Ajax--eh?"

"I don't know, Gloriana. Go on."

"I promised him never ter speak to the child, an' I've kept my word; but he let me make her things. That was kind of him--very kind."

"Very kind, indeed," said Ajax.

"I followed 'em ter Californy, an' worked out, an' sold books an'

peddled fruit, but I've kep' track o' little Miriam."

"You have never spoken to her, you say?"

"Never. Doctor Standish kin trust me. He's posted me, too. He tole me o' the wedding. I got word the night I first went ter the village, an'

that's why--" she smiled through her tears--"that's why I wore my teeth. They cost me twenty dollars, an' I keep 'em fer high days an'

holidays."

Ajax began to pace up and down the room. I heard him swearing to himself, and his fists were clenched. I felt certain that he was about to interfere in matters that did not concern us.

"Miss Standish should be told the truth," said he at last.

"No, no," she exclaimed. "I'm a wicked woman to wish ter kiss her. I done wrong in telling the secret, but yer sympathy jest twisted it outer me. Promise me, Mr. Ajax, that ye'll never give me away."

We pledged our word, and left her.

"Gloriana's dun days must soon come to an end," said Ajax to me upon the eve of the wedding.

"Why shouldn't she marry Uncle Jake? The old chap wants her. He informed me this afternoon that a double team travelled farther than a single horse. And he hangs about the kitchen door all the time, and divides Gloriana's favours with the pig."

"Tell him to propose."

"I'll have to do it for him," replied my brother. "Uncle Jake has not the gift of tongues."

We accompanied Gloriana to San Lorenzo; as we feared to trust our friend--for so we had come to regard her--with the mule, a mischievous beast, spoiled by prosperity. Ajax drove a skittish pair of colts.

Gloriana and I occupied the back seat of our big spring wagon.

"My brother is not Uncle Jake," said Ajax, as soon as the colts had settled down to business, "but he'll tell you all the pretty things the old man says about you."

"Uncle Jake is puffectly rediclous," replied Gloriana gaily. "His love is cupboard love."

"He has mired down at last."

"Nonsense! Mr. Ajax."

"He is set on matrimony. You are the one woman in the world for him.

Take him, Gloriana; and then we'll all live together for ever and ever."

"Mr. Ajax, you'd sooner joke than eat."

"I'm not joking now. Uncle Jake is an honest man, with money laid by.

He would make you comfortable for life, and such a marriage might pave the way to--to a better understanding with Doctor Standish."

Her face flushed at these last words, and fire flooded her eyes.

Looking at her, I realised that long ago this worn woman must have been a beautiful girl.

"No," she answered steadily. "I wouldn't say Yes to the Angel Gabriel.

Uncle Jake and I would make a baulky team. He's obstinate as my old mule, an' so am I. An' there's another thing: I'm most petered out, an' need a rest. Mattermony ain't rest."

My brother had tact enough to change the subject.

Descending the San Lorenzo grade, a sharp incline, Gloriana called our attention to a view panoramic and matchless beneath the glamour of sunset. Below us lay the mission town, its crude buildings aglow with rosy light; to the left was the canon, a frowning wilderness of manzanita, cactus and chaparral; to the right towered the triune peak of the Bishop, purple against an amber sky; in the distance were the shimmering waters of the Pacific. Upon the face of the landscape brooded infinite peace, and the soft shadows of evening.

"In Californy," said our pa.s.senger, "the glorious works o' the Lord air revealed. There's the Bishop: he looks fine to-night. Ye kin see the peak, but the sea fog's crawlin' in, an' shets off the main body o' the mountain. That's wher the fogs air always thickest. An' that's wher I lost my way, Mr. Ajax. Yes, sir, my feet stumbled on the dark mountain, as the prophet says, but I clumb the stony places, an' now, on the top, its clear."

"Gloriana," said Ajax, after a pause, "will you allow my brother, who is a grave and learned signor, to plead your cause with Doctor Standish? I know what lies nearest your heart."

In this impudent fashion he laid a grievous burden on me; for I have no stomach for other folk's pastry, yet the hope that glistened upon Gloriana's face whetted a strange appet.i.te.

"I'll speak to him--if you wish it," said I.

"No," she returned, her eyes giving the lie to her lips. "It wouldn't be right."

But a woman's brain is a sorry advocate against her heart. Ajax, as I expected, put her scruples to rout. It was agreed that I should carry, as credentials, Gloriana's present--the parcel she hugged to her bosom, weighty with love and linen; that the interview should take place after dinner; that the recognition of Gloriana as Miriam's blood-relation should be not demanded but suggested with all deference due to a doctor of divinity. The Standishes boarded at the Hotel Buena Vista, where we always stayed; Gloriana was set down at a modest two- bit house, some three-quarters of a mile distant.

As the hour of meeting the Doctor approached, my courage oozed from every pore, distilling a malignant dew of mistrust that not even the optimism of Ajax could evaporate. As we sat at meat I noted with apprehension the stern features of Standish, who occupied an adjoining table. He ate sparingly, as became an old man, and drank no wine. His granddaughter, a charming girl, with eyes that reminded me of Gloriana, chattered gaily to him, but he replied in monosyllables.

Doubtless he was thinking of the parting on the morrow.

Half-an-hour later he received me in his room, and asked courteously in what way he could serve me.

I laid my credentials upon the table. They were flanked, I remarked, by a Bible, and a well-worn book of prayer.

"This," I began lamely, "is a present from our housekeeper, Gloriana, to your granddaughter. She asked me to deliver it into your hands."

"I thank you, sir," he replied stiffly. "You say this--er--woman is your housekeeper?"

"Our housekeeper--and our friend."

"Indeed. Well, sir, I am obliged to you. Good-night."

"A present," said I, "demands an acknowledgment."

"An acknowledgment? You look at me very strangely, young man."

Upon this I spoke; explaining, in halting sentences, my mission. He listened attentively, a frown upon his somewhat narrow forehead.

"How dare you interfere in such matters!" he asked, in a voice that quavered with suppressed rage. "What right have you to come between me and a woman, an ignorant, immoral creature, whose very presence is contamination?"

"Ignorant, illiterate--yes; but a braver, truer, more loving spirit never breathed. I count it a privilege to know her. Surely she has suffered enough for a sister's sin!"