A week later Derrick was tramping along a dusty road which led to the little town of San Leonardo, where, he had been told, he could find a night's lodging. He was tired and footsore; in addition to the English five-pound note, he possessed but very little of the money with which he had left the circus; though, during his tramp, he had been able to get an occasional job, helping some herdsman rounding up his cattle or assisting timbermen to adjust their loads, and he was hoping that he would find some permanent employment in one of the big towns. He had the road to himself, and was feeling rather down on his luck, as a friendless man in a strange land must do; and, worse than all, he was, at that moment, terribly home-sick. Not for the first time, he had realized how much he had given up when he decided to sacrifice himself for Miriam Ainsley—no, Miriam Heyton, as she was now—the Miriam who, strangely enough, troubled his thoughts but little. Indeed, when he did think of her, with the remembrance was mixed a kind of amazement that he had ever loved her; for the illusion had now left him, and he knew that she had not been worth, at any time, all that she had cost him.

"What a fool I have been!" was the thought, the bitterness of which so many men have felt. But for Miriam, and the villainy of the man who had stolen her from him, he might have been still in England, might—who knows?—in better circumstances, have met the girl at Brown's Buildings. He would have been free to love her and to tell her so.

With a shake of the head, and a setting of the lips, he tramped on, every step giving him pain; and at last he neared the town.

It was a small place, with a few scattered 'dobe houses, one of which bore the sign indicating an inn. Outside the door, with their cigarettes between their lips, their whips lying beside them, sat and lounged a group of cowboys. Derrick had made the acquaintance of many of their kind since the night on which he had checkmated the specimens in the circus, and he had got on very well with them; for your cowboy is an acute person, and knows a "man" when he sees him. As Derrick limped up they stopped talking, and eyed him with narrowed lids.

Derrick saluted them in Spanish fashion, for he had picked up a few phrases, and one of the men made way for him on the rude bench, greeted him with a nod, and slid a mug and a bottle of wine towards him. Derrick drank—it was like nectar in his parched mouth—and the cowboy, with a grunt of approval, tendered him a cigarette and inquired curtly, but not unkindly, where he was going. Derrick replied, in broken Spanish, that he was looking for work.

The cowboy said, "InglÉs," and nodded to one of his companions, who, with a sudden flush, said—

"Thought you were a fellow-countryman. On the tramp, mate, eh? Well, I've done that myself, and, between you and me, there's many a better job." He filled up Derrick's mug and eyed him with friendly questioning. "What's your line?"

"Oh, anything," said Derrick, with a smile. "Tramps can't be choosers. You have a ranch here, I suppose?"

The other Englishman nodded.

"Yes, we're on Donna Elvira's ranch, three miles out." He jerked his head in a westerly direction, then looked round at his mates. "Do you think there's any room for him?"

"Might be," replied one. "He'd better go up and see Don JosÉ."

The English cowboy translated this for Derrick, adding:—

"That's the overseer. Better go up and see him when you've rested and eaten. My name's Tom Dalton; they call me Tomas, of course. What's yours, and what's your county?"

Derrick said, "Sydney Green," and added, "London."

"Big county that," said Tom, with a grin. "Know anything about cattle? Not much use your going to Don JosÉ if you don't."

"I've worked with them on the road a bit," replied Derrick; "and I'm accustomed to horses."

The young man thought that Derrick might stand a chance, and again advised him to eat and rest; and, having proffered more wine, the cowboys presently moved off and left him alone. He engaged a bed of the landlord, got something to eat, and was dropping off to sleep in the moist, warm evening air, when he saw a cloud of dust rising down the road, and presently a carriage, drawn by a pair of magnificent horses, came tearing towards him. At the sound of the carriage the landlord hurried out, and stood beside Derrick, waitingly. The vehicle was of Spanish build, but had a touch of something English about it, and seated in it was an elderly lady, dressed in the local fashion.

