Hilliard had come I haven't the ghost of a doubt that she would. Do you know Mr. Hilliard well?"

This in a tone as innocent as that of a little child talking of its dolls.

"Pretty well," answered Carmen, moistening her lips. "Who is Mrs. May? I heard of her once. She's a friend of the Morehouses."

"She's a new importation," replied Theo lightly. "So far as I can make out, she and Mr. Hilliard met in New York."

"Is she--pretty?"

"Yes, very. Fair hair and gray eyes that look dark. Mourning is becoming to her."

"Is she a widow?"

"She--gives that impression," Miss Dene smiled. This Carmen Gaylor was like a beautiful, fiery thundercloud. Teasing her was delightful. Theo felt as if she were in a play. It was a dreadful waste of good material not to have an audience. But she would "use the scene" afterward. She remembered hearing a great actress tell how she visited hospitals for consumptives, and even ran up to Davos one winter, when she was preparing to play _La Dame aux Camelias_. Theo would have done all that if she had been an actress. She was fond of realism in every form, and did not stick at gruesomeness.

"A gra.s.s widow?" exclaimed Carmen eagerly.

Theo shrugged her shoulders. "Really, I can't tell you."

Carmen supposed that she knew little of Mrs. May, and had met her for the first time at Santa Barbara with Nick. With Nick--motoring! The thought gave Carmen a strange sensation, as if her blood had turned to little cold, sharp crystals freezing in her veins.

"Not very young, I suppose?" she hazarded, her lips so dry that she had to touch them with her tongue. But that was dry, too.

"Oh, about twenty-three or four, and looks nineteen."

There was no hope, then! Nick was with a woman, beautiful, young, presumably a widow, and evidently in love with him, as Miss Dene said that she would be here at Rushing River Camp if Nick had come. A deadly sickness caught Carmen by the throat. Her love for Nick was one with her life, and had been for years. Always she had believed that some day she would be happy with Nick, would have him for her own. Anything else would be impossible--too bad to be true. Even when he went East without asking her to marry him, though she was free, she had a.s.sured herself that he loved her. Had he not as much as said that the anniversary of her husband's death was not a lucky night to choose for love-making? Carmen had made certain that she was the only woman in Nick's life; and he had laughed when she hinted that "some lovely lady" might persuade him to stay in New York.

"Where is Mrs. May now?" she asked sharply, past caring much whether or no Miss Dene saw her agony.

"In San Francisco--unless she's gone to the Yosemite Valley with Mr.

Hilliard."

"With him! Why should she go everywhere with him?"

Theo laughed. "Because she likes his society, I suppose, and he likes hers. He is supposed to be her unpaid, amateur guide, I believe, and she trots her maid about with her, to play propriety. Also a cat. Don't you think a black cat a charmingly original chaperon?"

Carmen did not answer. Anguish and rage in her heart were like vitriol dashed on a raw wound. No wonder Nick had not written! And she had been happy, and trusting, while he forgot his debt of grat.i.tude, and ignoring her existence, travelled about the country with another woman. Only this morning Carmen had dreamed of meeting him here, and that he had asked for her invitation, as a favour to himself. She could have screamed, and torn her flesh, in agony. She suffered too much. Some one else would have to pay for this! Nick would have to pay, and that woman, that love pirate sailing from strange seas to steal the treasure of others.

Her one uncontrollable impulse was to go and find them both, to do something to part them, she did not know what yet, but inspiration would come. She felt unable to bear any delay. Somehow, she must find an excuse to get away from this place. She would have to go San Francisco, or perhaps even to the Yosemite Valley, and find Nick and the woman together.

It occurred to her that she might contrive to telegraph to Simeon Harp, telling him to wire her that something had gone wrong on the ranch, that she must return home at once. Mariette could find out how to send telegrams from here--there was sure to be a way--and get the message off in secret.

That night a telegram came for Mrs. Gaylor, announcing that there had been a fire on the ranch. She was needed at home. She showed the bit of paper to Mrs. Harland and Falconer, and there was much sympathy and regret that her visit must be broken short.

Next morning she left, having been but twenty-four hours at Rushing River Camp. And late that night, she arrived in San Francisco. But she was in no hurry to obey the summons from the Gaylor ranch.

