The Project Gutenberg EBook of Their Mariposa Legend, by Charlotte Herr

Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.

This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.

Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in
how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.

**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****

Title: Their Mariposa Legend

Author: Charlotte Herr

Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5196]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on June 3, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THEIR MARIPOSA LEGEND ***

This eBook was produced by David Schwan <davidsch@earthlink.net>.

Their Mariposa Legend

A Romance of Santa Catalina

By Charlotte Herr

To Little Bruce Parker
Who Loved Stories

Part I

Sir Francis Starts It

It began to happen a long time ago, centuries ago, when, in a fragrant
rush of rain, spring came one day to Punagwandah, fairest of the Channel
Islands. Beneath the golden mists of sunrise danced a radiant sea. On
steeply sloping hillsides where thickets of wild lilac bloomed, the lark
shook from his tiny throat a tumult of glad music. In shadowed niches of
the canyons lilies waited to fill with light their gleaming ivory cups.
Spring in very truth was there.

And looking down upon it from her cavern bower high above the beach,
watched the Princess Wildenai. Kneeling there, the light of dawn shining
on her long black hair, she was, herself, the sweetest blossom of the
spring. Loveliest was she among all the maidens of the Mariposa and of
royal blood besides; although of this the great chief Torquam, who even
at that moment lay sleeping in his lodge of deerskin on the crescent
beach below, knew more than he had ever told.

With eyes rapt, her breath scarcely stirring the folds of softest
fawnskin drawn across her breast, the princess bent her gaze to where
the waves ran silver on the ocean's distant rim. There she knew the sun
must rise and, as the first dazzling ray sparkled across the water, she
rose slowly until she stood erect, a slender, graceful figure against
the dim, gray rocks, and stretching her arms toward the East, spoke in
the musical words of her people.

"Oh, Waken-ate, great spirit-father," she pleaded, "have mercy on me.
Grant to me, thy humble daughter, one only boon. Grant, I pray thee,
that it need not be I wed with Torquam's friend, the pale-face stranger.
Well knowest thou I would not disobey my father, him the bravest and
most powerful of all thy warriors, him whom his people delight to honor,
and whom I strive to please. All the more I feel my duty since, many
moons ago, they laid my mother underneath the flowers. Yet, even so, I
cannot find it in my heart to wed with Don Cabrillo, dearly as does my
father wish it. Can'st thou not then, in thy great power, turn his
heart, oh lord of spirits, that he no longer may desire it? Help me in
this, my only trial, I pray thee, and in all else will I be indeed his
loyal daughter, - in all else save alone in this one thing!"

Her arms fell. Slowly she sank again to her knees, bending her head
until her forehead touched the ground. For many minutes she lay thus
prostrate while the glory of the rising sun bathed the sea in splendor.
Yet, when at last she rose, her eyes were dim with tears.

But now from the beach below there drifted up to her the sounds of a
village astir. Shrill voices of women mingled with the crackling of
freshly kindled fires. A canoe, pushed hastily into the water, grated
harshly on the pebbles. Still the maiden did not stir. Leaning against
the rocky ledge, her chin in her hands, she gazed listlessly out over
the shining sea. If any interests lived for her among the dark-skinned
people beneath the cliffs, for the moment at least she gave no sign.

Then, suddenly, above the ordinary din of the Indian village, rose the
hoarse shouting of men. Wildenai lifted her eyes, - eyes that widened
first with wonder, then with fear. For there, far down the shoreline to
the south, her sails gleaming white against the walls of rock behind her
as she rounded a distant point, a ship came slowly into view. With
wildly beating heart the young girl watched the vessel tack to clear the
long curve of the coast. But once before in all her life had she seen
such another monster winged canoe, and that had been when Senor Don
Cabrillo first cast anchor in the Bay of Moons below, now almost a year
ago. For many a week had the young man lingered, renewing the friendship
with the Mariposa cemented more than eighteen years before when his
father, hindered by storms in his adventurous journey up the coast, cast
anchor off the shore, - the first white man to see their island. Nor was
the lingering without result. Torquam he taught to speak the Spanish
tongue, learning in his turn safer and easier routes to the gold fields
of the north, while not the least among the treasures carried with him
when at last he sailed away did he hold the promise that the beautiful
daughter of the chief should become his bride when next he touched upon
that shore. Could this, then, be the Spaniard's fleet returning? Was the
Great Spirit powerless, after all, to save her? In sore bewilderment and
terror Wildenai watched the distant ship.

Nearer and nearer it came. But, as its outline grew each moment more
distinct, gradually her fears departed. For this was not the clumsy
Spanish galleon she remembered. The prow was not nearly so high, nor was
the incoming vessel as large in any respect as had been that other. Yet,
though fear died, wonder grew. What new variety of strangers, then, was
about to visit them? For that the ship intended to anchor she was by
this time sure. Steadily it bore on until within a scant half mile of
the crescent shaped beach where lay the royal village of the tribe. At
length, as if in fear to trust themselves closer to the rocky shore, the
crew were seen to bring the vessel sharply about. An anchor was cast
over, the creaking of the hawsers distinctly audible in the clear
morning air, and a few moments later a small boat was lowered. Into this
boat immediately several sailors swung themselves and after a short
delay, amidst the shouting of the Indians, now running in wild
excitement up and down the beach, the men picked up their oars and
started for the land.

