Mercedes felt so comforted by what her father had said, that in less than ten minutes after he left she was sleeping like the good child that she was. Madam Halier watched her slumbers, coming to the door every few minutes. And when she had slept and felt refreshed, she had a bath and a luncheon of tea, cold chicken, fresh peaches with cream, and fresh grapes just cut from the vines; then she was ready to dress herself and take up her embroidery. She was afraid her eyes would yet be too swollen for her to go into the parlor or veranda, and perhaps meet George or Mr. Mechlin. So she stayed in her room.

But she was missed, and George came to knock at her door, and being asked to come in, he did so, making a profound bow. Then counting on his fingers as he spoke, began:

“DoÑa Josefa, DoÑa Beatrice, DoÑa Carlota, DoÑa Rosario, DoÑa Elvira, DoÑa Carolina, DoÑa Elizabeth, all request the pleasure of your company at a canning performance to take place this afternoon in the kitchen of DoÑa Beatrice.”

Mercedes laughed, asking: “Are they really going to do the canning? Who knows about it?”

“They all know, theoretically, but as to practice, that ‘quiÉn sabe.’ However, they are going to peal peaches by the bushel this evening, so they will all dine there.”

“Doesn't mamma expect papa to dinner?” asked she, alarmed; “I hope so.”

“I'll go and inquire,” George said, going; but she followed him, trembling—she did not know why. She took George's arm, and both went to the piazza, where Carlota, Rosario and DoÑa Josefa were waiting for George to go with them.

“Mamma, don't you expect papa to dinner?” asked she.

“Yes, but he might be late; so we will dine at Mrs. Mechlin's, and he and Gabriel will take supper here on their return.”

“I will wait for them here.”

“Will you not go to Mrs. Mechlin's?”

“No, please. I'll stay home.”

“Take my advice, and don't see Clarence yet,” Carlota said.

“Why not, pray?”

“Because, after what his father did and said, the least you have to do with the Darrells the more it will be to your honor,” Rosario said, sententiously.

“And must I give up Clarence because—because his father gets mad, and—and—”

“And insults your father, and insults you,” Carlota said.

“But that would be awful,” said she, looking at George, who full of sympathy for his favorite sister-in-law, said:

“Do not worry about that now—you have suffered enough. No doubt, Clarence will make it all right, if we only give him time. All will be explained.”

“I doubt that,” Carlota said.

“I don't think Mercedes knows all that Darrell said. I think Clarence himself will see the impossibility of his marrying Mercedes as things are now,” DoÑa Josefa said.

“What are we to do?” Mercedes exclaimed, in low, tremulous tones, that revealed all the desolation she felt.

“Try to be courageous, little sister,” Carlota said.

“What to do? Clarence himself ought to know—to separate for the present. Will you marry the son of a man who said of you and your father such horrible things?” DoÑa Josefa asked.

“But Clarence is innocent, and so am I,” pleaded Mercedes, with white lips.

“My daughter, do you not see that I must withdraw my permission to your marriage now?”

“Will you tell that to Clarence?” asked Mercedes, frightened.

“Certainly, as soon as I see him.”

“And break our engagement?” she asked, with a voice scarcely audible.

“Certainly. What else, my daughter?”

“I want to go to my room,” she said, slowly turning to go back, walking as if in a dream.

George put his arm around her shoulder, and walked with her.

“Don't be discouraged, my dear humanita. DoÑa Josefa is justly indignant now, but her anger will pass off, and she will see how absurd it will be to punish you and Clarence for the sins of his ill-tempered, foolish father. The only thing now is to drop the matter. ‘Least said, sooner mended,’ applies to this case exactly.”

“I wish papa were here. He don't think as mamma does. If mamma sees Clarence first, she will send him away. Oh! that will be awful to me.”

“We will keep your mamma at our house until Don Mariano returns. Tano will see Clarence first.”

When George left, Mercedes hurried to her bedside to pray. In all the sad tribulations of her mind, her heart turned to her Redeemer and the Blessed Virgin Mary. To them she told all her grief, all her trials, and after begging to be strengthened, she always arose from her bended knees comforted.

This time, however, her convulsive sobs only became more uncontrollable, as she poured out her great sorrow and terrible fears before the pitying Mother of suffering humanity.

When her sobs were almost a paroxysm, Madame Halier, who had come to the door to listen, went, and much excited, told DoÑa Josefa that Mercita would certainly be ill if some one didn't show a little humanity to her.

