The San Rosario Ranch
through his teaching, to live a Christian life and die in the hope of
his faith.
"At last the battle between the spirit and the heart grew too terrible
for him to bear; he was not strong enough; and he begged the fathers to
send him to another Mission far to the northward. When the Smile of the
Morning learned that Fra Antonio was to leave the Mission on the morrow,
she decked herself in all her jewels, hung her long shell necklaces
about her throat, wound her bead bracelets about her arms, and placed
her coronet of blue-jays' feathers upon her brow. She was not to be
found that night when the old chief lay down to rest; and when the sun
rose on the day which should see Fra Antonio far on his long journey,
her sisters found the maiden lying in the cool waters of the river which
washes this island, with the little rosary the priest had given her
locked in her cold fingers, and the smile upon her face that had been
missing for so many weeks. They called the fathers to come and look
upon her; and Fra Antonio prayed long beside her, with streaming eyes
and broken voice. The kiss which his sad lips laid reverently on her
brow was felt perhaps, for all those who stood near heard the sigh which
came rustling through the trees near by. As she had wilfully taken her
own life, the poor girl could not be buried with the ceremonies of the
church to which she had been admitted; so she was interred by her people
near the spot where they had found her, on this little island where we
now sit. When the good fathers sat together of an evening and discussed
questions spiritual and temporal touching the welfare of their little
flock, Fra Antonio was often missing from their midst. Sometimes the
faint sound was heard of the church bell softly struck by a tender hand,
and the priests crossed themselves silently, knowing for whose soul it
was that Fra Antonio solemnized the mass for the dead."
A silence followed Galbraith's story, which was broken by Millicent, who
said,--
"I have a sketch in an old Italian book of a beautiful young monk, Fra
Antonio by name. Could it be the same, I wonder?"
"Who knows? Some of the priests were Italians. Would the dates agree?"
"The portrait was dated some time in the latter part of the last
century."
"It could not have been far from that time that the Smile of the Morning
met her sad fate."
"Sad,--do you call her fate sad?" queried Millicent.
"Who could think it otherwise?"
"I surely do. Was it sad to die for the man she loved?"
"It would have been happier if she could have lived for him."
"Happiness! Who spoke of happiness? Why talk about a thing so
mythical? I think her lot was an enviable one. To her simple mind the
thought that suicide is sinful could never have occurred. She might not
follow the man she loved; she believed that the soul now prisoned in her
breast might always be near him; so she opened the cage and let the bird
fly."
"You speak as seriously as if you had known the Smile of the Morning and
sympathized with her."
"It is the privilege of those who have greatly suffered, that the grief
of others can be felt and understood by them." Millicent spoke
absently, dreamily, checking her speech at the pained expression which
her words brought to Galbraith's face.
Later in the afternoon the party left the island and wandered about the
old bridge. Some of them climbed the high hill; others struck into the
woods. By some chance Millicent found herself left alone near the mill
with no one of the party near her save Ah Lam. Calling the faithful
creature to her side, she made him prepare her a comfortable seat, and
leaning back against the wall, she entered into a desultory conversation
with her pupil. Ah Lam often told her stories in his broken English,
descriptive of the power and character of the most august personages of
the Chinese mythology. To-day he found an inattentive listener in his
kind friend and teacher; but he had been bidden to speak, and so he
talked on patiently, describing rites of death and feasts of marriages,
recalling the great river _fete_ which he had witnessed shortly before
sailing from his native city. As the Chinaman paused after this last
tale, Millicent heard a step approaching the door of the old mill. She
looked up carelessly, expecting to see one of the gentlemen. The man
who stood before her was a stranger. His face was somewhat flushed, and
he looked as if he had travelled some distance.
"Second time, my lady, I've see'd yer purty face to-day."
Millicent bowed her head and turned away, looking anxiously toward the
wood, where she had seen Hal disappear a few moments before.
"Sha'n't let yer off ser aisy this time. I've took a fancy to see the
color of yer eyes."
The look of angry indignation with which the gray orbs were turned upon
the man was enough to have abashed any sensitive person, but to this
class the stranger did not belong. He was a rough-looking fellow of
large stature, with a heavy animal face, crossed by a deep scar running
from the chin to the forehead on the right side. In his belt he wore a
pair of pistols, at which the Chinaman looked uneasily.
"Say, do yer belong in these parts?"
"Yes," answered the girl in a low voice.
"Well, I am leavin' 'em for good; we're not likely to meet again. I 'm
a gentleman, and I don't want to trouble you for them rings o' yourn,
but a kiss won't cost you nothin'."
Suiting the action to the word, the man threw an arm about the girl's
slender waist, and quick as a thought began to drag her toward the spot
where a couple of horses were tethered. With a sudden wrench, she shook
herself free from his rude clasp, and sped down the path calling for
help. Help was nearer to her than she had thought, and a humble friend
sprang to her aid. As the insolent creature started in pursuit of the
swift-footed girl, Ah Lam adroitly tripped him up, bringing him to the
ground with a heavy fall. The man was somewhat bruised by his tumble, a
sharp stone having struck his arm. He arose with difficulty, pouring
out a volley of oaths the like of which had never before desecrated
Millicent's ears. The Chinaman, knowing full well the danger which his
temerity had brought upon him, ran quickly after his young mistress.