"Alla-hoa, Wildenai!"

Up the stony trail leading to her cavern scrambled an Indian runner, a
lithe youth who flung himself breathless at her feet.

"Thy father, oh princess, sends me to summon thee to his lodge.
Strangers, - paleface strangers, - enemies, who can tell, are coming.
See, - the ship!" With dark forefinger he pointed toward the sea.
"Torquam would have thee hide with the rest of the women in the cave at
the Great Rock. There Kathah-galwa wilt keep thee safe, he says. Make
haste, oh Wildenai!"

"And am I not as safe up here?" returned the princess, calmly. "Be not
so lost in thy terror, oh Norqua. I, too, have seen the ship and I fear
not. Yet will I obey if so my father bids," she added quickly. "Go thou
ahead. I follow." And hastily gathering together some reeds and colored
grasses lying on the ledge, parts of an unfinished basket upon which,
evidently, she had during some previous visit been at work, she flung
them into a corner of the cavern and ran lightly down the narrow path
leading to the village.

Here all by this time was tense excitement, the dramatic, ungoverned
excitement of children. While with shrill cries two or three of the
women gathered the little ones together, the rest pulled frantically at
the poles holding each tepee in place. Still apparently quite unmoved,
Wildenai sought first her father standing surprised but unafraid in the
doorway of his lodge. Tall and spare and stern he looked, straight as
some lonely pine on the slopes of distant San Jacinto. Yet even in the
stress of such a moment a tender light stole into his eyes as they
rested upon his motherless daughter.

Wildenai made obeisance and for a brief moment the two surveyed each
other in silence. Then,

"It is well thou art come, my beloved one," spoke the chief. "Stranger
pale-faces will soon be amongst us."

"Wildenai feels no fear, my father," quietly answered the girl.

"If they come in friendship," quickly Torquam replied, "then indeed may
all be well. But the ship is not of the Senor's fleet, and if so be that
we must fight, thou wert better hidden in the cave. We shall see."

Bending her head in mute acquiescence the girl moved away to join the
group of women now almost ready to depart.

Meantime the vessel's long boat, driven onward by the stout arms of
three strong sailors, steadily approached the bay.

"What think'st thou then, Rufus Broadmead, of this fool's errand to the
savages?" inquired one of these, resting upon his oars for a moment that
he might the better listen to the tumult on the shore. "Wot ye not that
if water had been the only boon he craves the captain had fared much
better on the mainland? Besides, did not I myself overhear the Apache
only yesterday tell him of a certainty that the tribes over there were
away on the warpath? But no, by the mass, here must we risk our precious
scalps to row into the very teeth of the heathen, and that to humor the
whim of as obstinate an Englishman as ever sailed aboard Her Majesty's
fleets!" and without awaiting any reply he lowered his oars in disgust.

The others laughed.

"Hast been, then, so stupid, brother Giles, for all thy listening with
thy big ears, as not to know 'tis Spanish treasure ever and naught else
our captain seeks? Water, - pouf!" the speaker made a rough grimace,
"water may well serve as an excuse, and what to bold Sir Francis were
the lives of half a dozen seamen when booty for the queen lies in the
balance? The Apache told him, too, - thou see'st thou hast not played
the listening game alone, for, hiding behind the fo'castle door myself,
I heard him say it, - that here lay that famous island, San - how is't
they call it? San Catlina - I know not how 'tis spoken, - some Spanish
lingo not fit for English tongues! At any rate 'twas here your Spanish
robber, Don Cabrillo, and, for the matter of that, his precious son as
well, stopped to seek direction ere they found the land of gold. The
savage sware besides they were a gentle tribe, not given to war and
murder like the rest. I hearkened well, forsooth, knowing past doubt I
would be een one o' those chosen to try 'em out. The devil take the
Apache an he lied," he added fiercely, "I'll break his head across till
even he shrieks out for help when I get back!"

He paused to gaze fearfully at the stern cliffs now looming close at
hand, beneath which the excited natives still ran back and forth,
pointing with frantic gestures at the boat.

The third man spoke. He was smaller than the other two and darker, with
a sly look about his eyes and mouth in strong contrast to the bluff
frankness of his comrades. So far he had appeared content to listen in
amused silence, but now with a short laugh he interrupted.

"The Apache did not lie. This is the island Santa Catalina, though that,
mark you, is not the Indian name. And right well can the chief who rules
here direct our captain also to the goldfields of the north. But
hearkee, comrades. 'Tis not Drake will reap the profits this time!" He
lowered his voice mysteriously as though fearful of being overheard,
albeit nothing was nearer than his two companions and the clear, green
stretch of water. "Have ye not observed the boy who travels with the
captain? - the boy I serve, - the one they call Sir Harry? To my mind,
cub though he be, 'tis he who rules the ship. Hast never noticed how the
great Drake himself bends to his slightest wish?"

"Aye, marry, that have I! And who, then, is he, think'st thou?" inquired
the man who had spoken first.

"Some close kin to the queen, - that much I know," the other answered
quickly, "the heir to some great dukedom, mayhap, in disguise to see the
world and make a fortune. 'Tis his desire we land, so much he told me,
and 'tis to learn more than directions, my hearties, and that I'll
warrant ye! But, look ye, the water grows too shallow! We can use the
oars no longer."

