The golden rays of a setting sun were vanishing in the west, and a silvered moon was rising serenely over the eastern hills, when the phÆton, having distanced the other carriages by a full half hour, reached the foot of the low hill where the Alamar house stood. The French windows opening upon the front veranda, sent broad streams of light across the garden and far over the hill. Sounds of music greeted Alice and Clarence on their arrival. He checked his horses saying:

“You see there are two roads here; one goes directly to our house, while the upper one passes close to the gate of the Alamares. I can take the upper road if you would like to hear the music.”

“I would, indeed, unless it might seem intrusive.”

“They are too kind hearted to think that, besides, I have a message of DoÑa Elvira to deliver,” he said, guiding his horses to the left, slowly climbing the hill to approach the gate silently. The phÆton stood in the penumbra between the lights of two windows, and it had not been heard. The singing had ceased, the prelude of a Spanish song was begun and interrupted. The lady at the piano arose and selected another piece of music, and began the accompaniment of the old and well known “Don't you Remember Sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?”

“Who is that lady?” asked Alice in a whisper.

“She is Miss Mercedes,” whispered Clarence, glad of the excuse to whisper, and with a preparatory checking of breath and swallowing of something that seemed to fill his throat always, when her name was mentioned.

“I hope she will sing,” said Alice.

“Perhaps,” was the laconic reply, and both waited in silence. Clarence could distinctly hear his heart throbs.

A man's voice, a fine tenor, began the song. He sang the first stanza so correctly and with so much feeling that it seemed to Clarence that he could not have listened to the simple melody before now attentively enough to appreciate its pathos, for it sounded most sweetly touching to him. Only one verse was sung.

“I never thought that song capable of so much expression, or Tano capable of giving it so well.”

The reason why Victoriano interrupted this song was because Mercedes had said, “Sing something else, Tano, that song is too sad. It will give me the blues.”

“Me too. Those American songs always speak of death or dying. Ugh! You sing something lively.” Then he added, “I wonder why the Darrells haven't come? I suppose they are going to remain in town until to-morrow.” So saying he walked to the window. His eyes were too well trained to distinguish objects in the darkness not to have quickly perceived the phÆton, though it could not be seen very distinctly. He saw it, but thought it must be Gabriel and Elvira returning unexpectedly. He ran to the gate, exclaiming:

“Hallo! What made you return? Didn't the Holmans come? What has happened?”

“Nothing,” Clarence answered. “The Holmans came all safe and sound, and I delivered them into the hands of Don Gabriel, who, accompanied by DoÑa Elvira, came to meet them. DoÑa Elvira requested me to say that they will remain in town a couple of days and then come home.”

“And where is your family?” asked Tano, coming to the phÆton.

“They are coming, and here is a small part and parcel of the same—called our sister Alice. Don Victoriano permit me to present Miss Alice Darrell.”

“Miss Alice, your humble servant,” said Victoriano, bowing. “Allow me to go to the other side of the phÆton to try a more graceful bow a little nearer, and the honor of shaking hands, a la Americana”.

Mercedes came now, tripping down in the path, also thinking that their carriage had returned, because some accident had happened to somebody.

“Is that you, Gabriel?” said she.

“You come and see,” said Victoriano.

She came close to the phÆton, right between the wheels, but still thinking she saw Gabriel, said: “What has happened? Ah! it is Mr. Darrell,” she added, with a tremor in her voice, that made Clarence think she was alarmed.

He hastened to reply: “Nothing has happened. Your friends are all safe and well.”

“This is Miss Alice Darrell. Can you bow to her in the dark, and shake hands?” asked Victoriano.

“I think I can, but she might not see my bow,” said Mercedes, laughing, and extended her hand, saying: “I am glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Darrell.”

Clarence took her hand, as Alice had not seen it.

“See here, that hand was for me,” Alice said, laughing.

“Certainly,” said Clarence, putting Mercedes' hand in hers.

“Will you not shake hands with Clarence?” said Victoriano. “I declare, solemnly, girls are very ungrateful. Here Clarence has been so sorry, because you hurt your foot, and you have never thanked him for his kind sympathy.”

“Mr. Darrell has never expressed his kind sympathy to me, how was I to presume he felt it?”

“The presumption would have been mine had I expressed all I felt,” said he, taking off his glove, which action she rightly understood to mean that he wished to shake hands with her.

