight 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! - -"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." - -"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." - -"Really, are you in earnest? I have always wished to see your tower. -When shall we come?" - -"That is for you to say, Miss Deering. Any day which will suit your -convenience will be agreeable to me." - -"We will settle it after we return to the Ranch." - -Soon after this Mrs. Shallop joined the group, and they all went out and -walked on the wide 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. - -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. - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - "Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in - May? - When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow do you say?" - - -The week's visit at the Shallops' slipped quickly away, each pleasant -day passing too hastily into to-morrow, Millicent thought. The 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"So, my nymph, you are at home in Father Neptune's arms as well as in -the embrace of the great tree. Which is your native element, earth, -air, or water?" - -"I am amphibious." - -"And which of your three elemental homes do you like the best?" - -"When I am dancing, the air; when I am walking, dear Mother Earth; and -when I swim, the sea." - -"When I paint you, it will be as I see you now, triumphing over the -waves as our great mother, Aphrodite, triumphed over them before you." - -"That compliment would go to my head were it not mixed with so much -water." - -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. - -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,-- - -"Put your hand on my shoulder--so, and I will swim below you." Her -voice was hoarse and shrill as that of the screaming sea-gulls. He could -not speak, but looked toward the shore as if he would have her save -herself and abandon him to his fate. - -"No, no!" she cried, "I _will_ save you;" and, placing his hands on her -shoulders, struck out bravely toward the shore. To reach it seemed at -first an easy thing, but the struggle proved a terrible one, cruelly -unequal, between the girl's small strength, with the burden now added to -her own weight, and the waves grown hungry 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. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - "A flame! Her clear soul's essence slips, - To steep for aye with mine, from her fast-whitening lips!" - - -Several days passed before these two who, hand in hand, had looked death -in the face, and felt his chill breath freezing up the current of their -lives, again saw one another. Graham, after twenty-four hours, was able -to be about, looking pale and ill. The congestive chill which had -overcome him was the result of his having plunged into the sea while -very much over-heated. The water at San Real, and indeed all along the -Pacific coast, is very much colder than at the Eastern watering places -of a 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. - -"Why did you not tell me that you were coming? Do you think it prudent, -dear?" - -"Yes, I wanted to come, and the doctor said I should do whatever I -fancied," she answered a little fretfully; then she smiled, with that -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,-- - -"Barbara, why have you not married?" - -"What an odd question!" - -"If you knew what a charming wife you would make, you would think the -question a most natural one. I suppose you have been in love?" - -"I suppose so," jestingly. - -"Bah! talk seriously for a moment with me. Why do you not marry Ferrara? -The poor 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." - -"I have never thought about it in the way of a background." - -"Of course you never did; but, Barbara, do you think you could fall in -love again?" - -"Who knows?" - -"Then I know that you have never been in love at all, _ma belle_--oh, I -forgot, and have broken my vow to speak English pure and simple. Well, -never mind, now we will talk about my broth, for I am very hungry. I -feel like little Rosalba in the 'Rose and the Ring,' when she went about -crying, 'Dutess Tountess, my royal highness vely hungy.'" - -Long confidences had followed this 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _malaise_ which -arises from the incongruity of persons with their surroundings. Graham, -interested in his portrait, which was coming on famously, was not easily -affected by a personal atmosphere to which he was indifferent; while -Barbara and Ferrara, used to a similar condition of things, accepted it -without question. - -The morning of the last day of their visit dawned bright and clear; and -Millicent, standing on the terrace, thought the wide view had never -seemed so beautiful before. She was taking farewell of that sea which -had so nearly 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? - -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. - -They walked together for a time, Graham full of anxious inquiry for her -health, and Millicent happy in his anxiety. When the artist learned of -the proposed departure, he strongly opposed it, urging a longer stay. -When he found that the young ladies had decided to leave San Real, he -announced his intention of accompanying them. Mrs. Shallop shortly -afterward joined the pair and handed Millicent a newspaper, at which the -girl looked quite indifferently until her eyes caught her own name in -large letters at the head of a column. She quickly read the article, -which proved to be a highly sensational account of the rescue of Graham. - - -A FIGHT WITH DEATH!--Heroism of a Young Girl!--John Graham rescued from -Drowning by Beautiful Millicent Almsford!--The Personal Appearance of -the Heroine!--Early History of the Lucky Man! - - -These headings preceded the two-column article at which Graham laughed -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. - -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. - -"Why does he not beat him?" she cried. "If I were a man I should thrust -him from the house." - -"And be held up to the public as a brutal assassin?" laughed Barbara. -"No, no, my dear, let Mr. Graham alone; he knows best how to manage the -visitor. It never does to insult those gentlemen; they are dangerous -enemies, and have the public's ear into which to pour all their -grievances. Our friend will draw the fire on himself, I fancy, in order -to spare you. News the news-fiend must have; he will make it himself if -it be not provided for him. Poor thing! he must live, after all, as -well as you or I. It is not his fault that he is obliged to interview -people; it must be a very disagreeable profession." - -Thus kindly and with wide sympathy did Barbara Deering judge all men and -women; ay, and reporters too, together with babies, Chinamen, and other -unfortunate works of God. Graham returned in a quarter of an hour, -having appeased his visitor with the aid of a good cigar and a champagne -cocktail, compounded by the careful hand of the solemn-faced butler. - -Millicent was still flushed and excited, all Barbara's arguments having -failed to soothe her nerves. Graham, with one sentence, banished the -angry dint from her white forehead and brought a smile back to her face. -The hour of the last good-bys had arrived; and the guests took leave of -their kind hostess, with promises to repeat their visit before long. -Little Mrs. 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. - -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. - -"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?" - -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. - -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. - -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 _chatelaine_ of San Rosario; of Barbara's sweetness and Mrs. -Shallop's hospitality; of the progress he had made on the portrait of -his hostess; of the 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. - -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. - -"Who is it?" he asked in a low voice. No answer came, but through the -stillness of the night he thought he heard the sound of a quick-drawn -breath. Putting the honeysuckle aside he stepped on the piazza, and -found that his eyes had not deceived him. Millicent stood beneath the -rose vines. When she saw that she was discovered she spoke with a light -laugh: - -"I did not want you to see me, for I have been unsociable this evening, -and hoped you would all think I had gone to bed." - -"Is it not damp for you to be sitting out-of-doors?" he asked, with a -voice grown deep and tender. - -"Oh, no! I am quite used to it. What a wonderful night! I think I -never saw the stars so brilliant." - -The girl seated herself on the edge of the piazza, Graham placing a -cushion under her feet and taking his place at her side. It was a -perfectly still evening, the only sound being the far-away tinkle of a -sheep bell. There was a moment of dangerous silence, which Millicent -broke a little nervously, speaking of Italy, of Mrs. Shallop and their -late visit, of Hal's 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. - -"May I kiss you?" said the voice. - -What was the faint sound which the night wind wafted to his ear? Was it -the whirring of the humming birds whose nest hung close by? Was it the -far-off silver ripple of the brooklet, or the cadence of the distant -sheep-bell? Was it that sweeter sound than note of mating bird, of -falling water, or of faint bell-chime,--was it a loving woman's "Yes"? - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - "Oui, les premiers baisers, oui, les premiers serments - Que deux etres mortels echangerent sur terre - Ce fut au pied d' un arbre effeuille par les vents, - Sur un roc en poussiere." - - -When he awoke the next morning, John Graham gave a deep sigh. His -dreams had been so sweet that no reality could equal their 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. - -"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 _Rue d' Enfer_,--words which he had -painted over the tiny grate in the cramped apartment under the leads, -where he had suffered from heat all summer, and shivered all winter: - - Dans un grenier qu' on est bien - A vingt ans, a vingt ans! - - -He would have liked to dance. Had his years in truth been but twenty, -he would have yielded to the temptation. He would gladly have thrown -his arms about the old Frenchman, for lack of another confidant, and -have told him the cause of his happiness. But, after all, this reflex -of youth could not entirely melt the reserve of manhood from him; he -wore his thirty years lightly indeed, but could not shake them off. - -"Give me your axe, John; I know something of your woodman's craft; let -me show you how easily I can fell this young tree." - -He took the tool from the woodcutter, and, whirling the sharp edge in -the air, laid it at the root of the tree with a ringing blow. - -"It appears in truth that monsieur 'ave 'andled an axe before." - -"Surely, John. I once spent a summer with some friends of mine, who -lived in a forest in Brittany; they were _sabotiers_." - -"Monsieur is jesting?" - -"Not in the least. I not only can fell a tree,--clumsily enough, be it -confessed,--but if I had the tools I could shape you a pair of _sabots_, -as good ones as you could buy for ten sous at Quimper; that is your -town, I think?" - -He talked in short, jerky sentences between the strokes, while the white -splinters flew about him like a hail-storm. After a few moments the -knack which he seemed at first to have forgotten came back to him. The -smell of the bruised bark was aromatic; the death-sigh of the young -branches was musical as they trembled for the last time together, -reaching out to touch their sister trees in solemn leave-taking. Their -sigh was now drowned in the groan of the swaying tree. - -"Take care, monsieur, take care; it is about to fall," cried the -Frenchman. - -His warning was a timely one. Graham, so long unused to the exercise of -the craft, had not noticed how deeply he had cut into the stem. The -straight tree seemed to hesitate, tossing its branches helplessly -heavenward, and then with a creaking sound crashed through the -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. - -"That was well done, monsieur." - -And, at the sound of the man's voice, the cloud floated by and the sun -shone out once more, the wood birds took up their song again, the -squirrel in the hollow of the white oak went on cracking her nut, and -the brief mourning was over. - -That man must feel himself indeed beloved, who fancies that the world -will pause as long beside his grave as does the forest at the fall of -one of its children. - -Not until the branches had been lopped off and the long stem cut into -lengths, did Graham cease his labor. The exercise did him good, and -gave him an appetite for the breakfast which old John served him in the -open air. He declared that the coffee was better than could be had at -the _Cafe de Paris_; and assured John that neither Paris nor Vienna -could produce such bread as that which the old man had baked in some -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. - -"Bring my glass and your tin cup, John." - -He needed sympathy, he who had lived for years without asking man or -woman to share his joys or sorrows; he