The path brought them to the border of the stream, and their flight was
stopped by this obstacle. By this time, the man, blind with rage, had
caught up with the two fugitives; he seemed in doubt which of them to
molest first. Millicent stood with flashing eyes and curling lip, her
head thrown back, her arms folded across her breast, looking at him with
an expression of scorn that seemed to awe him for a moment. He drew
back, as if afraid to touch so beautiful and wrathful a creature, and in
his rage clutched the Chinaman by the throat. In the scuffle which
ensued, Ah Lam's hat was thrown off, and the long cue coiled about his
head fell down. Quick as thought, the ruffian seized the braid, and
drawing a sharp knife from his boot, cut it from the head of the
Chinaman. With a shriek which had the despair of a double death, the
Chinaman turned and implanted his finger-nails in the face of his
adversary, inflicting ten long scratches on the cheeks. The crushed
worm will turn at last; and the poor soul, damned for eternity by the
cutting of his hair, had turned upon the ruffian. Quick as the
fast-drawn breath of the terrified girl, the villain lifted his long
knife and, with a horrible oath, plunged it into the side of the
Chinaman. The shrieks of the victim, the horror-stricken screams of the
girl, the sight of the blood, seemed to madden the wretch; for he tore
the quivering knife from the wound and stabbed him again and again. At
last the rage for blood seemed satiated; he threw the mutilated body,
still breathing, to ebb out its life on the soil, and turned with bloody
hands and seared eyes toward Millicent, who had sunk upon her knees,
lifting the head of the dying Chinaman to her young breast.
The closed lids fluttered open, the dimmed eyes looked gratefully for
the last time into the face of the girl who had been kinder to him than
any other creature in this strange land where he had worked so
faithfully, where he had been so cruelly oppressed in life, and so
foully murdered; hope of Heaven being closed to him before his miserable
breath had been taken. The horror of his crime must have overcome the
ruffian for a moment, for he paused and silently watched the
death-agonies of his victim. To that moment's feeling of horror or
remorse, what might not Millicent owe? For soon, to her it seemed an
eternity, the men, whose answering shouts she had not heard, appeared
close at hand. The murderer saw them none too quickly for his safety,
and springing upon his horse, which stood near by, clapped spurs to the
flank and rode off at a hand gallop in the opposite direction.
Galbraith rushed to Millicent's side and lifted the dying creature from
her breast. They placed him gently upon the bank, and Hal put his flask
to his lips; but it was too late. With one last struggle Ah Lam yielded
up his miserable life; and Millicent's cry of pity sounded his
death-knell. Then she lifted her hands to Heaven and prayed for the
soul of the poor creature who had so bravely defended her. An hour ago
she had smiled at Fra Antonio's masses for the repose of the Smile of
the Morning. In moments like these the strong instincts of men and
women overcome the reasons and doctrines of education; Millicent prayed,
believing that she should be heard.
When it became evident to the little group which had silently assembled
about the spot, that poor Ah Lam was beyond human help, Maurice
Galbraith and Henry Deering lifted the lifeless body and laid it in the
great wagon. Millicent followed and drew over the dead face the white
cloak which she had worn all that day. Pedro, climbing to his seat,
touched the mules into motion; and the wagon, which had carried so merry
a freight to the gray bridge that morning, returned at sunset over the
same path with its ghastly burden,--a very funeral car.
Maurice Galbraith gently placed Millicent beside Barbara and her mother
in the smaller carriage, which was driven back to the Ranch under the
escort of Ferrara, O'Neil, and Hartley. Then the young lawyer, with
Henry Deering to bear him company, started in pursuit of the murderer.
He had sworn a silent oath, as he stood by the dying man, and learned
that his life had been given to protect Millicent, that Ah Lam should be
avenged. If there were law and justice in the broad land of California,
the murderer should surfer the extreme penalty for wilful and wicked
shedding of innocent blood. In pursuit rode the two young men, with
stern faces; and it was well for the fugitive that he had a long start
of them, for they rode as men do when time must be gained at all costs.
Along the narrow bridle-path, over which the murderer had passed, they
took their way, and were soon lost to the view of the three women
sitting close together in troubled silence. Barbara's strong hands held
the reins and plied the whip, while streams of tears coursed down her
cheeks. Mrs. Deering patted her daughter's shoulder; but it was on
Millicent her attention was most firmly fixed. The girl had not moved
since Galbraith had placed her in the carriage. Her eyes were strained
wide open, and the expression in their depths was one which the gentle
woman never forgot,--a look as of an endless despair and horror. Back
to the happy valley they drove silently, no joyous young voices
carolling out ballads of love, songs of battle, as was their wont; in
silence and grief they passed over the familiar road through the gap
between the guardian hills, back to the quiet house, to herald the