And even as he spoke the boat grated upon the pebbles. An incoming
breaker would have carried it ashore, but before the sailors could take
advantage of this help or even so much as ship their oars, half a dozen
swarthy youths had waded out and, with shouts and gestures, whether of
welcome or hostility the Englishmen had no means of knowing, pushed it
high upon the beach. At once, then, for well they realized the danger of
delay, and with a stolid courage born of many a like adventure, the
seamen leaped fearlessly out upon the sand. In their hands they held
aloft bolts of brightly colored cloth snatched on the instant from the
bottom of the boat. These they offered for the wondering inspection of
the women who, observing the small number of invaders, were cautiously
returning. To the warriors grouped about the chief they proffered knives
of which the steel blades, set in strong handles of bone, glistened in
the sun. Eagerly, yet with a certain unexpected formality, the men
accepted these, passing them for examination from one to another with
many a grunt of satisfaction. To be sure, no brave among them but might
the next moment decide to try out the merits of his gift upon the
bestower, but this danger the adventurers had to risk. More timidly the
women, their eyes fixed wistfully upon the gaudy red and yellow cloth,
approached the strangers, offering in their turn bits of abalone shell
polished to iridescent beauty.

They seemed in truth a gentle, friendly people, so much so that at
length the sailors, deeming it safe to undertake the second part of
their errand, began to plead for water and to request, besides, an
interview between their captain and the chief. All this by means of
signs in which they displayed no little wit and skill, the Englishmen
accomplished until, well on toward the middle of the morning, they made
ready to return to the ship, the casks they had brought brimming with
sweet mountain water, while with them they bore as well the promise of
an interview of state between the great chief Torquam and Sir Francis
Drake, to take place upon the beach at sunset.

And then at once the little village of Toyobet seethed again with
excitement. For these good paleface friends and their god-like commander
a fitting welcome must be prepared. Fleet-footed messengers, bearing
flaming torches, sped in hot haste along the mountain trails that all
who saw might know without words spoken of the assembling of the tribe.
To the distant village at the isthmus they hurried, and to the cove on
the western coast, some twenty miles away, to which a band of warriors
had gone several days before to hunt the otter. That no one among his
people might remain in ignorance of his command, Torquam even caused
signal fires to be kindled on each of the twin peaks, extinct volcanoes,
near the center of the island. Smoke rising there was visible from every
corner of his land, and woe to any subject who dared to disregard that
warning!

Throughout the long bright day the women toiled, preparing a ceremonial
feast. Three antelope, a deer, and half a dozen of the wild sheep which
roamed the hills were killed and placed for roasting over deep pits dug
in the sand. Nor did any member of the tribe forget in his own crude
fashion to deck himself for the occasion. The warriors adorned their
heads with feathers and daubed their cheeks and lips with ochre. The
women clothed themselves in loose-hanging tunics of doeskin girt with
strings of wampum, and hung about their tawny shoulders the lovely
greens and blues of uncut turquoise. Meanwhile, also, the great chief
Torquam donned his ceremonial dress, a string of eagle feathers held by
the crimsoned quills of the porcupine and extending down his back until
almost it touched the ground. About his neck, as token of his
priesthood, he threw the bear-claw necklace, known far and wide among
the tribes for its famous powers of healing. Wildenai alone made no
change except to bind the satin black of her hair still more smoothly
within a fillet of silver. In the center of the band, so that it rested
just above her brow, a strange device appeared, a circle enclosing many
rays, - the royal insignia of the tribe which only the daughter of the
chief might wear.

Then at last when, in the sunset, level rays of light rested golden on
the bay and turned to amethyst the distant mountains on the mainland,
all was ready. Once again, this time to the weird music of tom-toms and
the beating of drums, a boat was lowered from the ship while on the
shore the Indians watched.

It was in truth a picture not soon to be forgotten. Behind the mirrored
Bay of Moons, its crescent of sand gleaming white against the rocks, the
bands of dusky men and women stood motionless as statues in the quiet
light of the setting sun, while in the doorway of his lodge, his
daughter close beside him, Torquam waited with simple dignity to receive
his guests, the fair-skinned strangers.

At length along the beach advanced the little group of English, friends
and fellow adventurers with the most renowned of all their great queen's
buccaneers. Beside Sir Francis himself marched young Harold of Wessex,
little more than a boy in years, yet dreaded and feared in his own land
even then - a possible heir to Elizabeth's throne. Some short distance
in front of these two, standard bearers carried the flags of Merry
England, each glorious with fringes and tassels of gold. Well might such
banners dazzle the eyes and wits of simple savages.

Yet, possibly, for all that, had it not been for the lengthy ceremonial
of the peace-pipe, Wildenai could not have taken time to observe so
closely, in stolen glances from beneath her long black lashes, the
splendor of the young noble standing proudly erect beside his captain;
nor could he have stared so often, with no attempt to hide his
admiration, at the dark beauty of the princess.

Perhaps, too, if fate had not contrived to place them side by side at
the feast which followed, young Harold might never have discovered that
an Indian girl, however beautiful, possessed the wit to learn a foreign
language. Yet it was certainly Spanish and that well spoken in which, at
length, she softly asked of her father a question intended obviously for
himself.

Under cover of one of the Indian dances with which, from time to time,
the feast was enlivened, he leaned impulsively toward her.