felt a new need in himself for -human companionship; and the silent old fellow who did his bidding was -the only soul to whom he could look for it. The ice which had encased -his heart was broken; and instead of sternly demanding from his -fellow-men honor, truth, and sincerity, he embraced the whole world in a -warm, unquestioning love and 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. - -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. - -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. - -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.... - -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. - -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,-- - -"Look at Millicent racing with her own shadow." - -"'T is a substantial shadow, Bab, but otherwise the simile 's good," -said Hal, as he passed by on his way to the dairy. - -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. - -In the forest Graham found her standing breathless beneath an oak-tree, -whose branches had caught her gown and forced her to stay her flight. - -"Again under that terrible oak; but I shall not lose you this time. Say -that you will not vanish in his jealous arms." - -"He opens them to me no longer; he offers me no refuge now." - -"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?" - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - "And in the forest delicate clerks, unbrowned, - Sleep on the fragrant brush as on down-beds. - Up with the dawn, they fancied the light air - That circled freshly in their forest dress - Made them to boys again." - - -The life of John Graham had been one wherein the sorrowful days far -outnumbered the joyous ones. His youth had been saddened by the -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. - -"And if I were to be a shoemaker, I should make better shoes for having -studied the classics," was his reply to this admonition. - -He had not been among the popular men of his class, being very poor in -leisure time, the currency which buys that most expensive 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, _au cinquieme, Rue d' Enfer_. Times -there had been, while he was at work upon his great _Salon_ picture of -St. Paul, when a loaf of bread and five sous' worth of the rough red -wine of the people, had sufficed for his day's provender. Those days of -earnest work among the gay 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 _Salon_; and to the passing fame which this success -brought him, he owed his introduction to the woman who had so spoiled -the happiness of his youth. She was his compatriot, the 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"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,-- - -"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." - -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. - -"How late you are, good people!" he cried in a pleasant voice. "The -fellows thought you were going to disappoint us; but I had too much -faith in your word, Mrs. Deering, to doubt you. Miss Deering, you were -too quick for me; your agility is only excelled by your grace. Well, -Graham, glad to see you; for once you are better than your word." - -The young men shook hands with that 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 _menage_. 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,-- - -"We will drink the old toast, my nymph, to Pan, _evoe, evoe_!" - -Galbraith devoted himself to Barbara; and after dinner, when all justice -had been done to the woodland fare, and the great warm figs had been -eaten with the sunshine in them, the party broke up into groups. -Graham, who had brought his colors, made a sketch of the view from the -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. - -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. - -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,-- - -"Look out for rattlesnakes!" - -They had by this time reached the spot where Graham's horse had taken -fright; and old Sphinx shivered violently, tossing his head and snorting -loudly. In a few moments, it seemed to Millicent an eternity, Graham -rejoined them, having regained control over his fiery horse. - -"Deering, stand by Sphinx's head and hold my horse, will you?" - -As he spoke John Graham dismounted, pulled his high boots over his -knees, and seizing the heavy whip from the carriage, advanced 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. - -"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. - -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." - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - "Thereon comes what awakening! One grave sheet - Of cold implacable white about me drawn"-- - - -John Graham was one of those men in whose nature there seems no trace of -feminality. Man and woman supplement each other, each 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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? - -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 _chatelaine_ 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. - -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. - -"Millicent, did you ever do any churning?" - -"No, but I can learn." - -"Without doubt; but tell me, did you ever see any one else churn?" - -"Oh, yes; very often." - -"Who, if one may ask?" - -"You will not know any better if I tell you. It was old Nina, at home." - -"Ah, old Nina; and what sort of a machine did she use?" - -"She did not use a machine at all; she used a churn, like anybody else." - -"What did it look like?" - -"I am sure I have forgotten; it was probably an old-fashioned one, but -it made quite as good butter as _yours_ does;" this in a slightly -irritated voice. She objected to being catechised, and had, moreover, a -dim sense that Deering was bent on quizzing her. She ran along the -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. - -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. - -"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. - -"We are very glad to see you, Galbraith, but we are too busy to stop and -talk to you just now. You will find mother and Bab at the house. I have -a new hand here who is going to take charge of the churning in future, -and I am just showing her about a little. Do you catch on?" - -"Slang again! Five cents more towards the amusement fund." - -"Oh, we shall not want any more amusement fund if you are going to turn -worker, Princess." As he spoke they entered the cool dairy. It was -tenantless. At one end of the room stood a large wooden vessel, half as -big as the Trojan horse, and from its hollow sides came a dull, -splashing sound. - -"Why, you said they would be at work already," said Millicent, in a -disappointed voice; "where are they all?" - -"Oh, it only takes one man to attend to this part of the butter-making, -and there he is at his post." - -Outside the open doorway, as wide as the entrance to a barn, sat Pedro, -lazily smoking his pipe, and occasionally flicking with his whip the -strong mule who was slowly revolving round the small space to which he -was tethered. - -"Well," said Millicent impatiently, "what does that mean?" - -"Only this, my Princess, that you must turn the crank that this animal -is agitating, with your own small hands, if you persist in your -resolution to help with the churning." - -Millicent's face fell; and Galbraith hastened to explain to her that the -quantity of cream handled at one churning made it necessary, in a place -where human labor is so dear, to employ 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." - -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. - -"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." - -"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. - -"Let me judge between yourself and Miss Barbara. I know that she can -touch the ivory keys with grace, and can also make wonderful peach -preserves. On the other hand, you model in butter and--and--well, what -else can those small hands accomplish of art or industry?" - -"They can draw a little as well as model; they can trim bonnets, yes, -really quite well; they are not unfamiliar with the key-boards of piano -and organ; and, best of all,--I had really 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." - -"It seems, then, that you are a Spiritualist." - -"Far from it; by what power I do the few things which form the -_repertoire_ of my manifestations, as the mediums call them, I do not -know any more than you." - -"Will you give me a _seance_?" - -"Indeed; no." - -"And because--" - -"Because it tires me, and I am rather afraid of my own power. Some one -once compared me to a child who had got hold of an electric battery -which he did not understand, and with which he unwittingly produced -inexplicable phenomena, not devoid of danger to himself." - -"You are really in earnest then, and believe in these manifestations?" - -"Perfectly so; and I am rather cowardly about exploring them to their -source, as I have seen so many strong minds unhinged by study of this -subject. I certainly object to the vulgar theory, that the spirits of -those who have gone before us have nothing better to do than to tip -tables and dip their hands in pails of paraffine which accommodating -mediums prepare for them." - -"You do not believe in mediums, then?" - -"I believe no manifestation to be genuine which comes from a -professional medium. That they often have real power, I do not doubt; -but so soon as it is a question of earning their living, they must -inevitably fall back upon fraud. But we are growing quite serious about -this subject which I never like to talk of for fear of being -misunderstood." - -"But I am really interested in what you say--" - -"Never mind; here is your portrait, which is not flattered, I frankly -confess; but is it a little like you?" - -"If I know my face at all, it is wonderfully good. Would that you had -deigned to model it in a less perishable material!" - -"Oh, no! this is infinitely better, it is so much more appropriate-- - -"Thanks for the compliment; but why, if I may ask, should you consider -butter to be particularly suitable to me?" - -"Not to you personally, but to humanity. Is it not stupid to carve -bronze fac-similes of that which is as perishable as the grass?" - -"But had it not been for this stupidity, how should we know the features -of Caesar?" - -"And would it greatly matter?" - -"I think so; but a young lady who so cruelly assures me that butter is -the only material in which my humble features deserve to be -reproduced--" - -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,-- - -"Very well, Mr. Galbraith, we will see if you can act a part as well as -Barbara. Lay your hand in mine--so." - -The young man smiled, and did as he was bid, with a courteous bow, as if -deprecating the power in which he did not believe; and for a space of -time they stood looking each other full in the face. Then Millicent's -slight form seemed to vibrate, and from her eyes a light flashed into -the man's dark orbs, her cheek flushed, and from every nerve in her body -an electric flash seemed to emanate, concentrating into a broad current -at the shoulder, and slipping through the round white arm to the very -finger-tips. Galbraith's face paled as hers flushed; a stinging -sensation half painful, half agreeable, made him wince; and when in a -few moments Millicent withdrew her hand, he remained standing -motionless, white to the lips, with dim, dreaming eyes, and slow-beating -heart. - -"Speak," said the magnetizer, "tell me what is in your mind?" - -"There is nothing," answered the man, in a low, monotonous voice. - -"Now speak, and tell me what you see." - -"I see a man on horseback; the horse is running away. Now he gallops, -and the rider loses control of him; they disappear in a cloud of dust, -and I see nothing. Now they return; the horse is going quietly, and the -rider looks towards a carriage in which sits a lady; it is Millicent. -He enters the carriage; she is weeping, and he touches--" he paused. - -Millicent's cheek had grown crimson. She said in a low tone,-- - -"Why do you not continue?" - -"Because you will not let me." - -At this moment a light step sounded on the piazza. Millicent turned her -head and saw Graham approaching her. She stepped quickly towards him, -forgetting Galbraith, the company, everything and everybody, save that -her lover had come to her. As she turned from him, Galbraith reeled -suddenly, and would have fallen had not Hal steadied him to a seat. - -"I fear I am interrupting you," said the artist, in a cool voice, -betraying some annoyance. - -"Indeed, no," cried the girl, "we were only trying the stupid old game -of willing people; I have succeeded in magnetizing Mr. Galbraith here." - -By this time the young lawyer had recovered himself, though he looked -strangely pale and agitated. He was somewhat overcome by what had gone -before, and was not a little troubled by the power which the tall, -straight girl had 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. - -Later, as they walked together alone, Graham asked Millicent if she -would magnetize him, to which she replied in the negative. - -"Do you think that you could succeed?" - -"I cannot tell; but if I could, I should not be willing to do so." - -"And yet you threw a spell over that fellow Galbraith?" - -"Dear, there is a difference; cannot you see?" - -"No; upon