The San Rosario Ranch
eyes resting on the pretty group on the piazza: Barbara sitting at
Millicent's feet, and Hal reaching up to pluck a spray of honeysuckles
for her hair.
CHAPTER V.
Where have we lived and loved before this, sweet?
My will ere now hath led thy wayward feet;
I knew thy beauties--limbs, lips, brows, and hair--
Before these eyes beheld and found thee fair.
Mrs. Deering's arguments carried the day, and Graham decided to
accompany the young ladies to San Real. Ferrara was to be of the party.
It was a bright morning which saw the departure of the three travellers
from the Ranch. Hal drove them to the station in a very disconsolate
frame of mind. During Ralph Almsford's long absences, it was impossible
for him to leave the Ranch, in which his interests were all vested; and
it seemed rather hard that Graham should enjoy the pleasure which he had
been obliged to decline. Henry Deering was a susceptible young man, and
he was already enthralled by the soft voice and deep eyes of the girl on
whom he had bestowed the title of Princess. His friendship for John
Graham was one of the strongest feelings he had ever known. He admired
him more than any person he knew. He respected the sterling character
of the man, on whose honor he would have staked his life; and yet it was
hard that Graham should devote himself to the Princess, for he said to
himself there could be no chance for him against such a rival.
The country through which the railroad from San Rosario to San Real
passes is most picturesque. Round the high hills winds the yellow line
of the track, making horseshoe loops, so that the engine, Millicent
said, sometimes turned round and looked the passengers in the face.
Long, high bridges carry the shining steel threads of travel over deep
canyons, with fierce rocky sides and stony bottoms. The scenery is very
wild and beautiful, and the moderate pace at which the shaky little
engine tugged along the rickety cars gave the travellers every
opportunity for seeing and admiring the view.
A great mountain, lying among the low foothills, remained in view
through the greater part of the route; it was conical and sharp-pointed,
like the typical mountain of the atlas. A great fire had lately raged
for days among the spreading trees and thick undergrowth; and now that
the smoke had cleared away, the path which the flame had taken was
distinctly visible from certain points. A great cross lay stamped on
the mountain-side, for all men to see. The baptism of fire had left the
symbol which was sanctified eighteen hundred years ago. Graham
attracted Millicent's attention to this, which, she said, would have
been considered a miracle in Italy.
"Are they not happy, those dear simple-minded Italians? A large portion
of them do really believe in miracles to this day." Millicent was the
speaker.
"Yes, far happier than those of us who have lost all belief in anything
beyond our own bodies, and the facts which that body's senses reveal to
us."
"And you believe--"
"Ask me not, maiden, what I believe. I can only hope. But this I know,
that there is need to you and to me, to all of us of this generation, to
whom the old fallacious dogmas of dead creeds are meaningless, of faith.
This is not the age of belief. The things which have been considered
necessary draperies to religion are stripped off; but because truth is
naked, it is none the less truth. Faith in that part of ourselves which
is not of earth, we must hold fast to, when all else is rent from our
feeble natures."
"You should be a preacher. I think that you have got the right end of
the truth, perhaps--"
Barbara, who had sat a silent listener to this conversation between the
two young people, now spoke for the first time.
"I know little of the modern scientific theories, which Mr. Graham
thinks have stripped religion of much that used to belong to it; but to
me the denial of a Creator is the most illogical and ignorant act of
which the human mind is capable. Look at that house we are just
passing. If I should tell you that it never was built, that no architect
or workman ever planned and executed its design, you would say that my
talk was too idle to require contradiction. And yet you will tell me
that the pleasant earth on which the house stands, the very trees which
furnished its wood, the metals and stone which are wrought into it,
exist, and yet knew no Maker."
"Barbara, do not let us talk any more about it; it is impossible for you
and me to speak understandingly to each other on these subjects. Mr.
Graham stands midway between your conventional faith and my unbelief; he
can understand us both. Now let us talk about love and roses."
"_Apropos_ of love and roses, here comes Ferrara, laden with both of
those fragile commodities, which he will straightway lay at Miss
Barbara's feet. If you like, Miss Almsford, we will make the next stage
of our journey on the engine. I spoke to the engineer, at the last
station, of your desire to see the mechanism of his locomotive. You will
find the man quite clean and intelligent."
