The life of Gabriel hung by a very frail thread for several days, and Clarence did not have the heart to leave him. He did not telegraph to Mercedes their arrival, for he would then have been obliged to give a reason for delaying. He wrote her saying that Gabriel had accidentally fallen from a ladder, and not knowing how seriously he might have been hurt, George and himself had decided to remain with Lizzie, who was very much frightened and distressed.

Mercedes answered, thanking him in the warmest terms of gratitude for remaining with her darling brother, adding that much as she wished to see the long-lost Clarence, she preferred to endure the pains of waiting rather than to have him leave Gabriel now.

The proudest man in America was Clarence. He knew that in the gratitude of her heart she would allow him to press her to his, and he longed to have that bliss. But faithfully he kept his watch at the hospital, and Gabriel lived yet. No doctor dared say whether he would die or survive his terrible fall, or his health remain impaired. No one dare venture a prophecy for so dark a future.

In the meantime Clarence got his house ready for occupation, and as soon as Gabriel could be removed without danger, they took up their residence there. In the silent recesses of her heart Lizzie thanked God that her surroundings were again those of a lady. She shuddered to remember the poverty she endured for so long a time, and she would have felt really happy could she have been sure that her beloved Gabriel would live.

"George," said she to her brother, as they walked towards the library, when Clarence had relieved their watch, and was sitting by Gabriel's bedside, "I have an idea in my head which I think we might put into practice, if you will help me."

"What is it, dear sister?" asked George, tenderly, observing how thin and haggard she looked.

"It is this, that if you and I write to Mercedes that she ought to marry right away, so that Clarence can bring her to be with me, to help me take care of Gabriel, that she will do so."

"By, Jove! It is a splendid idea, little sister, and I'll write to Mercita and to Dona Josefa at once."

"It is little enough, George, for you and I to do, when Clarence has been so devoted to my darling," said she, her eyes filling with tears of heart-felt gratitude.

"Of course it is, but it comes so natural to Clarence to act always like the noble fellow he is, that it would surprise me if he had acted otherwise than nobly."

"But we ought to consult him about our project."

"Certainly. I'll go and stay with Gabriel and send him to you that you may disclose your plan."

"No, let me go to Gabriel, while you tell him the plan," said she, hurrying off to the invalid, whom she found sleeping.

She whispered to Clarence that George wished to speak to him, and took his place by the bedside.

Clarence could find no words to express to George his joy and gratitude.

He flushed and paled by turns, and finally, stroking his mustache with trembling fingers, and trying to bite it, in his agitation, sat down in silence, while George went into the details of the matter.

"But will she consent?" Clarence exclaimed at last.

"I think she will, for you know how all of them love Gabriel, Mercedes more than all,-and the thought that he is suffering, and Lizzie's distress, and your kindness to him,-all that will furnish a most excellent excuse to do what her heart has been begging for," said George. "I am going to write now about it."

"Oh, I shall be so grateful!" Clarence exclaimed.

"Send Lizzie to me, we both must write," George said.

Clarence went back to the sick room, and said to Lizzie that George wanted her.

Kissing her hand most fervently, he exclaimed in a tremulous whisper: "You are my angel!"

George and Lizzie's letters were very pleading. Clarence wrote also, imploring Mercedes to forgive the stupidity that took him away, and beseeched her to yield to his prayer, and be his wife, after so many years of suffering.

Mercedes kissed the letter, and cried over it, of course, as women must, but referred the subject to her mother. Dona Josefa must also cry a good deal before she said anything, for the memory of her husband made such subjects most painful to her.

But Victoriano stormed from his bed. He would have no delay. He sent for Everett, so that he would in person carry a dispatch to town, saying to Clarence, by telegraph, to come in the very first steamer. Victoriano would have no contradiction.

"If Mercedes don't marry Clarence, as George advises, I want to be taken by the legs-my mean, cripple legs, my ridiculous kangaroo legs-and dragged out of this bed, and out of this house. I don't want to live under the same roof with people that will refuse so just and reasonable a request."

"But who has refused it, Tano? Wait, won't you?" said Rosario, seeing that Tano had hidden his head under the covers.

Victoriano's head came out again, and said: "Nobody says yes."

But the _yes_ was said.

Everett took a dispatch from Dona Josefa to George, saying that whenever Clarence came, Mercedes would go with him, as George suggested.