my soul I can't." - -"I do not want to command even your thought for an instant; you must -think of me to please yourself, not because I will it." - -"What a strange girl you are, Millicent! Do you really love me so very -much?" - -"I love you better than my own soul." - -"A dangerous thing, child; do not ever say that to me again." - -"Why?" - -"It shocks me; I cannot tell you why." - -For answer, she gave him a rose from her breast with a childish gesture, -as if asking 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. - -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. - -"Thank you, Barbara, but I know just where they are." - -"Is it not the Petrarch and your manuscript translation of Dante that -Mr. Graham wants?" - -"Yes." - -"You left them on your table. I saw them when I went up to shut the -blinds. You had better let me go, you are so tired." - -"Yes, let Miss Deering get them for you; you are quite worn out with -your magnetizing." He wanted to say one last good-night to her. - -His lightest wish was her law; she nodded gratefully to Barbara, who -disappeared, while Graham told her once more how lovely she was that -night. When Miss Deering came back, Graham had already mounted his -horse and Millicent was feeding the animal with sugar. - -"You are sure you have the right books, Barbara?" - -"Quite sure; I know them perfectly." - -"Many thanks to you both, and good-night." - -Millicent was in a wakeful mood that night. She went to the piano and -played for an hour or two, as she only played when alone. Her hands -drifted dreamily over the key-board, drawing out fantastic -melodies,--themes which were 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 _addio_, the sweet symphony of sounds was -interrupted by a crashing discord. She sprang from the piano startled -and trembling, to find that a heavy vase of flowers had fallen on the -key-board from the shelf above the piano. The metal jar was 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. - -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. - -"Barbara, what books did you give Mr. Graham?" - -"The Petrarch and your Dante. What is the matter, Millicent? Have n't -you been in bed?" - -"No, I could not sleep. Here is the little Dante; where did you find -the book you mistook for it?" - -Barbara sat up and rubbed her eyes confusedly. - -"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?" - -"I only wanted to know, Barbara; go to sleep again." - -She spoke in a low, constrained voice, and glided quietly from the room. -Barbara, only half awake, gave a sigh, and settling her flaxen head -among the pillows, again fell asleep and dreamed that she had stabbed -Millicent with a knife, and that Graham was trying to stanch the wound -with the leaves of a little parchment book. - -When Graham arrived at his lonely tower, after making his horse -comfortable for the night, he looked into French John's cabin to see -whether all was well with the old fellow. The door was fast, and -looking through the small window, the young man saw the wood-cutter -lying on his hard couch, his gun beside him, his dog curled up at his -feet. The creature growled at the sound of Graham's footsteps, but -catching sight of a familiar face through the window, he gave a -comfortable yawp, wagged his tail, and relapsed into slumber. The -artist never slept without paying this last visit to his humble friend. -He stumbled up the steep tower stairs, and after fumbling with the -clumsy lock, the door 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. - -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." - -"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." - -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 _netshukes_ from their shadowy -corner, and shining on the polished steel of the gun standing near the -maulstick and fishing-rod. - -It must have been the wind, that faint sound which had seemed to find an -echo in the beating of his heart. He drew aside the heavy -window-curtains. Outside in the cool moonlight he saw the arms of the -great trees swaying to and fro; below these the desolate ruins of the -old church; 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. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - "Dearer than woman's love - Is yonder sunset fading in the sky!" - - -After that night's vigil, Graham took his gun, and packing a blanket and -a few camping 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:-- - -"Gentlemen are requested to put out the fire and latch the door before -leaving this shanty. Water to be found three rods beyond this spot to -the north." - -Graham found the candles, which he finally succeeded in lighting; and -after making a meal of hard-tack and roasted quail, he filled his pipe -and sat down on one of the bunks, tired out by his long day's ride. The -painful thoughts which he had banished during the hours of daylight now -took possession of him; and the brow, which had been calm all day, -showed the three deep dints which trouble more than time had furrowed -upon its noble expanse. He was alone again!--no more friendly sounds -and sights to divert his mind and fill his eyes with beauty. Only his -sad thoughts and the one great problem which was set before him to -solve. His changeful, 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? - -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,-- - -"Who the ---- is in this shanty?" - -"John Graham; and who is outside?" - -After a pause the voice answered,-- - -"A man as wants a night's rest bad, and has got as good a right to it as -anybody." - -"Put up your shooting-irons, Horton, and I will open the door." - -First striking a match and lighting his candle, Graham unfastened the -bar, and the light door swung wide. The figure out in the darkness -peered doubtfully into the room. - -"Don't be afraid; I am alone," said the artist coolly, seating himself -upon his bunk, and 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. - -The stranger seemed a good deal disconcerted at finding the artist -ensconced in the lodge. - -"Did n't expect to find anybody--least of all you--in this shanty." - -"I do not often occupy it; though I built it myself." - -"Is that so? You ain't got a mouthful of bread as yer'd let a man have -as has fasted since sunrise?" - -Graham's answer was to hand him a couple of rounds of hard-tack, which -he quickly 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. - -"You never came for those last sittings, Horton; my picture is not -finished yet." - -"You see, I got another job more to my taste than posturin'." - -"Are you working in the neighborhood?" - -"No; I am on my way to the Swindawl mines. Do you live in these yer -parts?" - -"Yes. You know the old church? I live in the tower." - -"Rum place, that; passed it to-day." - -"If you want to earn a little money to pay your travelling expenses, I -should like to finish that picture." - -The man did not answer, but stretched his great limbs and yawned. - -"It's blasted cold for the season." - -Graham nodded assent, blowing a great cloud of tobacco-smoke from his -lips, and composing in his mind, meanwhile, a picture in which this -wild-looking fellow, with his rough hair and coarse, strong outlines, -formed the central figure. He was of a low type of humanity, with a -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. - -Though the man had closed his eyes in the knowledge that it was entirely -safe for him to sleep in Graham's presence, his slumber was not an easy -one. He started often and groaned more than once; while his hand -nervously made the movement of striking with a weapon at some unseen -foe. The artist watched him for some minutes. - -"I should like to have another day's work on that rascal's torso," he -said at last; "I suppose if I paid him enough he would come to the -tower." - -As he spoke he tore a leaf from his 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 _chiffre_. He studied it for an -instant, and suddenly cried aloud that name which had become so dear to -him,--"Millicent!" - -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. - -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? - -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. - -Five miles accomplished: here is the great oak-tree which the lightning -had struck half a century ago; but twenty miles now lie before him. -Another landmark is passed,--the iron spring, with its red mouth framed -in green ferns, where he had once journeyed to bring _her_ a flask of -the strengthening water. On and on they fly, startling the birds in the -thickets and the foxes in their coverts, racing with the lazy breeze -which puffs slowly along and is soon left behind by the horse's speed. -At the spring on the hillside, where Millicent's hand had checked his -shooting 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. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - "Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope - The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence - The life o' the building." - - -The breakfast table at the San Rosario Ranch was usually a merry one; -but on the morning after what Hal had called Millicent's "magnetic -exhibition," the usual good spirits were missing. Millicent took her -accustomed place at Deering's side; and Galbraith marked the -extraordinary change which she had suffered since she had bade him -good-night the evening before. Her face had blanched to a whiteness -which made the ebon lines of eyebrows and lashes seem 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. - -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. - -"Have you brought your pistols?" she asked. - -"Yes, Princess, but they are in the wagon. I expected till the last -moment that Graham would turn up to take you, and that I should drive -the team. Why do you ask? There is no danger of our being molested." - -"Look at those men. Are not those gun barrels I see on their -shoulders?" - -"Yes; but they are probably peaceful hunters." - -The young man spoke in a perfectly careless tone, to reassure his -companion; but Millicent noticed that he occasionally looked behind him -as the riders gained on them. Finally, as the men drew near, Millicent -saw the rider nearest her shift the gun from his shoulder and rest it -across the saddle-bow, as if preparing to take aim. Hal, who had seen -the action, instantly called to Millicent to catch the reins, and held -up both his hands. By this time the men were close upon them, and the -one who had shifted his weapon called out in a rough voice,-- - -"All right, boss; we know you ain't got no money, and we don't want your -life to-day." His companion laughed aloud, and striking spurs to their -horses, they galloped down the high-road. Hal laughed as heartily as -the supposed highwayman, saying,-- - -"Well, that's a greaser's idea of a joke, I suppose. Adventure number -one has befallen us with few bad consequences. I don't think you were -half as frightened as you were the other day by the snakes." - -"No, I fancy I was not. I should not much mind being killed to-day." -This with a little, bitter laugh. - -"And why? Let us wait till after luncheon. Barbara has put up a capital -venison pasty,--a real English one, out of the Queen's own receipt -book." - -"Well, we will wait for the pie, to please you." - -The drive was accomplished with the usual desultory chit-chat, Hal doing -rather more than his share of the joking. As they passed the little -hovel, the wild children ran out, as they had upon the day when they had -visited the camp in the woods; and soon the gray bridge and the little -island were reached. The baskets were unpacked and the luncheon spread -upon the grass by the time the guests arrived. Among them were O'Neil, -Hartley, Ferrara, and Mrs. Shallop, who had come over by the train; with -a party of people from the village, in whom Millicent had never taken -much interest. 