There was something in her appearance so arresting that Derrick woke up fully and leant forward to peer at her; as she came nearer he saw that she was not so old as he had thought; for though her hair was snow-white, her dark eyes were bright and lustrous; she was very pale and there were deep lines on her face, which must, in her youth, have been exceedingly beautiful, and was even now handsome, though thin and careworn. She was leaning back, almost reclining, with an air at once graceful and haughty; it was evident to Derrick that she was a personage of some importance, and he was not surprised to see the landlord whip off his hat and bow low, with a gesture of extreme deference.

"Who is that?" asked Derrick, with an interest and curiosity which surprised himself.

The landlord lifted his swarthy brows and, extending his huge hands with an expression of pitying surprise, demanded of Derrick where he had come from that he did not know Donna Elvira.

"The lady of the ranch?" said Derrick, excusing his deplorable ignorance by explaining, as well as he could, that he had come from a distance.

"Donna Elvira of—all the seÑor sees!" exclaimed the landlord, with a sweep of his hand which included all the earth in view. "The rich, the all-powerful seÑora. Her estancia is on the other side of the hill. It is magnificent, superb, worthy of so great an Excelencia. The seÑor should trouble himself so far as to view it. It was probable that her Excellency might consent to see the seÑor, for it was well known that the Donna Elvira was good to all strangers—especially foreigners," he added, nodding encouragingly at Derrick.

Derrick declared himself grateful for the suggestion, and, with greater interest, asked if he could be permitted to wash himself. With the courtesy of his nation, the landlord led him to an outhouse provided roughly with means of ablution, and Derrick enjoyed a thorough good wash; then, feeling quite another man, he set off towards the ranch and the house of the overseer.

JosÉ, the overseer, received Derrick with Spanish politeness, and listened phlegmatically to his request for employment; and, in response, informed Derrick that his experience was insufficient; and Derrick, receiving the verdict, was limping away, when a little dog came bounding down the road which wound from the great house to the overseer's lodge. It yapped round Derrick's legs; then suddenly its bark turned to a squeal and it held up one paw and regarded, with an eye of entreaty, the face of the man at whom it had been yapping.

Derrick knew what had happened, and sought for the thing which had run into its foot. He found the thorn, and, not being able to extract it with his fingers, seated himself on the bank, and took out his pen-knife. As he did so, the white-haired lady came, with stately step, round the bend; she glanced at Derrick, but passed him and went to Don JosÉ.

"I want to speak to you," she said. "But who is that man, and what is he doing with Pepito?"

Don JosÉ explained. Donna Elvira spoke for a few minutes longer; then she turned and walked towards the house. By this time Derrick had performed the surgical operation on Pepito, and was about to set him down, when the lady stopped and said:

"What is the matter with my dog, seÑor?"

"It was,"—began Derrick, in Spanish; then, as he did not know the Spanish word, he concluded, in English, "a thorn."

Donna Elvira started, but so slightly that the involuntary movement of surprise was unnoticed by Derrick. "You are English?" she said, in his own language.

"Yes, my lady," replied Derrick.

Pepito's foot still hurt him, and, with extreme sorrow for himself, he turned over on his back.

"He is still in pain," said Donna Elvira. "Will the seÑor oblige me by carrying him to the house?"

Derrick picked up Pepito and followed the tall and stately figure up the drive. Presently they came in sight of the cÁsa. Donna Elvira ascended slowly the broad steps of the verandah and seated herself in a satin-cushioned rocking-chair. She was silent and immovable for so long a space that Derrick was inclined to think that she had really forgotten his presence; then, slowly, she turned her head and looked at him, with a kind of masked scrutiny.

"What is your name, and whence do you come, seÑor?" she asked, in a voice which was low and grave.

Derrick told her that his name was Sydney Green, and that he came from London.

"To seek your fortune here, as so many English do?" she inquired.

"For that—and other reasons, my lady—I mean, seÑora," replied Derrick.

"And you have not found it?" she said, with a glance at his worn clothes and haggard face.