XXII

THE BOX OF MYSTERY

Again Angela was expecting Hilliard. They were to dine, and then she and Nick and Kate and the cat were going by train to El Porto, the gate of the Yosemite Valley. Angela was waiting in her sitting-room, as on that first evening there, when she had changed one decision for another all in a moment; but now she was in travelling dress, and a week had pa.s.sed since that other night. It had been, perhaps, the happiest week of her life; but the week to which she was looking forward would be happier still.

Afterward, of course, there would be an end. For the end must come. She was clear-sighted enough to realize that.

As she thought these things--and quickly put away the thoughts, since nothing must spoil this hour--there was a rap at the door, and she went to throw it open, confident that she would see Nick smiling at her, saying in his nice voice, "Well, are you ready?"

But it was not Nick. A bellboy of the hotel had brought up a large cardboard box which had arrived by post. The address was printed: "Mrs.

May, Fairmont Hotel, San Francisco," and there were several stamps upon it; but Angela could not make out the postmark. She found a pair of scissors and cut the string. The box was tightly packed with a quant.i.ty of beautiful foliage, lovely leaves shaped like oak leaves, and of bright autumn colours, purple, gold, and crimson, though spring had hardly turned to summer.

She plunged her hands into the box, lifting out the gorgeous ma.s.s, looking for a card or note, but finding none. It was a pity that this mysterious gift had arrived just as she was going away. However, she was keeping on her rooms, and would leave instructions with the chambermaid to take great care of the beauties.

Some one else was tapping at the door now, and this time it was Nick.

Angela's hands overflowed with their brilliant burden as she called aloud, "Come in!" and he came with the very words she had expected: "Well, are you ready?"

But they died on his lips, and it seemed to her, in the waning light, that his face grew pale.

"Drop that stuff, quick, Mrs. May!"

He flung the words at her, and Angela, bewildered and amazed, threw down the coloured leaves as if a tarantula hid among them.

"Have you got any ammonia?" Nick asked sharply.

"Yes."

"Go wash your hands in it while I use your telephone. Don't be frightened, but that's poison-oak, and I want to prevent it from hurting you."

"Can it--kill me?" Her face quivered.

"No. And it shan't do you any harm if I can help it. But be quick as you can. Keep your hands in the basin till I get what I'm sending out for."

Without another word Angela ran into the next room, and so to the bath.

As she poured ammonia into the marble basin, feeling a little faint, she could hear Nick's voice at the telephone: "Send to the nearest drug store for some gamgee tissue, a bundle of lint, and a pint bottle of lime-water.

This is a hurry call."

Angela's heart was thumping. It was horrible that there should be some one in the world--a lurking, mysterious some one--who planned in secret to do her dreadful harm. The incident seemed unreal. Whom did she know, on this side of the world, who could hate her so bitterly? She was afraid, as of eyes that she could not see, staring through the dark.

Nick called from the sitting-room: "How do you feel? Are you all right?"

And when she answered "Yes," tried to rea.s.sure her. It began to look as if there were much to fear. Luckily he had come in time. Was she sure she hadn't held the leaves near her face? No. Then she might hope that there would be no trouble now. Already he had bundled the bunch of fire into a newspaper and it had been taken out of the room to be destroyed, like a wicked witch. Luckily there were people who could touch poison-oak and suffer no harm. Nick told Angela he "felt in his bones" that no evil thing could have power over her.

Soon, almost before she could have believed it possible, the messenger arrived with a strange a.s.sortment of packets from the chemist. Nick shouted that all was ready, and she went back to the sitting-room, her hands dripping ammonia. Kate had been summoned, and having just appeared, was about to empty a large flower bowl, which Nick had ordered her to wash. The Irish girl was pale, and looked dazed. She knew nothing yet of what had happened, but guessed at some mysterious accident to her mistress.

A great bouquet of roses which Nick had sent that morning now lay on a side table, and into the flower bowl they had adorned he poured the lime-water. In this he soaked the gamgee tissue (Angela had never heard of the stuff before), and bade her hold out both hands. Then he bound them quickly and skilfully, intent on what he was doing, though his head was bent closer to Angela's than it had ever been before, and the fragrance of her hair was sweet, as in his dreams of angels. As for her, she felt a childlike confidence in his ability to cure her, to save her from harm.

Over the tissue, wet with lime-water, Nick wrapped bandages of lint; and the operation finished, Angela was as helpless as if she had pulled on a pair of tight, thick gloves whose fingers would not bend.