"Can'st speak the Spanish tongue?" he hastily inquired.

The princess dropped her eyes. For a moment she remained silent as if
debating to what extent such boldness might involve her. Then, with a
glance as shy as if some deer gazed at him startled from the thicket,

"Yes, mon senor," she answered simply. "I learned it when Don Cabrillo
came to Punagwandah many moons ago."

After that it was only that one thing led to another, as was sometimes
true of men and maidens even in the days so long gone by. For, as if by
common consent, then, they drew a little apart from the rest, where,
throwing himself on the sand beside her while the firelight threw
flickering shadows among the rocks, the young man related fragments of
his story, - of the long journey across the sea, something of his home
in England, and of the brilliant court of the great queen wherein he had
served as gentleman-in-waiting. So had he served, yet soon, but here her
guest had suddenly flushed and paused as though he spoke too hastily or
of what he should not. To all of it the princess listened with
fast-beating heart and a desire, ever growing, to make herself a place
in this splendid stranger's world. Was not she then, also, the daughter
of a king? Yet how different and how unimportant beside that wonderful
woman of whom he spoke! For father she boasted the great chief Torquam,
feared by every tribe in the north and rich because of the gold hidden
in many a canyon among the distant mountains; yet her woman's instinct
told her that to this proud Englishman her people were at best little
more than a curiosity, almost, indeed, a cause for laughter.

When at last the feast was finished, Torquam rose, and removing with
slow solemnity his crest of eagle feathers, he placed it upon the head
of Sir Francis, a seal of everlasting friendship. With difficulty young
Harold suppressed a smile. But the older man, as well aware of what the
situation demanded as he was keenly alive to its danger, received the
attention with a gravity fully equal to that of his host. Indeed, he
went still further.

"Most gracious hast thou been, oh Torquam, all wise chief of the
Mariposa," he began in carefully chosen Spanish, "nor shall thy kingly
gift remain unrequited. Listen, oh Torquam! On yonder vessel I carry
steeds like those of which I told you. For a journey over the mountains
of the north we have brought them. One there is, swifter of foot than
all the rest. Him will I cause my men to lower into the boat and bring
to you after our return tonight."

In silence Torquam inclined his head. Nothing could have pleased him
more. He would be the first then, of all his tribe to own one of those
strange yet wondrous creatures never before seen in his world until the
Spanish landed! Yet only the eager gleam in his eyes betrayed his
pleasure. But Harold of Wessex stared at his captain in blank
astonishment, for the gift he had just bestowed with such apparent
carelessness was the most valuable bit of cargo in the ship, a costly
Arabian horse intended for the young noble's own special comfort and
convenience during the search for gold on which they were bound. Was
Drake gone suddenly mad, then, thus to throw away, and that without
permission, his choicest property on a mere savage? Hot with resentment
he was about to interfere; but before he could obey the rash impulse his
better judgment prevailed, and just in time he remembered how, on
several other such occasions, his very life had been saved by some swift
expedient of Drake's and his tact in handling the natives.

Slowly Sir Francis continued, and now one watching intently might have
sensed from the gleam in his eyes that he had reached the real point in
the interview.

"One question, nevertheless, would I ask of all-wise Torquam before we
part." He hesitated, searching the impassive face of the Indian. "Can'st
tell me of a Spaniard, one Cabrillo, son to that arch pirate of Spain,
who, since his father's death, still sails upon these waters? To him I
bear a message," - again he paused while the heart of Wildenai beat in
sudden panic beneath her fawnskin tunic; but Torquam's face remained
blank as a page unwritten, - "a message from our queen," added Drake.
The last words were uttered with significance.

The Indian slowly shook his head.

"The noble white chief asks what is unknown to any man," he answered.
"The young Cabrillo once landed, 'tis true, on Punagwandah. Many moons
ago it was. Where he is now, how should Torquam know?"

In his bitter disappointment the hand of the Englishman sought the hilt
of his sword. Instantly a ring of warriors closed darkly about the
chief.

Drake laughed.

"Nay then, 'tis but by chance I asked thee, thinking thou mightst tell
me. It matters not. The gift I promised thee will come, as I said,
tonight."

He turned to go and young Harold rose to follow. Then, perceiving the
dark eyes of the princess fixed wistfully upon him, he hesitated and,
obeying a sudden impulse, he stepped hastily to her side.

"When they return with the gift for thy father," he whispered, "I will
come with them," he smiled into her soft eyes shining with pleased
surprise, "and I will bring a gift to thee as well, oh Wildenai, fairest
of maidens!"

Drake gave a sharp command. His followers sprang to their feet, and
without further ceremony the party passed quickly down the beach to
their boat.

But the princess Wildenai did not leave the feasting ground. Hidden by
deepening shadows she watched the ship's lights glimmer across the
water. Glad indeed was she of the darkness, for a warm flush glowed in
her cheeks and her heart throbbed with a strange new pleasure, a
pleasure bordering close on fear, yet wholly sweet.

But when, at length, the quiet of sleep had descended upon the village,
once again she sought her father. He, too, within the open doorway of
his lodge, watched intently the distant ship. Without surprise he saw
his daughter enter and, as she knelt upon the blanket beside him, he
stretched a hand and drew her close.