There would be five days only before another steamer would arrive, but by telegraphing to Clarence on that day, he would have time to take the steamer next morning, or go on the cars to Los Angeles, and take the steamer at Wilmington. And this was what Clarence telegraphed he would do, suggesting that if Mercita would be ready, they could take the same boat, and by again taking the cars at Los Angeles, be with Gabriel in two days.

Was it a dream? To see Clarence within five days, and be his wife, when she thought she might never see him on this earth again! Thus ran Mercedes' reflections, when she had gone to her room to open a wardrobe which had been locked for three years. That wardrobe held the _trousseau_ sent by Mrs. Lawrence Mechlin in '74, and the jewelry which Clarence had given her in New York.

Mercedes thought of those days, and the image of her father arose before her vividly. She sat by the window to think of him with loving tenderness and ever living regret.

"But, _mon Dieu_, mademoiselle," said Madame Halier, coming in, "why don't you come? Miss Carlota is waiting to begin getting your things ready."

"I beg pardon; I had forgotten," said Mercedes, rousing herself from her reverie. Carlota, Rosario and Alice now came in, and soon the contents of the wardrobe were distributed all over the room. Madame Halier was to pack in trunks all Mercedes' things, leaving out only her bridal attire and traveling dress. The madame did her work with pleasure, as she was going with Mercedes, and had been wishing to visit the city of San Francisco for a long time.

Everything was ready. A dispatch came from George saying that Clarence had started; that Gabriel was a little better, and anxious to see Mercedes. This made Dona Josefa feel that it was her imperative duty to send Mercedes to her brother at once.

Mrs. Darrell went to see the priest about going to the rancho to perform the marriage ceremony there. The good man would have preferred that it were solemnized in the church, but, considering that Victoriano could not leave his bed and Dona Josefa was still in very deep mourning, he consented.

There would be no invited guests except the Holmans and Darrells. There would be no bridesmaids either, though there were plenty of young girls that could act as such.

Everett went to town the night before the arrival of the steamer to bring Clarence as soon as he landed, and they came from town so quickly and noiselessly that no one knew when they arrived at the rancho.

The ladies were all in Mercedes' room discussing the wedding outfit and other matters, when it occurred to her to go out and from the veranda look towards the road, as she might perhaps see the carriage in the distance. What was her surprise when, on passing by the parlor door, she saw Everett coming through the gate, and there, right there, where Clarence had stood on that terrible night when he left her, there he stood again, looking at her with those same speaking, glowing, loving eyes. He seemed to her like an apparition, and she uttered an exclamation of surprise, turning very pale and tottering as if about to fall. In an instant he was by her side pressing her to his heart and covering her face with kisses.

Surely this was no ghost. His warm kisses and beating heart spoke of the lover full of life and hope, trembling with the realization of years of longing to hold her thus close, very close in his loving, chaste embrace.

"Mercedes, my own, my sweet wife," he said, and his voice had so much the same tone and vibration as in that last memorable night, that the rush of sad memories and painful emotions made her for a moment feel confused, bewildered, almost losing consciousness. As her yielding form relaxed in his arms he carried her to the sofa and sat there holding her, scarcely realizing it was not all a dream.

Everett had gone to Victoriano's room, and now that impatient invalid was screaming for Clarence to come. His loud calling brought Dona Josefa to him, and then all the family learned that Clarence had arrived.

"Come here, you truant," said Victoriano to Clarence, "come here, you ugly man." And as Clarence stooped to embrace him, he clasped him to his heart, making him lie down by his side. "There," said he, "I have given you a good hugging; now go and kiss the girls."

Which Clarence did gladly, but his mother and Dona Josefa he kissed first. He then went to the parlor, where he was kindly greeted by no less than fourteen girls, counting thus: three Alamares, three Holmans, four Darrells, and four other Alamares, cousins of Mercedes.

Clarence was a brave fellow, so he never flinched and kissed them all, very deliberately. "Not to give offence," he said.

There was one duty which Clarence shrank from performing, but which he submitted to quietly, and that was meeting his father.

Darrell came to the Alamar house for the first time in his life, and as he said he would like to be alone when he met Clarence, Rosario conducted him to _the office_, a room used by her father when he saw people on business and where he wrote his letters, but where others of the family scarcely ever entered.

Clarence was shocked to see how aged his father was. When he left, the auburn hair of the old man showed no white lines at all. Now he was so gray that his hair was almost white. The sight of that white hair swept from Clarence's heart all trace of resentment, and his love for his father seemed to rush back to him with pain, but with great force.

"Oh, father!" exclaimed Clarence, seeing the open arms before him.