Ferrara joined the party at this moment, having come up to meet the
train at this station. He carried a handful of great yellow roses, which
he presented to Barbara with a low bow. The girl looked beseechingly at
Millicent, who laughed rather heartlessly, and, escorted by Graham,
proceeded to the engine. She was pleasantly received by its presiding
genius, a hatchet-faced, sharp-voiced Yankee, who made a place for her
on his little cushioned seat at one side of the locomotive. As soon as
she was comfortably ensconced here, Graham sitting at her feet, the
engineer rang the bell and allowed Millicent to pull the lever, which
set the panting creature of iron and wood a-screaming. With a guttural
shriek the engine pulled itself together and started off down the track
at a good speed. Once in motion, the breeze, blowing through the
windows, cooled the intense heat. Millicent looked straight down the
narrowing steel rails with that keen sense of pleasure which every novel
experience gave her. Presently she asked the small Yankee to explain the
use of the steam gauge and of the various appliances crowded into the
small space where she sat. The fireman, a hideous giant, black and
grimy, occasionally opened a door and fed the furious fire with great
lumps of coal. When it was well filled he varied his occupation by
watering the wooden parts of the engine with a long rubber hose, lest
they should ignite from the great heat. On a little shelf above her
seat Millicent espied a book, toward which she instinctively stretched
her hand. Books always acted on Millicent like magnets. The volume
proved to be a Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, lately published in a cheap
edition. She asked the sharp-faced engineer if he found the matter
interesting, and was somewhat astonished by his astute remarks on the
work and the personage of whom it treated. She looked at Graham in some
astonishment, but he seemed in no-wise surprised at the phenomenon of a
working-man in a blue blouse who could intelligently read and understand
the seriously written biography of the great conqueror. The steam gauge
rose higher and higher, while the engine tore along at a quicker speed
in order to please the delicate visitor, who was now allowed to move the
lever, and to pull the bell when they passed the signals requiring them
to do so. The engineer was an interesting person, Millicent thought; he
told her many humorous stories of his experiences, and some tragical
ones. His wife had on one occasion accompanied him on a trip, sitting
on the very place where Millicent now reposed. An accident had
occurred, a broken rail throwing the cars down a high embankment, while
the weight of the engine had saved them both from the terrible fate of
many of the passengers. From that day his wife had refused ever to
travel in any part of the train save in the small cabin where her
husband sat. In a collision, Millicent learned, the dread fate of the
engineer could only be avoided by desertion of his post; and the speaker
bore witness to the steadfast bravery of more than one of his mates who
had preferred death to such an act. As he talked he kept his eyes fixed
on the two shining rails stretching before them. Sometimes, when
interested in his own story, or their remarks, the engineer would look
for a moment into Millicent's face; and she, with a terrified
consciousness that her eyes were the only ones which could see any
obstruction before the train thundering along at a great speed, would
strain her vision to the utmost down the narrowing line of track. What
an awful responsibility lay upon the shoulders of this cheerful little
man, with his twinkling gimlet blue eyes, and how lightly he seemed to
carry his burden. She grew quite white and silent at the thought; and
when her hand, guided by the engineer, brought the panting locomotive to
a standstill at the next station, she gladly stepped down upon the
narrow platform, steadied by Graham's arm. They parted from the engineer
with many expressions of pleasure for the ride they had enjoyed, and
joined Barbara and Ferrara in the car.
San Real is one of the pleasantest sea-side towns to be found on the
coast of California. It has become quite lately a fashionable summer
resort, and boasts two large hotels, a colony of boarding-houses, and
half a dozen private residences. All of these are of modest dimensions,
with the single exception of the pretentious mansion of Mr. Patrick
Shallop, which stands at the distance of a mile from the little village
composed of one long street of shops and saloons.
At the station the party found a handsome carriage awaiting them, drawn
by two prancing gray horses and decorated with sprawling coats-of-arms.
The groom and driver were dressed according to the latest English
fashion, and the tidy cart for the luggage was driven by a liveried
menial. Millicent noted these details with surprise as she sank back on
the satin cushions of the landau, and Graham laughingly commented upon
her evident astonishment at the smart equipage.
"It appears, O fair Venetian, that you are surprised at this grandeur.
Did not Miss Barbara prepare you for it?"
"No," answered the young woman quietly; she did not like to be laughed
at. As the carriage rolled along the village street, Millicent gave a
little cry of joy: "I smell the sea!" she cried.
Soon after they emerged from the shadow of the houses and struck the
road which led to the brow of the cliffs. There, for the first time
since she had left New York, Millicent looked out over the salt waves.
The cool sea breeze twisted the curls which clustered about her forehead
into tighter rings, and fanned a color into her marble cheek. She
kissed her hand toward the great gray ocean as if gladly greeting the
Pacific. Below the cliffs stretched the white beach, with its rows of
bathing-houses, and booths hung with gay-colored wares. They had but
time to glance at the view when the carriage turned from the road and
entered a long avenue bordered with good-sized trees. Marble statues
gleamed through the dark green of the luxuriant gardens, and odorous
flowers made the air heavy with sweetness. Before the door of an
enormous house the horses were drawn up, and Barbara and Millicent,
followed by Graham and Ferrara, entered the wide hall. The exterior of
the house was far from attractive. The material used was exclusively
wood, which in California is almost universally employed in private
dwellings. The fear of earthquakes always lurks in the mind of the
Californian, and houses of brick or stone are very rare. The model