"It grows cold. The wind is rising. 'Twere best to wait inside." He
spoke in the musical Indian tongue. For a moment he stroked her hair in
silence, then -

"What think'st thou by now of the English, Wildenai, my little wild
rose?" he asked.

But the princess seemed not to have heard his question.

"My father," she began after another short silence, "I have a favor to
ask of thee."

"And what may that be, my daughter?" he returned gravely.

But again the young girl made no answer and for many minutes they
watched the tremulous paths of light in the wake of the vessel.

After a time he felt her hand tighten upon his arm.

"It is but the old boon over again, my father." Her voice was low as the
sighing of the wind among the oak trees. "I would be freed from my
promise to wed with Don Cabrillo."

An Indian is not given to caresses. Much more used was Torquam's hand to
wield the war-club or the hatchet. Yet it was with fingers gentle as any
woman's that he stroked the smooth black head at his knee.

"Doubtest thou then, my motherless one, the judgment of him who loves
thee?" he asked.

"I doubt it not, my father," answered his daughter. "Yet would I not wed
with the Spaniard," she added stubbornly.

"The blue-eyed senor from England" - there was a hint of humor in his
tone, - "he it is who steals thy fancy! Is it not so, my Wildenai?"

Then, after a moment: "Right well knowest thou my only wish is to make
thee happy." Again his voice, though gentle, grew serious almost to
sadness. "No mere whim it is that counsels me to wed thee to Cabrillo.
"There is something - " He paused, continuing with effort, - "a reason I
have never told thee why it seems most fitting. Now I will tell thee.
That reason is because, because, my Wildenai, thou art Spanish born
thyself."

The princess drew a hasty breath. In the darkness he felt rather than
saw her startled eyes upon him.

"My father!" The exclamation, filled with pain as well as astonishment,
touched him to the quick. Tenderly he drew her to him. Then briefly, as
was the Indian way, yet with the pictured phrasing which caused each
scene to spring into vivid life before the young girl's eyes, he told
her of the day, already more than eighteen years gone by, when, in the
wake of a long midwinter storm, the first sailing vessel ever beheld by
his people had fled for refuge to their bay; and of the little girl
carefully brought to shore by her old nurse in the first boat to touch
the beach. A mere baby she was, too young to know aught of her
misfortune, yet a princess royal, rudely dispossessed of her right to
the throne of Spain, and smuggled aboard the adventurer Cabrillo's ship
to be dropped in some out-of-the-way corner of the western world. Even
then, he made it clear, she might have perished, - since little recked
the Spanish explorer what should happen, well knowing that upon his
return no questions would be asked, - had it not been for his Indian
wife. She, lacking children of her own, had taken an instant fancy to
the dark-eyed little girl, a fancy so strong that nothing would do but
they must adopt her as their own daughter into the tribe to belong
forever, according to their law, she and her children, to the Mariposa.

"Nor, because thy mother - for ever was she a true mother to thee -
thought that it might grieve thee, have any of my people ever given thee
cause to doubt that thou wert native born," he finished proudly. "Loyal
have they been, doing all they could to make thee happy. But now that
thy Indian mother is dead, and I myself grow old, I thought to wed thee,
knowing his desire, to the son of that same Cabrillo who brought thee to
us, for I long to be sure, when at length I go, that thou art safe, - at
home."

He waited then and in the silence only the low weeping of the girl was
heard. At length the old chief spoke again, and now in his voice love
conquered disappointment.

"Much do I desire it, but that matters not. I would not have thee
unhappy. I myself will tell the senor that what he hopes for cannot be."

Slowly Wildenai bent her head until it touched his feet. Then she
nestled close against him.

"I thank thee, oh my father!" she cried, and all her voice was music
because of her joy. "And thou art still my father," she added,
earnestly. "What care I to go to Spain? I will stay always with thee."

"For a time, it may be. Yet have a care, little wild rose," he
cautioned, smiling, "Let not the Englishman lure thee away! He, too, may
not be all that thou thinkest."

And even as he spoke, in mocking confirmation of his words, there came
to them suddenly from across the water, the distant creaking of ropes,
the snapping of sails flung hastily to the wind. Before their
unbelieving eyes the vessel swung about and put slowly out to sea. Dumb
with amazement they watched until the last faint light flickered into
darkness. Not until the remotest chance of a mistake was past did the
old chief rise, trembling with rage, to his feet.

"See'st thou now what I meant, my daughter? The English pale-faces know
not the meaning of honor, - no, nor of gratitude either!"

He lifted his long spear from the ground and shook it fiercely.

"The words of the Mariposa are few," he cried, "but their revenge is
sure. Let but an Englishman set foot again on Punagwandah and, swifter
than the arrow leaves the bowstring, he dies!"

And at once, without answer, in the silence of suffering which only the
wild things of the earth understand, Wildenai crept from the lodge, her
heart heavy with its own bitter disappointment. Noiselessly she passed
among the tepees where her father's people slept. Not one of them should
ever know how far dwelt slumber from her own eyes that night. Up the
steep trail beyond the Bay of Moons she climbed and flung herself
weeping on the bed of skins within the cavern.

"Oh, thou false one," she moaned, "why did'st thou promise then, when
never did'st thou mean to keep it?"