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. - -This is one of the stories which the lawyer told her:-- - -"In the old days, when Father Junipero and his small band of priests and -soldiers came into the wilderness of California, with the cross 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. - -"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. - -"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. - -"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 _atole_, or prepared corn, which they -served out to the lazy braves. As soon as he became a member of the -church, every redskin was cared for, and a gentle slavery was the -result, in which the priests exacted a certain amount of labor from the -Indian, in turn 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. - -"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." - -A silence followed Galbraith's story, which was broken by Millicent, who -said,-- - -"I have a sketch in an old Italian book of a beautiful young monk, Fra -Antonio by name. Could it be the same, I wonder?" - -"Who knows? Some of the priests were Italians. Would the dates agree?" - -"The portrait was dated some time in the latter part of the last -century." - -"It could not have been far from that time that the Smile of the Morning -met her sad fate." - -"Sad,--do you call her fate sad?" queried Millicent. - -"Who could think it otherwise?" - -"I surely do. Was it sad to die for the man she loved?" - -"It would have been happier if she could have lived for him." - -"Happiness! Who spoke of happiness? Why talk about a thing so -mythical? I think her lot was an enviable one. To her simple mind the -thought that suicide is sinful could never have occurred. She might not -follow the man she loved; she believed that the soul now prisoned in her -breast might always be near him; so she opened the cage and let the bird -fly." - -"You speak as seriously as if you had known the Smile of the Morning and -sympathized with her." - -"It is the privilege of those who have greatly suffered, that the grief -of others can be felt and understood by them." Millicent spoke -absently, dreamily, checking her speech at the pained expression which -her words brought to Galbraith's face. - -Later in the afternoon the party left the island and wandered about the -old bridge. Some of them climbed the high hill; others struck into the -woods. By some chance Millicent found 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 _fete_ 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. - -"Second time, my lady, I've see'd yer purty face to-day." - -Millicent bowed her head and turned away, looking anxiously toward the -wood, where she had seen Hal disappear a few moments before. - -"Sha'n't let yer off ser aisy this time. I've took a fancy to see the -color of yer eyes." - -The look of angry indignation with which the gray orbs were turned upon -the man was enough to have abashed any sensitive person, but to this -class the stranger did not belong. He was a rough-looking fellow of -large stature, with a heavy animal face, crossed by a deep scar 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. - -"Say, do yer belong in these parts?" - -"Yes," answered the girl in a low voice. - -"Well, I am leavin' 'em for good; we're not likely to meet again. I 'm -a gentleman, and I don't want to trouble you for them rings o' yourn, -but a kiss won't cost you nothin'." - -Suiting the action to the word, the man threw an arm about the girl's -slender waist, and quick as a thought began to drag her toward the spot -where a couple of horses were tethered. With a 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -No one told Millicent that standing near the spot where the ruffian's -horse had been tethered was a second steed. A strong mustang saddled -and bridled was found there. A heavy leading-rein passed through the -bit, and a stout rope lying over the saddle, gave a sinister -significance to the fact. For whom had that horse been brought? - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - "Abroad it rushed, - My frolic soul, for it had sight - Of something half-way, which was known - As mine at once, yet not mine own." - - -It was early in the morning for Millicent, usually a late sleeper, to be -in the garden among the flowers. There Graham found her, white as the -gown she wore, standing with her arms filled with dark-red -roses,--standing with the 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. - -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. - -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. - -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:-- - -"Are you sorry for me?" - -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? - -Again she saw the sunlight; again she heard the ripple of the water; -again she felt the earthly tenement closing about the divine spirit. -Before her, framed in the green leaves, was a face dear indeed, the face -of her lover. With solemn eyes they looked at each other; and a broken -voice whispered to her,-- - -"Dear, what is it?" - -She answered softly,-- - -"I have never been so near to you before." - -Then a flood of feeling swept over her, and she would have knelt to him, -her other self; but he was already at her feet, moved by that same -instinct to do homage to the human form which held his counter soul, and -on her white feet he laid a reverent embrace. - -Strengthened and uplifted by that mystic union whose memory should never -leave her, whose bonds should ever bind her, was Millicent. In every -existence comes one supreme, all-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. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - "Dust and ashes, dead and done with, Venice spent what Venice - earned. - The soul, doubtless, is immortal--where a soul can be - discerned." - - -It was a pitiful story which the little journal had made known to John -Graham,--the story of a woman grievously wronged, cruelly deceived. - -Millicent Almsford's life had not been a happy one. Her childhood had -been lonely, and she had none of those early recollections which are so -comforting in after years to people more fortunately bred. Her father -was an invalid and a bookworm, and looked upon his only daughter as a -creature to be fed, clothed, educated, and kept quiet. Her feeding he -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 _livres defendus_ of his library, and telling her -English governess to order any necessary volumes from Mudie's. The -young woman in whose charge Millicent was placed, was more eager to -learn Italian than to teach English; to explore the literature of Dante -than to familiarize her pupil with the British authors. When Millicent -was sixteen years old, the feeble protection of this governess was taken -from her; the woman returning to England to keep a long protracted -marriage engagement with her own cousin. The same year old Nina died; -and then it was that the lonely girl fell under the influence which was -to darken her destiny and turn aside the natural current of her life. -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:-- - -"How shall I find Millicent a husband?" - -The elder gentleman, for the first time in many months, checkmated his -adversary in two moves, and won the game in an unprecedentedly short -space of time. - -Holworthy's advice was given after a week's 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. - -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 cure, -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? - -"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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Go!" was the one syllable which her frozen lips uttered; and with a -gesture of command, majestic and beautiful, she had banished him from -her presence. The secret was kept, even from the old woman, grown more -sorrowful at the sight of the girl's dumb agony and of her son's grief, -which she could not soothe. The secret was kept; and that very night -Millicent's face, pale and clouded, shone out amidst a group of fair -women who sat languidly chatting through the music of _Faust_ at the -opera. He kept her 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. - -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 _salon_. If she had been without fortune she would -have made music her profession. As it was, she studied it as faithfully -as if self-support had been her aim; and she claimed that sympathy from -her artistic friends which a mere connoisseur, be he ever so -enthusiastic, can never arouse. To her small world she was -all-important. Her sympathy helped many a timid _debutante_, 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 "_le plus triste pays du monde_." -If the truth could have been known, Millicent would have signed away ten -years of her life to have gone back with the woman to the Old World, the -only home she had ever known. - -Graham had not been mistaken when he 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. - -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. - -With this new sentiment for her new-found country came the first -passionate love to the heart of the beautiful and unhappy young woman. -She had breathed the spicy air of the Californian forests, bracing and -sweet, and her cheek had grown fuller and fairer in the perfect climate. -Her empty, hollow heart was filled by a great love and strength, -all-sustaining and soothing. - -When Graham had first seen her lying in the fire-light, with cool, deep -eyes, before the light of love had dawned in her flower face, she had -seemed to him like a perfect white rose. Then the rose flushed palely, -as the love-light 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. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - "It cannot be that love so deep as mine - Could fail to stay you like ethereal wine." - - -When he first understood the full import of the dreadful story, John -Graham had been dazed with grief. He had sought distraction from his -torturing thoughts in action, and had spent that first day in wandering -through the forest. When he lay down to sleep that night in the lodge, -his heart was burdened with the double weight of Millicent's secret and -Millicent's deceit. He said to himself that they had put an insuperable -bar between her and himself. He could have pardoned the disgrace which -had befallen her, and was not her fault, but he could never forgive her -deceit toward him. The finding of her 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -More from habit than because he needed her society, her lover asked her -to step for a moment upon the piazza before he left. As they stood side -by side, he absently took her firm, small hand in his and kissed the -pink fingers one by one, as if she had been a child. All at once he -perceived that she was weeping, her slender form shaken by a storm of -sobs. - -"Millicent, my child, what is it? Are you ill?" he asked, tenderly -stroking her hair. - -"No, only unhappy. Graham, why did you not come for me to-day? I -waited for you all the afternoon." - -"Did I not tell you, dear, that I was very busy? I have begun a new -picture. I quite forgot my engagement with you,--I am very sorry," he -answered, puzzled at her emotion. - -"Then it is your picture that is my rival. I hate it, I hate it! I -never want to see it! - -"Millicent, what do you mean?" - -Her only answer was to lay her aching head upon his breast, to twine her -arms about him, and to sob out incoherent words of love and grief, all -of which puzzled and wearied him. He soothed her tenderly; and when they -parted there was a smile upon her lips, though her breast still trembled -with the slow after-waves of a grief which shook her whole being. -Graham, unnerved by the tempest which he had all 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. - -"I painted better than I knew," he sighed. "Yes, thus it is that we -stand toward each other, man and woman, and ever shall stand,--the man -looking out beyond, above, the woman, and she finding her utmost limit -of self-projection in him. Alas and alas!" He placed the painting with -its face toward the wall, and with a moody brow turned to his new -sketch. - -"Bah, I can do nothing, see nothing in that picture; I have been too -rudely summoned back to earth, to the little griefs of humanity, by a -woman's tears. I was never meant for it, I 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"It was a bear, Barbara," said her brother. "It is a shame to have -roused you all, and for nothing, too. I thought I had a sure shot, and -that we should have bear-steak for dinner to-morrow." - -"A bear, Hal? How strange! Why, this is the first time one ever came -so near the house, is n't it?" - -"No; Ralph killed two long ago, before you can remember. Go to bed now, -and get the house quiet, for heaven's sake!" - -The young man kept his own counsel, and the next morning made a careful -examination of the grounds near the house. On the farther side of the -orchard there were traces of a pair of horses having been tethered. - -Two more days went by, and still Graham did not come. Millicent was -distressed and puzzled at his long absence; and finally, after -thoughtful deliberation, she decided to write to him, telling him how -grieved she was at her own unreasonable behavior. - -Graham found a letter early one morning folded in an embroidered -kerchief, and laid before the door of his tower. That heavy 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! - -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:-- - - -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. - -MILLICENT. - - -Graham read the letter through twice, and folded it away, with a sigh. -"Do I love her? Does she love me?" he queried; and all that day the -doubt tormented him. While he worked, while he took his afternoon -ramble through the woods, while he sat at his solitary supper, it -rankled in his mind. He could not solve it; could she? It were best at -least to ask her. It was only right that she should know of his doubts -of her and of himself. He found her flushed with pleasure at the sight -of him. She had anticipated his coming, and was dressed in soft colors -which he approved, and fair with a hundred little efforts of coquetry to -please him. Her bronze hair seemed to the man but a mesh to snare him. -He turned his eyes 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. - -"And tell me all about your new picture." - -"I cannot, Millicent; your letter spoiled my day's work. I have done -nothing since I read it." - -"Dear, what can you mean?" - -"This, Millicent,--that my work must always be first to me. I had -thought that you would help me in it, but it is not so." After a pause, -"Millicent, I think we have made a mistake, you and I. We cannot help -each other, and 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." - -"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,-- - -"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." - -"No, no, Graham; you are angry, you know not what you say. In mercy -speak no more." She had sunk upon her knees, her clasped hands -stretched toward him in an agony of fear. - -"Do not kneel to me, but listen; for I am right. If things had been -different, it might have been; but as they are, we have been mad to -think of it. There is no help for it, my girl; we must kiss and part. -You never loved me as you should, Millicent, because you could not. A -woman can love but once, and that is the first time." - -"It is not true. You, who are a man, say it. What woman ever said it? -It is a lie, a lie! You shall not say it, you must not think it. You -would make us creatures without souls indeed. Are they right, then, the -Easterns? If when we women are sold, or stolen, or 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. - -"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." - -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. - -"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." - -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. - -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. - -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? - -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? - -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! - -"If it would only die--if it would only die!" moaned Millicent, as she -paced her room, her hands crossed heavily upon her breast, as if to -stifle some tangible spark with their weight. A thousand times she -submitted to the rest of a despair which was all too quickly routed by -the fever of a hope which could not die. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - "If we should part and pass to separate ways - With stifled sigh, averted head, - Within a land where centuries are as days - Our love shall live though flesh and wrong lie dead." - - -And her lover, where was he? In the heart of the city, working in a -garret on his great 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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! - -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. - -Before her mute grief, his passionate longing was turned to a great and -holy pity. He stood beside her and said gently,-- - -"Millicent, you will not leave me without a word? You must not go out -into the storm; I will leave you here alone, if you wish, until the rain -is over. Do not be so cruel as to doubt me, dear one." - -He stopped, for his words had made her tremble. She feared him no -longer, and with a little sigh laid her hand in his and suffered 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. - -"Now this is more cheerful, fair lady, is it not?" he cried, in a -pleasant voice. "And pray tell me what brought you to my lonely -dwelling." - -"I had always wanted to see your tower, Graham; and this morning they -all went to San Francisco for the day, and I thought I would ride over -and look at it from the outside. I found old John airing the room, and -accepted his invitation to rest here for half an hour before riding -home. He came up just now to tell me that it was going to rain, but as -he thought it would be only a shower he had put my horse under shelter. -This is how I came here; and now tell me what brought you so -unexpectedly from town." - -"I cannot tell, white one. Your will, perhaps." - -"Nay, friend, that has never swayed thee one hair's-breadth from thine -appointed course." - -He shook his head sadly, and looked out of the window. She did not -know--it was better for her perhaps that she never should know--how -great an influence she had wielded over his life. She did not know that -for her, faith and youth had bloomed in his heart when he had thought -them dead. Her untruth was 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. - -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: - -"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. - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - "Our bread was such as captives' tears - Have moistened many a thousand years, - Since man first pent his brother men - Like brutes within an iron den." - - -It was a long chase that brought Hal Deering and Maurice Galbraith face -to face with the 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,-- - -"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." - -As he spoke he drew his pistol from his belt and pointed it at Deering. -The more sober ones of the party here interfered; and the burly -saloon-keeper stepped forward with the remark, that he "did n't mean to -'low anything but fair play in his shanty; and that if the genl'm'n had -a difference between them they must settle it outside." - -The man whom Deering was after seated 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." - -"Now, then, young man, if yer don't cut a caper before I count three, I -shall be obliged to see how much of your right boot-heel I can carry -away with this bullet, without endangering them handsome feet o' yourn." - -Hal, only afraid of losing his man, answered coolly,-- - -"You can shoot if you want to. I am a stranger in this place, and I -prefer to do my dancing at home." - -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. - -"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." - -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,-- - -"I arrest you, Dan Horton, for the murder of Ah Lam, committed at -Carey's Bridge, on the afternoon of Wednesday last." - -A revulsion of feeling was manifest in the faces of the crowd. The -horror for a person who has committed the unatonable crime of murder had -been felt; but when it transpired 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,-- - -"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?" - -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. - -"Of all the derned mean skunks as I ever met, this town numbers the -most," he muttered, as the screen door swung to behind him. - -The examination of the prisoner was to be held in the court-room of the -county prison of San Bernardino. Millicent was summoned to be present. -Escorted by Deering and Galbraith, 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. - -"Ta-ta, bully, hope I won't see you soon again," he said, nodding -impudently to the door-keeper. The smaller man was lame, as well as -deformed; and the under-warden, who had joined Galbraith, asked him -kindly how his leg was doing. - -"Better, sir, thank you," croaked the 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." - -"Tell me about those men," said Millicent to an official whom Galbraith -had introduced to her. - -"They are brothers, George and Pete Marcy. Which of them do you think -paid a twenty-dollar fine to get his brother out of prison just now? -Likely you '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." - -"And did the poor little creature pay the fine out of his earnings?" - -"Bless you, yes; and pays for his clothes,--nice ones, you remarked, -mebbe? Pete gives that rascal every dollar he earns; and the only thing -George does toward supporting himself, is to rob an occasional hen-roost -when he wants to give a supper party." - -The outer door now closed with a grave sound; it had let out its day's -quota of men and women who had legally expiated their crimes; it had -taken in its one breath of sun and air. From a narrow window Millicent -saw the Marcy brothers walking down the street, George with head erect -and swaggering gait, Pete shambling awkwardly along at his side, vainly -trying to keep pace with his handsome brother's long strides. - -The warden now led the way to the court-room. The keeper of the gate, a -stern-looking man, with iron-gray hair and iron-rusted clothes, stopped -Millicent as she was about to pass through the grated door, saying,-- - -"Put up your veil, please." Three inches of transparent red tulle -masked her face from the brow to the mouth. So slight a covering was it -that the superior officer had not noticed it; but nothing escaped the -lynx-eyed jailer, who added curtly, "Must keep it up all through the -prison. No woman is allowed to enter or leave this place veiled." - -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,-- - -"You need n't be ashamed to put up your veil, with _such_ a face as -yours." - -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. - -"You have captivated that grim old fellow with one glance, Miss -Almsford. How do you do it?" queried Galbraith. - -"What do you mean? I don't," answered Millicent rather inconsistently. - -They had by this time reached the prison-yard; and Millicent, with a -shiver, looked up at the high, smooth stone walls, with their cruel -topping of iron spikes. In a certain angle she stopped a moment, -attracted by a little fern which had found place for its slender roots -in a cranny of the masonry. She suddenly started, and with a horrified -expression ran back a few paces, grown pale to the lips. The warden, -who had looked at her with an odd expression, said,-- - -"You were standing, just now, miss, on the spot where the gallows is -always erected." - -"I knew it," said the girl, in a shaking voice. "I saw it." - -Maurice Galbraith quietly drew her arm under his own, and said gently, -but authoritatively,-- - -"Come, my child, do not be nervous; you have a great deal to go through -with to-day." - -He fixed his deep, serious eyes on her face for a moment; and the girl, -sensitive to his quiet influence, quickly recovered herself. - -They passed up a narrow, dark stone stair-case, and along a corridor -running outside the cells. Most of the heavy wooden doors were open, -the outer grating of iron revealing the interior of the cells. In one -of these a young mulatto, the Figaro of the village, stood leaning -against the bars talking to a respectable-looking man of his own color, -who proved to be the pastor of a Methodist church. The young man was a -handsome fellow, carefully and neatly dressed. He seemed somewhat -excited, and talked in a loud voice, which he lowered at the approach of -the party. Galbraith inquired what crime he had been charged with, and -learned from the officer that he had wounded his brother mortally in a -quarrel; "They both was waitin' on the same gal," the attendant added in -explanation. A man lying at full-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 _moro_, the great Italian gambling game. One of the -youths was a native of Italy; and he had evidently taught his companion -in confinement the simple but exciting game. No cards or dice, checkers -or other paraphernalia, are needed; the game is played with the fingers -only. Those of the left hand keep the account of the game. With the -right hand a quick movement is made by 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. - -"I say, Princess, you must n't do that sort of thing;" said Hal, -thoroughly scandalized, pulling her by the sleeve. "Come on! you can't -stand talking to these rascals and giving them your jewelry,--it is n't -sensible." - -She answered impatiently, and then saying a word of farewell to the -prisoner, she submitted to be led away from the grate by Galbraith, -followed by a fervent parting blessing from Giovanni of the reddish -locks. - -"I wish you wouldn't be so absurdly soft-hearted. What did you want to -give that beggar your lovely necklace for?" said Hal. - -"I had no money with me," half penitently. - -"Well, I could have let you have some. But it's against the rule. I -should n't wonder if you got into trouble for doing such a thing," -continued the young man, who was genuinely shocked at Millicent's -behavior. - -"There was no harm done, was there, Mr. Galbraith? I won't be scolded. -It was my 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. - -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,-- - -"Could you identify, on oath, the man you saw at Carey's Bridge? You -were under great excitement at the time; you could hardly be expected to -remember anything beyond the fact of the killing." - -"I am positive I can identify him." - -"On oath; are you sure?" - -"Perfectly so." - -"How could you surely recognize a man you have seen but once, under very -painful circumstances, six weeks ago?" - -"I remember his face distinctly; I should know his voice among a -thousand." - -"Be careful; what you say may be put to the test. What you state in the -court you must be able to prove." - -"I am ready to prove it." - -When the moment came for the identification of the prisoner, Millicent's -eyes were bandaged; and twelve men filed into the room, among whom she -was told was the man arrested for the crime. As she had made the -assertion that his voice alone would betray the murderer to her, she was -asked to listen to a sentence repeated in turn by each of these men. -Three of them had said the stipulated words, and the fourth was about to -speak, when those who were nearest to Millicent noticed that she -shuddered violently. - -"Let the next man speak." - -The fellow looked at Millicent askance, and then repeated the sentence -in a low, unnatural voice. He had said but three words when she -interrupted him. - -"The person who is now speaking is the man who assaulted me at