She extended her hand, and he clasped it in his. That ineffable thrill which he felt for the first time in his life when he lifted her in his arms was now felt again. It coursed through his veins with the warm blood that rushed to his heart.

Neither one took any notice of what Victoriano and Alice were saying until they heard him say:

“That's all right. He is going to be married soon, then he'll be on the shelf. That's a comfort.”

“Who will be on the shelf?” Mercedes asked.

“Gabriel, of course; and I am glad of it, as Miss Alice has just coolly told me that he is the handsomest man she ever saw, forgetting that Clarence is here, and poor me, too.”

“Present company is always excepted,” Alice argued; “and the rule, I suppose, applies now, though I cannot well see whether it does or not, you being in the dark.”

“That is so. Come out of the shadow.” Clarence suggested.

“I can't now. I feel too abashed,” Victoriano replied.

“He will soon recover. His fits of diffidence don't last long,” said Mercedes.

“So he is diffident now?” asked Alice, laughing.

“Yes; that is why I don't want you to tell me that Gabriel is handsome; it abashes me too much.”

“He is a good reasoner, too, you see that, Miss Darrell; though by moonlight his logic shines but dimly. Come, we must not keep Miss Darrell longer, since they will not come in,” said Mercedes.

“I think you might stop and take supper with us,” said Victoriano.

“O, no, thank you,” Clarence answered. “We came in advance to light the lamps, and attracted by the music, took the liberty of coming over the road.”

“I am sorry. Then you must have heard me sing. Bah! Mercedes, it is your fault,” said Victoriano.

“Don't say that. You sing very well, only the song is very plaintive, and the better it is sung, the sadder is its melody,” Clarence said.

“It must have seemed like a lugubrious welcome to Miss Alice. I shall never sing that song again,” said Victoriano, emphatically. “See if I do.”

“I am glad to hear you say that, for you are constantly singing it,” Mercedes said.

“I hope it will not be a prophetic coincidence that you should sing it as I came,” said Alice, and as she spoke the supper bell rang.

“That is the prophecy I meant,” said Victoriano, and all laughed, glad of the timely turn thus given to the conversation.

“With this assurance we must go home comforted,” said Clarence, and all bade each other good night.

The lamps were lighted, and the windows and doors opened. The Darrell house looked as if there was an illumination for a national celebration.

“Let us go and see how the house looks from the front outside, all lighted up,” said Clarence.

They went out to look at it from the garden.

“How could you build such a nice house, Clary, and how could papa allow it?” Alice said.

“Hush! You must never speak about the cost of this house or its furniture. I have made lots of money in stocks, and can afford it, but father thinks stock gambling is next to robbery.”

Mercedes and Victoriano remained for a few moments standing by the gate, watching the phÆton.

“By Jove! but isn't she sweet! She has just left me deaf and dumb!” said Victoriano, as the phÆton disappeared down the hill.

“Perhaps you are deaf, since you don't hear the supper bell ringing again, but as for being dumb I am sure the greatest beauty on earth couldn't produce that effect.”

“But I tell you I am, and I will go to see her and tell her so to-morrow,” said he, following his sister to the supper room.

“You will do nothing of the kind. The idea!”

“Why not, pray? Clarence told me to call soon.”

“Yes, but he supposed you would have the good taste to wait at least two or three days.”

“Three days! Three days! Not if I am alive!”

“What is that about being alive?” asked Rosario.

“Let him tell you,” Mercedes replied.

“That I am going to see that sweet little Alice Darrell to-morrow, dead or alive,” explained Victoriano.

“Who will be dead or alive?” asked Carlota.

“I, of course! What a question?” Victoriano exclaimed.

“As you could not go there if you were dead, I thought you meant that you were to go and see her in that insensible state,” said Carlota.

Victoriano looked at his sister reproachfully, saying:

“How mean to talk so about that sweet girl.”

“It was to correct you from expressing yourself in that style of yours, mixing up things and ideas so incongruously. You ought to take care not to confuse things so absurdly,” DoÑa Josefa said.

“Why don't you talk like Gabriel? He always uses good language—in Spanish or in English,” Carlota added.

“Bother Gabriel, and Gabriel, and Gabriel! Everybody throws him at my teeth,” said Victoriano, beginning to eat with very good appetite.

“The operation don't hurt your teeth, though,” said Rosario, “to judge by the very effective manner in which you use them.”