Yet nothing had been farther from the young Englishman's thoughts when
he left her than faithlessness to his word. On reaching the ship again
he had gone directly to his cabin. Here he took from its small but
richly embroidered case a slender chain of gold, threaded so closely
with garnets that even in the dim light of the one flaring lantern, the
only illumination the room could boast, it glowed, a glancing stream of
crimson, in his hand. This he carried to the light and as he examined it
under the lantern he smiled.

"Never saw the little maid such jewels before, I'll warrant me! Yet,
beshrew my heart, but she deserves them. Indian though she be, still is
she, nevertheless, the loveliest woman that ever mine eyes have looked
upon!"

Then, stowing the necklace carefully away in his belt, he went at once
in search of the commander.

But at this point an unexpected difficulty had presented itself. He
found Sir Francis in close conversation with his pilot.

"Marry, Sir, an it fit n'er so ill with thy wish," the keen-eyed old
mariner was saying. "I still maintain it were a shame to lose this wind.
Gift or no gift, I've sailed these latitudes before, my lord, and by
heaven I swear we're not like to have such another breeze, no, not till
the change of the moon, and that you know yourself, sir, is a good
fortnight hence."

Sir Francis, striding back and forth within the narrow confines of the
quarter deck, appeared to be weighing the old man's words with unusual
care. At length, however, he turned as one who has made his decision.

"By the mass and it shall be even as you say, Jarvis," he declared. "I
think myself 'twere well to push on at once. At the most they be but
Indians!" The last words were spoken in a lower tone as if to himself.
"'Twill matter little either way!"

It was at this point that young Harold stepped hastily forward. For,
strangely enough, although on the morning of that same day such a
proceeding would scarcely have appealed to him as being at all unfitting
or out of the ordinary, yet now it seemed unthinkable.

"But, good sir," he interrupted, "you would not so belie your promise!
To do as Jarvis here advises, - by heaven, 'twould be neither truthful
nor honorable! 'Tis not like you, Sir Francis!"

Drake shot at him a surprised glance from under his bushy eyebrows, then
shrugged his shoulders.

"Prate not to me, my lord, of truth or honor amongst these savages," he
replied. "Did not their chief himself but even now lie to me? Well knew
the rascally heathen where the Spaniard hides! The truth indeed! They
know not the meaning of such words."

In vain the younger man petitioned to be allowed to deliver the promised
gift with the aid of his own retinue.

"Thou can'st not get under way for two hours at best, sir," he pleaded,
"and well within that time I will be back. 'Tis but a stone's throw to
the shore!"

But Drake first scoffed at his rashness, then, finally losing patience,
as commander of the expedition he sternly forbade him or any of his men
to leave the ship.

"We dare not lose the wind," he finished emphatically, "and are like to
start at any minute." Then, turning on his heel, he strode away to his
cabin and shut the door behind him.

Left in this unceremonious fashion, young Harold considered a moment,
glancing with anxious eyes at the dim line of the coast just visible in
the darkness. For some minutes he leaned upon the rail, lost in thought.

"The old man will e'en have to bear his disappointment," he muttered at
length, "but, an' heaven help me, the maid shall not!"

Then he, too, left the deck to seek out his favorite retainer, the dark,
swarthy man who had sat that morning in the prow of the long boat. To
him he explained his difficulty, adding grimly:

"And so thou see'st, Mortimer, that I have work cut out for thee!"

He threw an arm about the other's shoulders and in this familiar fashion
the two men paced the deck together, conversing in low tones.

"And besides," observed the nobleman as they paused a moment before
parting, "would'st know the truth about the matter? For all old Jarvis'
prating, the Golden Hind is not like to sail before the dawn, no, nor
even then! Jarvis is ever the man to make a show of much hurry, but - "
he snapped his fingers scornfully, "only aid me now, unseen by anyone,
to launch the Zephir, and by our virgin queen herself I swear, when once
again we see the shores of Merry England, thou shalt find 'twas well
worth thy trouble."

His companion smiled even while, with the trained servility of the
retainer, he doffed his cap.

"Aye, truly, my lord," he answered, "but, since it were an impossible
feat to get so much as a colt into the Zephir, methinks thou hast a gift
of thine own to bestow on yonder pretty Indian maid!"

The blood leaped to Sir Harry's cheek. With a quick gesture he placed
his hand upon his sword.

"Presume not upon my favor, Mortimer, or by heaven! - " he began
angrily, but stopped suddenly as, with a fearless laugh, the man beside
him pushed the half-drawn weapon back into its place.

"Nay then, not so fast, my lord," he chuckled gaily. "Hearkee, my
master. I did but use my eyes during their everlasting pow-wow. Surely
ye would not grudge me that! And the maid is comely, well worth a
trinket from thy store. Besides," he laughed slyly, "I saw e'en more to
thine interest, for methinks the princess is as much in love with thy
looks as art thou with hers."

"Silence, fool! Thou hast said more than enough already. Think'st thou
the son of a duke royal would look at a brown-skinned savage, an
unbelieving pagan, no matter how comely, as thou call'st it, she might
be!"

But the flush remained, nevertheless, on the dark cheek of the young
nobleman as he strode angrily from the deck.