DoÑa Josefa hurried to Mercedes' room, and found her still at her bedside sobbing and praying. Gently the mother lifted her child and pressed her to her heart.

“Mercedes, darling, have courage. Your father and Clarence will talk this matter over, and determine what is best to do. Perhaps it might all be arranged.”

“You will not tell Clarence to—that—to go away?”

“Certainly not. But there must be some other arrangement about the wedding. It will be postponed, perhaps. Darrell could not be expected to be present, or he might wish the engagement broken off.”

Carlota and Rosario came in to see how Mercedes felt, as Madam Halier seemed to be so anxious and indignant with everybody for their cruelty to Mercedes.

“If old Darrell wants the engagement broken off, then my dear sister you must break it—else he will have a good reason to say that papa wants to sell you, or to entrap Clarence, for his money, into marrying you,” Rosario said.

“Did Mr. Darrell say that?” Mercedes asked, blushing, so that her pale face became suffused to the roots of her hair.

“He said worse—but you had better hear no more.”

“That is awful!” the poor child exclaimed, clasping her hands in eloquent protestation; then adding: “Mamma, I will try to have courage. I don't know what I am to do. But if my father has been so grossly insulted, I must feel for him. I must not be selfish. I don't know what I'll do,” and the unhappy girl pressed her hands to her forehead, as if to keep together her distracted thoughts.

“I think the best thing for you to do is to go to bed. To-morrow your father will see Clarence. That is George's advice, and I think it is good,” said her mother, as she kissed and embraced her, adding: “the sweet, blued-eyed baby is too young to get married, any way, and can well wait four years, and then be only twenty-two years old.” But seeing the blank despair in those expressive eyes, DoÑa Josefa hastened to add: “I don't say that you will wait that long, but that you are young enough to do so.”

When Mercedes was again alone, she tried to think it was her duty to her father to break her engagement. Her mind utterly refused to see the matter in that light, but as her older sisters had said her engagement ought to be broken off, and her mother spoke of the wedding being postponed, it was clear that she could not be married on the 16th. Would Clarence be willing to wait? and these thoughts revolved around her mind in a circle of coils, worse than the one which so enraged and hurt Darrell.

Madam Halier and Victoriano ate their dinner alone—with Milord for sole company. Poor Tano, though he had laughed heartily at Darrell's plight, was scarcely less distressed than Mercedes, and anxiously looked for Clarence's return.

In the meantime this young gentleman was traveling at the rate of twelve miles per hour, and would have come faster had the road been better. He had been obliged to delay, because Hubert had telegraphed that if he waited two hours he would give him a definite answer about Gabriel's business. The answer came, and it was all that could be desired. Gabriel could go at any time, or wait until the first of October to take his place at the bank. Clarence was delighted to have this good news to carry to Mercedes, with the addition that Fred said that the mines developed richer ores every day. He had an offer of two million dollars for his mines—but both Hubert and Fred advised him not to sell.

With these cheerful thoughts, he was getting into his phÆton, when the notary, who had made the entry of Don Mariano's conveyance, came close to him, and said in a low voice, and looking mysteriously around:

“Look here, it may be nothing, but those two fellows are so tricky and slippery that I always imagine they are up to something, and both have been twice to look in my books at the entry of the land conveyance which SeÑor Alamar made to you. They might mean mischief, though I don't see how.”

“Of whom are you speaking?” Clarence asked.

“Of Roper and Gasbang. Why should they wish to know about that conveyance?”

“I don't know; but I am sure it is for no good. When did they look at the entry?”

“About two days ago, the last time. When they first looked at it I was not at home. My wife was at my office when Roper came and asked permission to see the date of a conveyance which he himself had made. This was only a ruse. Two days after he came and told me that one of his clients wanted to buy land from Darrell, and wished to see what sort of a title he had. I, of course, let him see it. Gasbang came after, and that made me suspicious.”

Clarence thanked the notary, and drove home as fast as the uneven road permitted. He felt that he must at last disclose to his father all about that land transaction, and feared that he would be angry. His fears, he saw, were only too well founded as soon as he arrived home.

The family were at supper when he drove up to the door. On hearing the sound of wheels, Everett left the table and hastened to meet him. All his brothers and sisters would gladly have done the same, but a look from their mother kept them in their chairs.

In a few words Everett condensed the unfortunate occurrences of the previous day and evening, ending his hurried statement by saying that the entire family hoped that Clarence's influence might appease their father's irritation when nothing else would.