“Of course, I do, because I am an amiable good fellow, who bears nobody ill-will, even towards his harassing sisters, and much praised elder brother, who is hoisted up to the skies a million times a day for my special edification and good example. It is a good thing, I tell you, ladies and gentlemen, a very fortunate thing, that I am so amiable, and Gabriel so good a fellow, or else I would have punched his head into calf's head-jelly, twice a day, many times.”

“There is your confusion of ideas again. You are thinking that yours might have been the calf's head made into jelly,” said Rosario.

“No, miss. I meant what I said.”

“Gabriel is very strong and a good boxer,” Don Mariano said.

“There it is again! Sweet Alice says he is the handsomest man she ever saw; Lote says he uses beautiful language, and now father implies that the fellow could whip me! Give me some more of that chicken pipian to console myself with. Say, mother, why is this delicious chicken stew called ‘pipian?’ Because it makes a fellow ‘pio’ ‘pio’ for more? or because the chicken themselves would cry ‘pio,’ ‘pio’, if they were to see their persons cooked in this way?” Without waiting for an answer to his question, he added: “I say, mother, arn't you and the girls going to call on the Darrells?”

“No,” laconically answered DoÑa Josefa.

“Why should we?” queried Carlota.

“Because they are neighbors like the Mechlins,” Victoriano replied.

“Old Mathews is our neighbor, too,” said Rosario.

“But he is a thief,” replied Victoriano.

“Isn't to steal land robbery?” asked Carlota.

“The Darrells occupy the land they selected, with my consent, so I hope no one in my family will do them the injustice to say that they have stolen our land, or that they are squatters,” said Don Mariano firmly. Then added: “But I do not desire any one of you to speak of this matter with anybody. Only remember, the Darrells are not squatters.”

“What shall we say, for instance, if the Holmans should notice that we are very friendly to the Darrells, but not so towards the squatters?” Rosario asked.

“I think the Holmans will be too well-bred to ask questions,” said DoÑa Josefa.

“They are well-bred, but they are very intimate friends,” Rosario said

“And very inquisitive ones, too,” added Victoriano.

“Refer them to me,” Don Mariano said; “I'll give them quite a satisfactory answer.”

“Meantime, are we not to visit them?” Victoriano asked.

“Visit whom?” Carlota asked.

“The Darrells, of course,” Victoriano answered.

“I thought you meant the Holmans, as we spoke of them last.”

“Bother, with your grammar, you had better keep school,” Victoriano said.

“You had better go to one,” Carlota retorted.

“I have enough of it here. The question now is the visit to the Darrells. Is this family to visit them or not?”

“Why, you are to do so to-morrow, dead or alive,” Rosario said.

“Bother! You will call, Mercita, won't you?”

“With pleasure, if mamma will permit me,” Mercedes replied.

“You are a sweet pussy always, and the best of sisters. Can't she go, mother?”

“Certainly, if her father does not object.”

“I not only do not object, but I shall be pleased to have Mercedes and her mamma and sisters all call, for I think Clarence's mother must be a lady.”

“Hurrah for father, he is a man after my own heart,” said Victoriano, clapping his hands.

“Papa feels proud of your approval,” Carlota said.

“I would suggest that Tano make a reconnoitering visit before Mercedes goes, as a leader of a forlorn hope,” said Rosario.

“Goodness, how military your terms, but how little your courage,” said Victoriano, derisively.

“I admit that I always dread to face squatters,” said Rosario.

“I think I said that the Darrells are not to be considered squatters nor called so by any Alamar, and I repeat that such is my wish. Moreover, not every settler is necessarily a squatter,” said Don Mariano.

“I beg pardon. I forgot that,” said Rosario.

“Don't do it again, Rosy Posy, don't,” said Victoriano, rising from the table, stroking his sister's back as if to pacify a fractious colt. Then going to a window, said: “Mercedes come here. Look at that; isn't that fountain lovely?”

In the front garden of the Darrell house, opposite to the front door and surrounded by flowers and choice plants, Clarence had erected a fountain which was to emit its numerous jets of chrystaline water for the first time, when his mother should drive up to the door. She had done so, and the fountain was sending upwards its jets of diamonds under the rays of the reflectors at the front door. The effect was pretty and brilliant. Clarence's filial love was sweetly expressed in the music of the fountain.