The moonlight had laid a quivering path of light across the water before
Wildenai raised her bowed head from the ground. But, at length, drawing
her blanket more closely about her, for into the night air the chill of
the ocean had crept, she was about to leave the cave when a sudden sound
from the beach below arrested her. For a moment she listened in silence
while the shout was repeated, then stood dumb with amazement. A third
time it came to her, borne on the rising wind, the terrified cry of a
man in dire distress. Nor was it one of her own people who thus called
out of the darkness for help. Swiftly she ran to an overhanging ledge of
rock from which, by lying flat and peeping over, she could, without
exposing herself, command a wide view of the sea.

At the first glance there appeared to be nothing amiss. Far beneath her
the noisy breakers spilled in liquid silver on the beach. Above their
musical booming no other sound could be heard. Then suddenly she saw
him. A tiny boat it was, tossing dangerously close to the great rounded
boulder which, together with a still larger one from which it had at
some distant time been broken off, formed the outermost boundary of the
curving Beach of Moons. The dark figure standing erect in the boat
strove with the aid of an oar to keep it from being dashed to pieces
against the giant rock. Again there floated up to her the desperate call
for help. The voice was that of the English noble!

Instantly the girl sprang to her feet, and without the slightest
hesitation ran lightly down the perilous incline, leaping fearlessly
from rock to rock, until, within a few seconds, she stood poised above
the seething surf on the top of the larger boulder. Here, balancing
herself as easily and securely as a wild antelope, she raised her arms
to dive. But now from the shadows below the white man called once more.

"Attempt it not, oh Wildenai! 'Tis death to leap from there!"

But without waiting even to reply, the Indian girl sprang into the
waves. An instant later and he saw her arms gleam in the moonlight as,
with the strong slow strokes of an experienced swimmer, she struck out
for the boat. In spite of the perilous rocking of the little craft he
rested on his oar to watch her for a moment in sheer admiration of her
skill. But the maid knew well the danger of every instant's delay. In
the very nick of time she seemed almost to throw herself between him and
the rocks while, with a strength he would have believed impossible in
one so small, she pulled the boat around. Then, still swimming and
without a word to him, she began to push it ahead of her toward the
shore. It was but a few minutes before they stood together on the beach.

And now the young noble, overcome with gratitude, fell on his knees
before her and caught her hand between his own. He would have kissed it
in sheer joy at his escape, but the Indian girl drew sharply back.

"Quick!" she whispered, yet remembering to speak in Spanish, "You must
hide yourself at once. My father will kill you if he should find you
here!"

Swiftly she concealed the boat in a tiny cove behind the boulder, a
hiding place he would never have seen though it was apparently perfectly
familiar to her.

"Sometimes my own canoe I keep there too," she whispered. "Now come!"
and she hurried him along the beach and up an easier trail beyond the
rocks to her cavern bower above.

Nor did she pause for an instant's rest until they had passed safely
behind the manzanita branches which concealed the entrance. Here,
motioning him to do the same, she dropped upon a pile of skins. But
instead, in real concern, the young Englishman knelt again beside her.

"Thou art so wet and cold," he began anxiously, "Will it not make thee
ill? Yet 'twas a wondrous feat," he added admiringly, "well conceived
and carried out with skill such as any man might envy!"

The princess laughed.

'Twas nothing," she answered briefly. "I do it almost every day."

"I came to bring to thee the gift I promised," explained Lord Harold
then, and from his belt he drew the little case. Eagerly he flung the
gleaming string of garnets about her slim brown throat.

"Jewels brought by my father to my mother on the morning of their
marriage," he told her. "When she lay dying she gave them me and told me
never to part with them except I gave them to my - " He paused suddenly,
"But thou hast saved my life!" he added as quickly, "Who else could ever
deserve them more? Well know I my mother would wish thee to have them."

Silently, though her eyes were bright with, pleasure, the princess
lifted the beautiful necklace.

"Wildenai will wear them always, senor lord," she answered softly, "for
now she knows that truly you did mean to keep your word!"

And so, his mission accomplished, her guest rose hastily to his feet. He
must return immediately to the ship.

"Know you not, then, that it is gone?" exclaimed the girl, amazed.

"Gone?" echoed young Harold, and stared at her astounded. He seemed not
to have grasped her meaning. "Gone, said'st thou?"

"The ship was out of sight a full hour or more ere ever I heard you
call," she explained.

Still he continued to gaze at her fixedly as if totally unable to
comprehend what she would have him know. Then it was plain to be seen
that, for the moment at least, blank despair took hold upon him. Up and
down the length of the cave he strode like some imprisoned wild thing.
At length, standing quite still with folded arms, he seemed to lose
himself in thought.

"Battling with the surf I did not see nor hear," he muttered at last.
"But he could not sail without me!" he added. Fiercely he raised his
head and his eyes flashed. "He dare not so betray me!"

Wildenai, too, had been considering.

"The great white captain knew, then, that you were not on board?" she
asked suddenly.

"No," replied the young man reluctantly, "that did he not. I came
without his knowledge. He would have prevented me," he continued
stubbornly, "and I had promised thee a gift. Never did I break my word,
nor would not then. But I did not dream it possible they could get away
so soon! By our virgin lady in Heaven I swear I know not what to do."
And once more he seemed lost in despair.

But only for a moment. Then he turned hastily to the entrance.

"I must follow them at once," he declared impatiently, "I can overtake
them even yet."

Swift as lightning the girl threw herself between him and the opening in
the cave.