Carey's -Bridge." - -The judge, who had taken a keen interest in all Millicent had said, now -motioned to the men to change places. The bandage being removed, she -glanced at the row of men and said,-- - -"He now stands at the end of the row nearest the window." - -Her expression, as she turned her eyes and looked in the face of Daniel -Horton, was cold and set as that of one of the younger Fates. Aversion -and horror were therein painted. As she spoke she pointed at the guilty -wretch, who moved uneasily under her gaze, and dropped his bold eyes -before the light in her gray orbs, as if their fire scorched him. - -The preliminaries accomplished, all the 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. - -"Will he try the case in that dress?" - -"Oh, yes; I heard Croley condemn a man to death in very much the same -costume as that which he wears to-day. The cravat was a little brighter -pink, I think; and I remember he wore carnations in his button-hole. He -said in a pleasant, nonchalant voice, very much the tone he would use in -ordering his farmer to kill a pair of chickens, 'You are condemned to be -taken to the San Bernardino prison, there to be hanged by the neck until -you are dead, on the third day of May at twelve o'clock; and may God -have mercy upon your soul!'" - -Millicent shuddered as she heard the case called, and faltered for the -first time in her desire to see justice done to the murderer of Ah Lam. -It is such a terrible responsibility, the taking of life; can man's law -make it guiltless? The great question which all of modern thought has -not yet solved, troubled the mind of the young woman, who could accept -no judgment or creed on faith; she painfully and laboriously solved the -problems of life by the force of her own reasoning. - -"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,-- - -"Are you guilty or not guilty of the wilful murder of Ah Lam at Carey's -Bridge, on the afternoon of Wednesday, October 16?" - -The noisy court-room had grown perfectly still; and the prisoner's -low-spoken answer was heard in the farthest corner with perfect -distinctness,-- - -"Not guilty." - -The counsel for the defence now stated that the prisoner acknowledged -having been at Carey's Bridge on the day of the murder. He had there -seen and spoken to Miss Almsford, but had fled at the approach of some -gentlemen of the party. He admitted that he had assaulted Miss -Almsford, but pleaded that he had no intention of injuring her. - -"What were you doing at the mill?" - -"I come there to meet a man as I had 'gaged to." - -"What man was it?" - -The prisoner declined to answer this question, and finally declared that -he did not know the man's name. - -"For what purpose did you meet this man?" - -"To do a job as we was hired for." - -"And what were you hired to do?" - -"To carry off the young lady." - -At this astonishing statement a moment's silence fell upon the -court-room, which was broken by Pierson's sharp voice: he asked his -client to name the person who had engaged him to kidnap the young girl. - -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,-- - -"The man as hired me to do the job stands in this yer court-room. He -calls himself John Graham." - -A moment of silence followed this astounding statement, succeeded by an -incredulous murmur which ran from mouth to mouth. From the confused -sounds rang out a deep, clear voice uttering these words:-- - -"It is a shameful lie!" Millicent it was who had spoken, rising to her -feet and stretching out her arms toward Graham with a gesture of womanly -protection, as if to shield him from the ruffian's slanderous breath. - -Silence was at last enforced, and the 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,-- - -"Galbraith, no one can for a moment believe that infamous lie,--you can -make the fellow eat his words to-morrow?" - -The lawyer folded his arms across his breast, and looked into his -companion's face with a searching gaze, before he answered slowly and -ironically,-- - -"Am I to understand, Mr. Graham, that you deny all collusion in the -attempt to carry off Miss Almsford?" - -"Great God! of course I do. Can you for a moment doubt me? _I to carry -off Millicent_? Are you mad to ask me such a question? Why, don't you -know, man, how much I have cared for that girl?" - -"It is not difficult for the most indifferent observer to detect your -admiration for Miss Almsford." - -"Well?" - -"Well, what does that prove? It is a point against you that you are -supposed to be in love with the young lady, and gives color to Horton's -accusation." - -Graham sank into a seat, and the lawyer continued,-- - -"Your great intimacy at the Ranch and your marked attentions to Miss -Almsford were 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." - -"And you, Galbraith, can you for an instant suspect me of so base, so -vile an action? Is it possible that a man can be so misjudged?" - -"All I have to say, Mr. Graham, is that it is 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." - -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. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - "... the passions of her mind, - As winds from all the compass shift and blow, - Made war upon each other for an hour." - - -"Millicent! Millicent! are you awake?" - -It was the evening of the first day of the trial; and Miss Almsford, -sitting in her chamber warming her pretty feet before the fire, -recognized the voice and answered,-- - -"Yes, Bab, come in." - -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. - -"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?" - -When they were alone, the young man seemed at a loss how to open the -interview which he had sought. Millicent, tired by the events of the -exciting day, did not seem inclined to help him. After a long and rather -awkward pause, she turned wearily to her visitor and said,-- - -"It is about the trial, of course?" - -Galbraith bowed an assent. - -"About the statement made by that man--" She shuddered, as if unable to -pronounce his name. The young man silently assented again. - -"Well, there is nothing to be said by me 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." - -"It is your honest opinion, then, that Mr. Graham has been slandered?" - -"My _honest_ opinion, Mr. Galbraith? I do not know how to give any -other. Are you come to make me angry? You had better not, for we -Italians are more easily roused to anger than soothed. I am so tired, -too; can you not spare me?" - -Her voice dropped from the deep, indignant tone, to a pleading note like -that of a tired child. Maurice Galbraith, leaning quietly against the -mantel-shelf, with downcast eyes and calm face, seemed strangely moved -by the words of the woman who stood before him, so white and so -beautiful. He turned toward her; and when he next spoke, a tenderness -had crept all unawares into his face, which shone with a light whose -meaning she could not fail to understand. His very voice seemed a -caress addressed to her ear, so low and gentle was it. - -"My child, you do not understand me. _I_ 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." - -"But you do not believe me? I see that--" - -"I would believe you if all the angels in heaven should deny your -truth." - -She looked at him curiously; she was infinitely touched by his emotion. -He cared for her; he loved her with a passion which she could -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. - -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:-- - -"I am glad that you are convinced of this truth; and I trust that you -will bring the others, Henry Deering most of all, to feel as you do." - -The tender look of love died out from Maurice Galbraith's face. He -turned gloomily away from the fair woman whose beauty was not for him. - -"I cannot tell, I do not know; what man can judge another? I said that -I believed you; did I imply that I trusted him?" - -Of all cruel griefs endured by Millicent 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? - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"You understood it all?" - -"Yes." - -"I ask you to think of that thing which is most sacred to you in all the -world. By that holy thought, swear to me that no word of what has been -said here to-night shall ever pass your lips; that you will not dare to -think of it even, when you are not alone, lest your face betray you." - -He held out his hand to her; and with wide eyes and trembling voice, -Barbara gave the 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"Come," said Hal, "you must go up to that little platform and answer all -the questions they ask you." - -She walked quietly to the place indicated, took the customary oath "to -speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," and -answered the preliminary questions in a low voice. - -"What is your name?" - -"Millicent Almsford." - -"Where were you born?" - -"In Venice." - -"What state?" - -"In Italy." - -"How old are you?" - -"One and twenty." - -"You were present at the killing of Ah Lam, at Carey's Bridge?" - -"I was." - -"Tell the court all that you saw on that 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _alibi_ was sworn to by two new-found friends of the prisoner, -who claimed to have passed that night in his company. These witnesses, -carefully prepared by Pierson, gave their evidence with few blunders; -and Dan Horton, closely following every word of the defence, gave a -satisfied smile at the new turn which the skilfully devised _alibi_ -seemed likely to give to affairs. - -Pierson's aim was to disprove Horton's 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. - -"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." - -A new witness, by name John Du Jardin, by profession a wood-cutter, was -called to the stand. - -"Have you ever seen the prisoner before?" - -"Yes, before wonce," answered the old Frenchman. - -"When was that?" - -"The night after murder." - -"Where did you see him?" - -"At the little 'unting 'ouse of M. Graham." - -"What were you doing at the lodge?" - -Graham looked at his henchman with a perplexed expression, and smiled -slightly at the answer. - -"I were not in the cabin, I were by the window, lookin'." - -"Oh, you were looking in at the window; and what did you see?" - -"I see monsieur, 'e sleepin'. I see dat man," pointing to the prisoner; -"'e come, and monsieur give 'im to drink and to eat." - -"What else did you see?" - -"I see _cet homme_, dat man lay 'imself _pres_ side by the _feu_. -Presentlee 'e sleep, monsieur 'e mark 'im; 'e take faggot from fire, 'e -make point, 'e draw one picture of 'im." - -Here Pierson asked the witness what he was doing outside the lodge in -the middle of the night. - -"I was watch monsieur." - -"That seems very strange. Why did you want to watch him?" - -"'E 'as not slept the night; 'e 'as nothing eat the day; I fear 'im -_malade_. I follow him." - -Galbraith continued his examination, and 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. - -Graham was now recalled and questioned. - -"Mr. Graham, you have told the court that you are an artist by -profession. Is it your habit to make drawings of persons of a striking -appearance?" - -"I have the habit of sketching any remarkable-looking people whom I -happen to meet." - -"On the night in question, were you impressed by anything uncommon in -the appearance of the man who slept by the fire in the lodge?" - -"I was." - -"Did you make any notes of the impression made on you by the man?" - -"I did. I sketched him as he crouched in the ashes of the fire." - -"What materials did you use?" - -"A charred piece of wood, and a smooth board in the side of the cabin." - -"Would you recognize your work if you should see it?" - -"Undoubtedly." - -"By what means?" - -"I should recognize it as you would your own handwriting; besides--" - -"You have other means of knowing it?" - -"My initials will be found in the upper right-hand corner of the -sketch." - -"Is this the sketch?" - -"It is." - -There was a craning of necks, and a murmur of recognition from those -present who could obtain a glimpse of the strong drawing held up by -Maurice Galbraith. Graham's words in answer to the last question were -hardly 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. - -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. - -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. - -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? - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - "Je me dis seulement; a cette heure en ce lieu, - Un jour, je fus aime, j'aimais, elle etait belle. - J'enfouis ce tresor dans mon ame immortelle. - Et je l'emporte a Dieu!" - - -"A letter for you, Mr. Graham." - -"Very well; lay it down." - -The burly landlady placed the missive on the small, unpainted pine table -which stood near the artist's easel, and with a last glance at the -feminine superscription, and the device of the golden Psyche which -sealed it, left the room. It was late in the afternoon,--there would be -only an hour more of light in which he could paint. Graham did not -glance at the letter. If it had been a telegram it would have waited -till the tender gray of the sky had been laid on the canvas. At last it -grew too dim for him to distinguish the tints on his palette, and, -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. - -It was from Millicent. He stepped