She was the first to break the silence.

"Are you trying to be funny?" Her voice was very cold.

"Not at all," he answered hotly. "It must be all of ten generations back or even more, and of course it wasn't all Spanish afterward, but, just the same, I'm as much a descendant of the princess as you are of the duke,--always have been! I'm just as proud of it, too. Possibly you will remember that the Spanish beat the English to it, at least in California. Anyway," he finished bitterly, "what difference does it make? So far as I can see, it only gives us one more good subject to quarrel about!"

Then out of the dimness came a queer little sound, whether of tears or of laughter it was impossible to know. For the least part of a second a hand brushed his own.

"Oh, no!" she whispered, "Let's not do that. It wouldn't be right! And see," she laughed tremulously, "Isn't it strange I should have found it today, but," she lifted the white thing in her lap, "here is Wildenai's wedding dress--and the chain of garnets!"

The cavern was quite dark before they had finished talking about it, but at length they laid the poor little ghost of a garment reverently back among the stones and rose to go.

"But the necklace?" Blair asked, hesitating, "do you think we ought to leave that here?"

The girl considered a moment.

"It's really yours," she decided. "n.o.body else could have the least claim to it."

"Except--" Suddenly his eyes shone with a strange expression before which the little art teacher instinctively shrank. He took a step toward her.

"I believe I'll give the garnets back," he announced. "I fancy that's what the princess would have liked to do if she'd had the chance.

Besides," his eyes grew still darker, "they were meant in the first place for a wedding gift, and so if you--"

He would have clasped them about her neck, but Miss Hastings backed frantically away.

"No!--not for worlds," she cried. "You know you're only saying it because you think you can't get out of it!" And before he could realize just what was happening, she was gone.

The boat for Los Angeles was unusually crowded that night. For either this reason, or some other she would not acknowledge, Miss Hastings found herself pushed aside by more impatient pa.s.sengers every time she attempted to enter the gangway.

"All aboard!" called a peremptory voice from somewhere on deck. She took a step forward, hesitated, drew back. The plank was hauled irrevocably away, and she turned to face Blair standing just behind her on the wharf.

"I was sure you wouldn't run away," he declared, "but if you had--!"

She let him lead her back along the broad boardwalk toward the hotel until they stood within the shadow of the huge boulder which for centuries has marked the outer boundary of the Bay of Moons. Beyond them the lights of the St. Catherine glimmered down the hill and on over the water, r.i.m.m.i.n.g with golden bubbles the outlines of the pier.

"Wildenai!" Out of the darkness his voice came to her, mocking, tender, wholly insistent. "Foolish, obstinate little lady! Can't you see how it's up to you,--up to the English to make amends? Honestly now, when he began it I don't imagine even that rascal Drake himself would have believed a family sc.r.a.p could last the better part of four centuries.

Don't you really think it's about time for you to call it off?"

And flinging her scruples to the winds, Miss Hastings suddenly decided that it was.