Derrick shrugged his shoulders; there was no need for words.

"It is often so," remarked Donna Elvira. "There are many English here in this country. Was it wise to leave your native land—your parents, for all the ills that might befall you in a strange country?"

"It was not," admitted Derrick, with a smile.

At the smile, which transformed his face, Donna Elvira's long, exquisitely-shaped hands closed spasmodically on the arms of the chair and a strange expression flashed for an instant across her face; it was an expression almost of fear, of the suddenly-awakened memory of a thing painful, poignant. The expression lasted only for an instant; the next, her face was quite calm again.

"Had you quarrelled with your parents?" she asked, with a kind of polite interest.

"I have no parents," said Derrick; "they are dead."

She was silent for a moment; then she said:

"That is sad; but death is the common lot." There was another pause; then she said: "Don JosÉ tells me that you are seeking employment, but that he could find you none. Will you tell me what it is that you have done, the work you were accustomed to do?"

"Well, I've been all sorts of things," said Derrick, reluctantly enough. "By profession I'm an engineer, I suppose; but——" He paused. "Well, I had a stroke of bad luck in England, and I had to leave it and chuck up my profession. Since then I've been a jack-of-all-trades."

"What you have told me has interested me," Donna Elvira said. "Besides," she added, "I have been in England—I had friends there. It is because of this that I desire to help you, seÑor. You say that you are an engineer. I think there should be work for you here on the estancia; there is machinery." Derrick sat up with a sudden lightening of the heart. "We have to send to a distance, sometimes as far as Buenos Ayres, when we need repairs. Do you think you can undertake this work? Besides—you are well educated, of course, as is the English fashion for gentlemen?"

"I'm afraid not," said Derrick. "Unfortunately, it is not the fashion to give the English gentleman a good education. The other fellows at the Board school get that; but I can read and write, and keep accounts—at least, I think so," he added.

"It is sufficient," said Donna Elvira. "Consider yourself engaged, seÑor. As to the salary——"

"Pardon!" interjected Derrick, with a grin. "Wouldn't it be better to see whether I'm worth anything more than my board and lodging before we speak of salary, seÑora?"

"We will consider," rejoined the Donna Elvira; then she looked straight before her again, with an impassive countenance, with so vacant a gaze that Derrick felt that she had forgotten him once more. While he was waiting to be further addressed or dismissed, he studied the pale and still beautiful face. He was so lost in conjecturing the past of this stately lady, living in solitude in this vast house, mistress of a great estate and enormous wealth, that he almost started when, waking from her reverie, she said:—

"I will talk with you further, seÑor. Meanwhile, will you go to my major-domo?"

Derrick bowed and turned away; but as he was descending the steps she spoke again, and in a voice that, as it seemed to him, quavered slightly.

"You will be good enough to return to me in an hour, seÑor?"

Derrick bowed again, and went in search of the major-domo. A servant led him through the hall of the house to a small room, where sat the individual of whom he was in quest; but, before he had begun to try to explain his presence in broken Spanish, a servant came hurrying in and, with a muttered apology, the major-domo sprang up and hastened off. He returned after awhile, and, beckoning to Derrick, led him to a bedroom.

"Yours, seÑor, by her Excellency's instructions." He disappeared, but presently returned and laid a pile of clothes on the bed with another, "Yours, seÑor. I will await you."

With a feeling of bewilderment, of unreality, Derrick changed into the fresh clothes slowly, eyeing and touching them as if he suspected something of magic in them.

A little while afterwards the major-domo appeared and led him into a luxuriously-furnished room. Donna Elvira was reclining in a chair; she inclined her head slightly and motioned him to be seated opposite her. At his entrance she had shot one swift glance at him, her brows had drawn together, and her lips had quivered; but now she sat calmly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Derrick was the first to speak.

"I want to thank you, seÑora, for your great kindness to me," he said, with all a man's awkwardness. "It is all the greater because I am a stranger, a man you know nothing about——"

He paused at this, and his face grew red, for the story of the forged cheque flashed across his mind.