close to the window, and by the -waning light perused the words traced by a hand that surely had trembled -in the writing. Twice he read it through, as if not understanding its -import. Then, with a groan, he cast the letter upon the floor, and sank -upon a low seat near by. His head supported by his hands, his elbows -upon his knees, he sat, the picture of despair. With a sudden movement -he grasped the missive and crushed it between his two hands, as if to -avenge upon the senseless paper the pain which it brought to him. - -He could not bear it in the cold, dark room; the streets would be full -of people who might divert him. He soon found himself in a crowded -thoroughfare. It was six o'clock, and the city was full of hurrying -men, women, and children returning homeward after the long day's work. -The girl from the millinery establishment under his room, whose sweet, -childish face he had painted from memory the very day before, was just -leaving the shop as he stepped into the street. She was very poorly -dressed, with a hat which would have disgraced anybody but a milliner's -apprentice. Her dress fitted neatly, however, and she gave her -close-cut jacket a tug to make it smooth about the shoulders 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. - -"I am late, George--" - -"Twenty minutes; I almost gave you up," in a surly tone. - -"I am so sorry; don't be angry." The man hesitated a moment; then her -pleading voice got the better of his ill-temper, and, taking her by the -arm after the fashion of his kind, he led her across the street, and in -a moment they were lost to Graham's sight. He next stopped at the -cobbler's around the corner to call for a pair of boots which had needed -repairing. The narrow stall was brightly lighted, and he saw through -the window a little child holding up its face to be kissed. The -cobbler's girl had just brought her father his supper. As 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. - -"They need re-soling, Mr. Graham, but I did not like to do the job -without orders. The patches are all right." - -Graham paid the man for his work, and went out. He had thought to find -distraction in the street, but what he saw there only made him more -desolate. He was alone, while all other men had some loving soul to -greet them after their day's toil. The pair of lovers, the cobbler and -his child, made him feel his loneliness more acutely, and emphasized -painfully the news which the letter had brought to him,--Millicent was -gone! - -She had passed as suddenly and unexpectedly out of his life as she had -entered it. He had not seen her since that day in the court-room. And -now she was gone, back to the Old World, to Venice the mysterious, the -silent, to the old Palazzo Fortunio, with its lofty halls and marble -corridors, back to the old home, which he knew could never be home to -her again. All the color seemed to have faded out of his life; she had -taken it with her. He suffered deeply, 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -"My boy, this is worth a dozen of the other. It is the biggest thing you -have done yet." - -The younger men all chimed in, echoing the opinion of their senior. -Graham looked 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. - -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. - -The young sculptor stood beside him, full of a sympathy he knew not how -to express. At last he spoke:-- - -"Graham, look up, and do not grieve for what is past help. I tell you, -man, that your 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." - -Graham looked at the speaker with doubting eyes. The words seemed to -rouse an echo in his soul. They told him that he had served the altar -of Art with Moloch sacrifices. Instead of the peaceful offerings of -love, he had brought the anguish of two strong hearts to desecrate her -temple. A dim perception of the truth entered his mind, and his grief -for the lost picture was for a moment forgotten in a doubt which rose -before him, never to be dismissed again until it was fully solved. A -doubt of self, of his own judgment, of his own inflexible will. - - -Millicent was gone! The six straight 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. - -The New Year was at hand, and the _chatelaine_ 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. - -"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?" - -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:-- - - "Oh! 't is sweet to think that where'er we rove - We are sure to find something blissful and dear, - And that, when we 're far from the lips that we love, - We 've but to make love to the lips that are near. - The heart, like a tendril accustomed to cling, - Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone, - But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing - It can twine with itself, and make closely its own. - Then oh! what pleasure where'er we rove - To be sure to find something still that is dear; - And to know, when far from the lips that we love, - We have but to make love to the lips that are near." - - -Amidst the general laughter and applause which followed O'Neil's song, -Madame 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. - -"Dear my lady, I have come to wish you the happiest New Year, and to -join in your loving-cup, in your toast to absent friends--" - -"Always welcome, dear Graham," said the lady, laying her hand upon his -head for an instant; "there is always a place for you at our table, but -alas--" - -"You are too late--too late!" - -It was Barbara who spoke, interrupting her mother brusquely, her voice -full of a reproach inexplicable to all but Graham. He looked at her -fixedly for a moment, and then O'Neil clapped him on the back, and held -up the empty cup. - -"Too late, old fellow, as Miss Barbara says. Never mind," in a lower -key, "I have promised Deering to brew an Irish punch, after the ladies -withdraw." - -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. - -"I fear I took too great a liberty in coming unasked. O'Neil says I -stalked into the room like a stage ghost, and cast a gloom over the -party." - -"You know you are always welcome here. You used to call the Ranch your -home." - -"Have I still a right to do so? Things seem so changed, my lady." - -"You will never find me changed while I can help you. I did not send -for you, knowing that you would come if it was best for you." - -"And yet I came too late!" - -"Graham, there are no such words as too late to those who know how to -wait. That phrase is only for the impatient, not for the steadfast. But -now tell me of yourself, of your work; it is so long since we have seen -you." - -"Of myself, no! of my work, yes. I have finished my picture; it has -gone to Paris. It will now be judged by other men." He did not tell -her of his loss, or that he had sent The Lovers in the place of the -burned picture. - -"May they prove kindly critics." - -"No, I do not want that; I do not insist that they shall praise my work; -I only question, can they understand it?" - -"But that is the least of it all, you have sometimes said." - -"Ah! Madonna, I have been wrong. What use is there for me to speak if -there be no one to hear? If they do not understand, the fault must lie -in me. I must learn to speak the broad language of humanity. I cannot -ask men to puzzle themselves with my small vernacular." The man sighed -deeply, and his friend noticed that he was paler and thinner than she -had last seen him. - -"You have been over-working, Graham; you lead an unnatural life when you -are in town, now that your people are away. Why not come back to the -tower again?" - -"I think I will, Madonna." - -He had been over-working, and for what? That the picture for which he -had sacrificed so much, should be seen one brief hour by a dozen men! -He now felt in what a strained condition his nerves had been. The -picture was gone, and with it the strong excitement which had kept him -alive and alert. The tension was relaxed, 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. - -Barbara left the piano, and Graham joined her. The over-punctilious -courtesy with which he had always treated her was forgotten. He spoke -suddenly and sharply:-- - -"What did you mean by what you said to me,--why am I too late?" - -"I meant too late for a draught from the loving-cup." - -"You meant more than that." - -"If you choose to fancy--" - -"I cannot but choose to _know_." - -By this time the gay group from the dining-room had flooded the library -with their ringing voices, their merry faces. Only these two were pale -and out of harmony with the scene. Barbara, with downcast eyes, stood by -the piano, tapping her fingers nervously on the polished case. - -"I have interrupted your festivity; I have been a very skeleton at the -feast; forgive me,--I could not help coming,--forgive me and answer me -one question, and I will go and leave you in peace." - -"I say, Bab, we are going into the drawing-room to tell ghost stories. -O'Neil has a splendid one,--a real Irish family banshee yarn. Come on, -you and Graham." - -"In a moment, Hal, don't wait for us; we will join you before you are -all settled and Mr. O'Neil has begun." - -The library was again empty. The voices of the holiday folk reached -their ears across the hall. - -"Tell me what you have heard from her." - -There was no need of speaking her name. Her face looked at them from its -place over the mantel-shelf,--a quick, strong sketch made by Graham. -From a leafy background white shoulders, and a fair face with deep eyes, -were shadowed forth. The firelight, falling restlessly upon the -picture, touched into light now the full red mouth, now the ivory -throat. - -"I have not heard for some time. She was in Venice again, very ill from -the long journey, when she last wrote." - -"You have not heard since?" - -"No." - -"Do you think she is well now, and--and at peace?" - -"No." - -"What reason have you to doubt her well-being?" - -"I cannot tell you." - -The man looked at her searchingly, as if he would read her very soul, -and then turned away with a word of leave-taking,--"Good-night." - -"Stay a moment. I have something to tell you. I do not know why I am -forced to speak to you of the last interview she had in this room, but I -must do so. Before she left,--on the night when she cried out in the -court-room,--you remember?" - -Did he remember? Ah, Heaven! only too well he remembered the last words -she had ever spoken to him,--valiant words, full of love and protection. - -"That night Mr. Galbraith came to see her. 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." - -"And was I not just?" - -"Just, perhaps; but how ungenerous! What have you to do with justice? -You, who never painted till you painted her; you, who were so cold and -unfeeling till her smile made you human for a little time. Then your -own selfish egotism froze you again." - -"Thank you for what you have told me, and good-by. I shall not see you -soon again. You were very good to her; bless you for it! Every one was -good to her,--every one but me, it seems." - -"You speak as if she were dead." - -He did not hear her last words. He was already out of earshot, taking -leave of his hostess. - -When he was alone with the stars he could think better than in that -heated room, with that dear vine-crowned face before his eyes, with -Barbara's voice in his ears. He saw how Barbara misjudged him. He knew -that most 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. - -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. - -"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." - -"Millicent, my love, I am coming; wait for me!" - -"Wait for me!" sighed the echo. - -And the young moon, pale and shrinking, dropped behind the high -tree-tops from his sight; while the redwoods swayed tremulously, shaken -by a sudden blast, and the echo again sighed its faint response,-- - -"Wait for me!" - -And the tide on the Pacific was at the flood. