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.