She raised her eyes and looked at him.

"It is nothing," she said, in a low voice. "One in my position learns to judge men and women by their faces, their voices. Besides, I have told you that I have been in England, and I know when one is a gentleman. But, if you wish, if you think you would like me to know more, you may tell me—just what you please." There was a slight pause. "For instance, your father—was he an engineer, like yourself?"

Derrick leant back and crossed his legs, and looked, not at the pale face before him, but at the floor, and his brows were knit.

"It will sound strange to you, seÑora," he said, slowly, "but I don't know what my father was—not even what kind of a man he was. I never saw him—to remember him."

"He died—when you were young?" asked Donna Elvira.

"Yes," assented Derrick, "and my mother, too. They must have been fairly well off—not poor, I mean—for they left me, or, rather, the people in whose charge they placed me, sufficient money to bring me up and educate me, and enable me to gain a profession."

A shaded lamp stood on a table at the side of Donna Elvira's chair. As if she found the light oppressive, she moved the lamp farther back, so that her face was completely in the shade.

"You lived in England; you were brought up there?" she said, still in the same impassive voice.

"Yes," said Derrick. "I lived in London, with my guardian—with the people who took care of me—until they died. Then I went to a place in the country, a quiet place where I could study with less interruption than one gets in London."

"You were all alone—I mean, you had no relatives?" asked Donna Elvira.

"No," said Derrick, gravely; and, after a pause, he added: "You will think this strange, too, seÑora—I know nothing, literally nothing, of my family. It is just possible that I have no relations. There are such cases. Anyway, though of course I asked the usual questions of my guardians, they could, or would, tell me nothing. Perhaps they didn't know. All I could learn was that they had known my mother quite slightly—and that they had been much surprised when I was brought to them with the request that they would adopt me."

"Do you desire to tell me, seÑor, why you left England?" asked Donna Elvira.

"Yes; I want to," said Derrick, after a moment or two's silence. "I feel as if I wanted to confide in someone. Perhaps it's because you've been so kind to me, have—well, taken me on trust. But I'm afraid I can't tell you, seÑora. You see, other persons are mixed up with the affair. Let it go at this—I beg your pardon, I mean I hope you will be satisfied if I confine myself to saying that I got into trouble over there in England."

"Trouble?" She knitted her brows. "You mean—what do you mean?"

"There you are!" said Derrick, with a shrug of despair. "I was accused of—well, something that I didn't do, but to which I couldn't plead innocence."

Donna Elvira regarded him closely.

"You shall tell me no more," she said, "but this: You have no other name than the one you have given me?"

Derrick's thoughts had wandered to the little room at Brown's Buildings, and he answered, absently:—

"No; just Derrick Dene."

The stately figure leant forward swiftly, almost as if it had been pulled towards him by an unseen hand. Then Donna Elvira rose, and, in rising, her hand struck and overturned the light table; the lamp fell, the room was plunged in darkness. She uttered a cry; Derrick sprang towards her and caught her in his arms, for he feared that the falling lamp might have set fire to the dress of lace and muslin. He swung the slight figure away from the point of danger, and she seemed to collapse in his arms and cling to him.

"It's all right," said Derrick, in the tone he would have used to an Englishwoman of his acquaintance. "Don't be frightened. You're not alight; you're all right."

As he spoke, still holding her, he reached forward and caught hold of the old-fashioned bell-rope; the major-domo rushed in, calling for lights. When they were brought by the startled servants, Donna Elvira was standing away from him, gripping the back of the chair. Her face was as white as the driven snow, her lids drooped as if she had recovered from a swoon, her lips were quivering. As Derrick, horribly frightened by her death-like pallor, made a movement towards her, she stretched out her hand and her lips formed, rather than spoke, the words, "Go! Go!"

Her woman in attendance hurried towards her mistress; and Derrick, seeing that he could be of no further use, obeyed the command and left the room.