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - "Malheureux! cet instant ou votre ame engourdie - A secoue les fers qu' elle traine ici-bas, - Ce fugitif instant fut toute votre vie; - Ne le regrettez pas." - - -It was a wonderful morning which saw the birth of the new year in -Venice,--one of those clear, bright days on which Winter lays aside all -his severity and assumes the smiles of the Spring still asleep in the -bosom of the stiffened earth. The _piazza_ was filled with a motley -crowd of holiday folk, and the lagoons swarmed with a fleet of gondolas -and _sandalos_. - -Before a mighty marble house which stands where one of the smaller -thoroughfares sweeps its waters into the Grand Canal, a gondola has -paused. A young man, a foreigner evidently, steps from the boat and -passes under the fretted archway, with an admiring glance at the -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. - -"She has been very ill; Girolomo says that she will die, and the Signor -Almsford himself fears the worst. She has not left her room once. -To-day being a _festa_, she has fancied to go out with Girolomo in the -gondola, and I am to help him carry her downstairs." - -As he finished speaking, the man noticed that the visitor had grown very -pale, and now stood leaning against a marble pillar as if for support. -When he spoke again it was to send his card to Mr. Almsford. On being -admitted to an outer reception room he sank upon a chair, his face -hidden in his hands. Soon he was bidden to enter. The signorina had -learned of his arrival, and it was her pleasure to see him. - -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 portiere, 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. - -"I am so glad you have come. I do not even ask what has brought you, it -is so good to see some one from home." - -It had become "home" to her now, the 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. - -"Why do you drown that sound of good cheer?" - -"Because my grandmother told me when I was a little child that if a -glass rang itself out to silence, the sound was sure to prove a -death-knell." - -"Listen, you can still hear mine faintly. It is a wonderful wine, -connoisseurs say, this Lacrymae 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." - -"As different as you were to the rest of us gathered about the board -that day." - -"And yet I would give all the wine that lies mellowing in the cellars of -the palace for one cup of your good Los Angelos vintage." - -The wine seemed to spread through her frame like a flame. It brought a -flush to the pale cheeks and strength to the fragile body. She arose -and walked unsupported across the room to a dusky mirror. She wrapped -herself in a garment of silvery fur, and together they left the room fit -for the boudoir of a princess. At the doorway Girolomo awaited them. -Waving aside the domestic who stood ready to assist him, the strong -gondolier lifted the delicate figure and bore it unaided down the marble -stairs. He laid her light weight gently among the cushions of the -gondola, and assuming his oar with the incomparably graceful movement of -his guild, rowed the black-hooded craft down the Grand Canal. To the -young American, the awe and mystery of the place are not yet familiar; -and as the boat glides between the rows of mighty palaces, he wonders if -the strange scene is the fabric of his own dream. - -But no; when he looks into the face of the woman lying amid the -cushions, he knows that 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 _sandalo_ 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 -_sandalo_ out of sight, and Galbraith lays the flowers in Millicent's -lap. - -"May the saints bless the child! 'T is the tribute of happiness and -beauty to grief and pain." - -The air has grown chill with the down-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 -_piazzetta_. - -"I am so glad that you have seen me in the city of my birth; you can -understand me now as you could never have understood me over there. -Dear, dreamy Venice, where great vices and greater virtues have -flourished more grandly than anywhere else in the world! And now it is -all past, her glory and her pain; and knowing this, we make the best of -the pleasant things left to us. We steep ourselves in her rich beauty, -content with its perfection; we con over her mysterious legends, and -forget that other nations are living, striving, working, and making -their histories, while we are dreaming and playing our lives away. Your -great Saxon virtue, 'Truth,' is meaningless to us; we are content with -Beauty." - -"And you are happy--contented; you are willing to pass the rest of your -life here?" - -"Yes, and no. I could never be satisfied to drop back into the old easy -life. I have drunk too deeply of the strong, new wine of Los Angelos, -to be content with the mellow vintage of the Abruzzi." - -"And yet there is fermentation of a strong, new wine here, in your -wondrous Italy. All do not dream of the past; there are men and women -who foretell a new existence to the land, now that the old shackles of -tyranny and superstition are dropping from her cramped limbs." - -"Yes; but it is a volcanic soil. Everything is so sudden and so -shifting. There will be changes, but it is the making over of an old -garment after all. Liberty may sponge and cleanse herself a vesture, -but the old stains and spots have eaten deep into the tri-color." - -"You will return then; you will not pass your life so far away from us?" - -She smiled a little wearily and said, "I think I shall never see America -again. But I am, oh, so thankful to have known my home! I, who have -lived a Venetian, shall die an American." - -"And yet--?" - -"And yet I am glad to--do not be shocked, kind friend, if I say that I -am glad to die in my own Venice where I was born. I have two selves. -One was born and nurtured here under the shadow of the silent palaces; -the other sprang up full-grown among the madrone trees of San Rosario. -The two have warred and struggled _here_; their battle-ground has been -my breast, and the new self conquered the old; but the victory will be -short-lived." - -Galbraith looked at her intently. She had spoken a little wildly, as if -her mind were clouded. She saw his look, and with a sigh smoothed the -lines from her brow. - -"I am a little mad, you think? Yes, yes. But I am so happy to see you. -You understand me, dear friend; and you understand him, a little. You -will see him again, though perhaps I never shall. You will tell -him--No, do not look so grieved. It is very likely that I shall get -well." - -He lifted her pale hand and touched it to his lips, as a Catholic might -kiss the cross. - -"You will be well and strong again, my child. Do not speak so." - -"It may be, and yet I do not wish it. Life looks so hard and cold and -lonely. I do not wish to live,--and yet I am so afraid to die." She -shivered, and Galbraith drew the gray cloak closer about her. "If I -could only fall quietly asleep, and wake to find this poor weak body -left behind--but you remember that poor creature's death? It was so -terrible--I can never forget it." - -"You must not think of it. What message was it that you wanted to send -home?" - -"It was to Graham. I can speak to you about him and to no one else. -You must tell him how thankful I am that I left my old home, my old -life, and came to his country. Tell him that he has nothing to reproach -himself with; that the only thing that has made my life worth living has -been my love for him. Tell him to remember me tenderly and without -regret; it should be a sweet memory without a shadow of bitterness. -Tell him--but what am I saying? You could never repeat it all even if -you would. Give him this; it will tell him all; it is a token the trace -of which he will find on my hand when we meet again, if souls retain -aught of their old vesture in the twilight world." - -She seemed wandering again. From her slim finger she slipped the little -ring which Galbraith took and kept. - -"And Barbara, dear good Barbara. She is white with that spotless purity -of a passionless womanhood. Do you know, Mr. Galbraith, that dying -people sometimes have a power of seeing into the future? Shall I tell -you what face I see beside Barbara's in the bright coming years which I -shall never know? It is that of a brave and loyal man,--a man whose -love would make such a woman happy and complete. It is the face of the -friend who has brought me great peace on this New Year's Day." - -The black gondola now floated at rest under the archway of the grim old -palace. From beneath the sable hood Girolomo lifted the 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. - -"_Tanto ricca, tanto giovine, tanto bella, e bisogna che muore._" -Galbraith understood the words muttered by the old servant as he passed -him after having laid his burden at rest in the great chair. He -understood, but he would not believe them. It could not be true. - -It was late that night when the soft-footed nun who was Millicent's -nurse laid her patient on her couch, with a gentle reproof for her -wilfulness in being so wakeful. - -"But it was not my fault, my sister; I could not sleep earlier. Now I -am better and shall rest." 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. - -"My sister, sit by me. I want to talk with you a little while. I know -your story, blessed one. Let me ask you a little of your life in the -convent, among the sick. Is it peaceful, is it happy? Do you feel that -you are nearer to the spirit of your dead lover than when you were in -the world?" - -"My child, I may not speak of these things; it would be a sin. Our -words we can control, if not our thoughts." - -"But, sister, I need your help. You know that I have not your faith, -and never could have. But I have loved as you once loved, and I shall -never see the face of my lover. What shall I do with my empty life? I -am so weak!" - -"All the greater need have you for a stronger help than mine, for a -haven from the ills of the world. I cannot think you would find that -place in our cloister. There must be workers in the world among the -living and strong, as well as with the sick and dying. It is in that -world that you, my child, with your power, your wealth, your beauty, -should find your work. The arms of the Church are wide, and embrace the -toilers in the market-place as well as those who watch and pray in the -cloister." - -"There is only work, then, that will bring peace?" - -"Work and prayer, my child. You must not talk of this to-night; you -should sleep now. To-morrow you shall tell me more of the needs of your -soul." - -"Only work! I am so tired, I am so weak, I cannot work alone. If there -had been one to help me--" She lifted her white hand, so nerveless now, -and let it sink wearily beside her. - -"Bring the great candelabrum, and set it at the foot of the bed. Light -all the candles. I want to drive out the shadows from the dark corners. -Ah! hear them singing below there in the canal." - -She sat up among her pillows listening to the chorus chanted by a band -of belated merry-makers. It was the love-song that the people in the -_sandalo_ had sung that afternoon. - -"_Dame un pensiero, sogna me, ed io ti sognero._" "In dreaming give a -thought of me, and I will dream of thee." - -"Give me my little golden crown, sister, and then lie down upon your -couch and sleep. You do not mind the lights?" - -Millicent was fanciful and wilful that night; and the nun, knowing that -it was best to humor her, brought her from its velvet case the gold -fillet of olive leaves which Graham had laid on the brow of his love in -the forest of San Rosario. The girl set it on her head, and called for -a mirror. - -"I am beautiful still, my sister, though so pale, am I not?" - -The nun nodded her head smilingly. - -"Now that is all, and I shall sleep. Good-night to you. Say a little -prayer for me, sister, and one for a strong, proud man who will be very -sad to-night with me so far away from him." - -She folded her palms upon her breast, as they fold the hands of the -dead. The sister stood beside her, watching uneasily the light slumber -into which her patient had fallen. Her pulse was full and even, the -breathing regular, and the sleep peaceful as that of a child. - -"A strange fancy to light those candles, and to put that wreath about -her head. Poor child, she is beautiful, indeed, as the vision of a -saint," murmured the sister. - -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,-- - -"I come, I come! wait for me!" - -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. - - -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. - - -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. - -"It must have been quite painless," he heard a strange voice say in -English. "See! she has not moved; the clothes are quite unruffled. It -is doubtful if she woke at all. Sister Theresa says she was in this -attitude when she last saw her. If she had even breathed heavily the -nun would have heard her, she sleeps so lightly." - -A chill fell upon the young man's heart. What could those strange words -mean? The door opened at last, and two men entered the room, the -younger carefully closing it behind him. He was evidently a physician. -The elder man passed him with bowed head and clasped hands. 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. - -"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. - -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. - -"You are Mr. Galbraith, from California, of whom she spoke last night?" - -"Yes." - -"Perhaps you could help me in a little matter which Mr. Almsford has -asked me to attend to. This telegram came an hour ago. It was directed -to her, and is dated California. Do you know the sender, and the -meaning of the message?" - -Galbraith took the slip of blue paper, and read these words:-- - - -"I am coming to you. I start to-night. - -"GRAHAM." - - -"You know the person?" - -"Yes, very well." - -"As we have not his address, would you kindly answer the despatch and -tell him?" - -"Surely." - -"It would be a great favor." - -"It is the last but one that I can ever do for her now." - -He found his way to the telegraph office, he never knew how, and with -trembling hand penned this message, which should fly swifter than west -wind or shifting water, to John Graham on the far golden shore, where -the tide was at the flood, and the earth glad and green in the promise -of the new-born year:-- - - - "_Millicent died last night._" - - - - - University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - CHOICE FICTION - FOR - SUMMER READING. - - -VESTIGIA. By GEORGE FLEMING, author of "Kismet," "Mirage," "The Head of -Medusa." 16mo. 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