“No; I am sure that if mother has failed, I shall have no effect at all,” Clarence said. “But are you sure that there is nothing else to anger him? The fact alone of my having paid for the land, and at my mother's request, would not so infuriate him while in his normal state of mind. There must be some other irritating circumstance.”

“None that we know of.”

“I am glad he did not strike the Don.”

“So am I, though I have a big bump to testify that he struck me, and I suppose Tano has another to speak for him.”

Clarence told the servant who came to take the horses to the stable to leave them where they were, only throwing a blanket on, as he had driven them very fast. He and Everett then walked into the hall, carrying some small parcels which he (as usual) had brought home—one of those parcels being a beautiful pipe, for which he had paid forty dollars, and a lot of fine tobacco, for his father.

Placing them on the hall table, he said to Everett: “I suppose father would rather throw this tobacco into my eyes than put it in his pipe and smoke it.”

Everett laughed at this, thinking it rather a witticism under the circumstances, and was still laughing when both went into the dining-room.

Clarence said good evening to all, kissing his mother as he took his seat beside her. Darrell never lifted his eyes, paying no attention to his son.

“What made you laugh just now, Retty?” Willie asked.

“Something that Clary said,” answered Everett.

“Was it anything funny?”

“It must have been; but you needn't hear it.”

“But I want to hear it,” he insisted.

“It must have been about your father, he is the funny man now—the laughing stock,” said Darrell to Willie; then to Clarence: “We have had circus performances. Your father distinguished himself by performing in the tight rope, with Don Gabriel—a very tight rope,” he said, making a semi-circular sign around his body with both hands, and nodding his head at Clarence by way of emphasis, or as if he challenged him to contradict his statement.

“Oh, father! I am very sorry,” was all that Clarence could answer.

The entire family were almost choking with suppressed laughter, but none dare give vent to it.

“Why don't you laugh—all of you?” asked he, looking around fiercely.

“Because you frighten their laughter away,” Mrs. Darrell replied. “They fear to offend you.”

“Offend me? Me? And since when such consideration? Since when, I say?”

“Since they were old enough to know you as their father,” calmly replied Mrs. Darrell.

“Ah! I am glad to hear it. Well, sir,” he said, addressing Clarence again, to the terror of all the family, “I have at last learned that you have been making clandestine bargains with your future father-in-law, placing me in a most ridiculous position, for which I don't thank you.”

“I am sorry, father. My intention was most kind,” Clarence answered, respectfully, but very calmly.

“You only thought that as I was a fool, you would be my sense-bearer, and act for me—you, the man of brains.”

“No, sir. All I thought was, that as you seem to love my mother, you would prefer to give her the kind of home that she desires. I thought that when you came to know all, you would approve of my having obeyed my mother's wishes.”

“If you were so sure of my approval, why didn't you tell me the whole thing before?”

“Because I was pledged to my mother not to do so. I was bound to be silent.”

“By George!” said Darrell, striking the table with his fist, making all the glasses and cups dance; “and for all that nonsense I have been made a laughing stock, a ridiculous, trusting fool—an ass!”

“No one will think that but yourself,” Mrs. Darrell said; “and you will change your mind, I hope.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I was supposing that people reason in the way that in all my life I have believed to be correct.”

“Yes, what you believe to be correct no one else has any right to think differently.”

“Whether they have or not, I shall not interfere.”

“No, you only wanted to interfere with me.”

“Certainly. As my life is united to yours, I am obliged to try and prevent such of your actions as will make me unhappy.”

“An excellent doctrine for wives—for mothers to teach their children—and we see the result now.”

Mrs. Darrell was pleased that his attacks seemed directed to herself instead of Clarence, but she felt prematurely relieved, for now he came down upon Clarence. He said:

“Well, sir, since yourself and your mother have bought this land, and since I am an unreclaimed squatter, I suppose I had better leave this place, and go back to Alameda again. I suppose I can have that place again?”

“You will not have to lease it, father; you can have it rent free, as long as you live, if you prefer to reside there,” Clarence replied.

“How is that?”

“I bought the place, and if you wish you can live in it.”

“You? You bought the place! Then, by George! you have managed to coop me up,” said Mr. Darrell, drawing down the corners of his mouth and elevating his shoulders deprecatingly, as if he thought Clarence was a voracious land-grabber, who wanted to appropriate to himself all the vacant land in the United States.