"No, no, senor Englishman," she cried. "It is impossible! Listen, only
listen to me! What have you, then, to steer by save the stars? And you
see that, drowned in moonlight, they do not shine tonight. And, more
than that, you do not even know what course the vessel takes. Remember,
too, that there is neither food nor drink within your boat. You would
surely die ere you could ever find the ship."

Gradually she compelled him to listen to reason until, seating himself
again upon the skins, he challenged her still further.

"But what, then, shall I do?" he demanded. "Can'st also tell me that?"

And with equal readiness the princess replied:

"If you will but let me I can hide you here. The cavern is my own. Here
for many a moon have I worked and waited. No one would dare to enter.
You will be safe. Besides, my father's anger will grow cold in time, and
then I know that, if I ask him, he will help you."

His chin propped upon his hands, the young nobleman moodily considered.

"Well, do then as thou deemest best," he told her finally.

And from that moment there began for the little princess a time so
wonderful that for all the rest of her life she remembered each separate
hour as though it had been some beautiful word in a poem learned by
heart.

With deft fingers she piled her softest doeskins for his bed.

"But what wilt thou do, tell me, if I rob thee of thy nest?" he asked,
watching her with amused eyes as she worked.

"I go always to the village to sleep," she answered simply, and so left
him.

But in the morning while yet the red of sunrise burned above the great
peak Orazaba, she returned, bearing upon her head an olla of carved
stone filled with water from a mountain spring. This in smiling silence
she set before him and disappeared. Within the hour, however, she was
back again and this time, kneeling on the ground, she laid at his feet
the ripe fruit of the manzanita tree, lying like small red apples, dewy
fresh, upon a wild-grape leaf.

"Ala - ate, see! Are they not good?" she asked triumphantly.

And so from day to day she ministered to him. Many a time as he sat,
listless and moody, within his hiding-place, a handful of wild
strawberries, steeped in the warm sweetness of the hills, would be
pushed beneath the leafy branches that concealed the door. Sometimes she
brought him bread baked from a curious kind of meal made of pounded
seeds.

Once, too, when a sudden storm had chilled the air, she kindled a fire
for him within a smaller cave, receding like a fire-place into the rocky
wall opposite the opening. It was a long and tedious process which the
man watched curiously. First, kneeling on the ground, she rubbed
together two dry willow sticks until a little pile of dust had gathered.
Then, still stooping, she struck two flints together until at last a
spark fell into the dust. Some dry leaves were dropped upon the tiny
blaze, then twigs, and lo, a fire!

In spite of himself the Englishman smiled, though a softer feeling shown
in his eyes. How beautiful and yet how childish she looked kneeling
there with the anxious pucker between her brows. Poor little princess,
how very hard she worked to serve him!

"It takes a long time, Wildenai," he observed, "dost thou try it often?"

"Never for myself," she answered gravely. "I have no need. But I do it
gladly for you." She smiled brightly back at him, then rose and moved
swiftly to the doorway. "Another thing I do for you today. Wait!"

And when she returned a few minutes later she brought with her,
carefully wrapped in cool green leaves, a fish freshly caught that
morning.

"A brook trout, on my word, such as I have often taken in the streams at
home!" exclaimed Lord Harold, amazed.

"I got it far up the canyon before the sun was risen," she answered,
delighted at his surprise.

This, having quickly dressed it, she wrapped again in leaves and placed
under the hot ashes to bake, and it being, evidently, a feast out of the
ordinary, a merry-making to which a third guest might be bidden,
suddenly Wildenai left the cavern again to return this time with a tiny
gray fox perched familiarly upon her shoulder.

"'Tis Onatoa, senor Englishman," she announced, gently stroking the
bushy tail of the little creature as it lay about her neck.

But from his vantage point above his rival, Onatoa merely sniffed
disdainfully with his sharp black nose. He looked far from friendly.

The princess laughed softly.

He does not know you yet," she defended her pet. "He will soon learn to
love you, too."

"I will catch fish with thee next time thou goest," declared young
Harold later as they ate together. "There's no reason I can see why I
should stay mewed up forever in this cave. I fear not Indians! No, not
even Torquam, thy father, himself."

For an instant Wildenai seemed alarmed. Then she laughed.

"You are afraid of nothing. I knew it!" she exclaimed with pride. "Nor
would there be much danger. We will go to the other side of the island
where the waves run high and the cliffs are tall and black. There will I
show you the nests of the great eagles, and the antelope leaping among
the rocks. And, - who can tell?" she laughed again with child-like
pleasure, "perhaps we shall find a white otter!"

And, true to her word, he heard at dawn next day outside the cavern the
whistle of a blackbird, a signal early contrived between them. She
deemed it best, she explained, to start thus early that the darkness
might conceal them until they had passed well beyond the outskirts of
the village. But this danger overcome, they spent the whole day rambling
fearlessly among the hills, - a long, idle, happy day. Up many a dim
trail winding back into the canyons the princess led him. Through golden
thickets of wild mustard they passed, coming, when he least expected it,
upon glimpses of the summer sea framed between the branches of knarled
old oak trees.

"They are low and crooked, and they spread themselves over the ground as
do our English oaks," the young nobleman informed her.

As Wildenai had promised they discovered, poised high among the crags of
the wild southern shore, the great eagles of which she had told him,
measuring easily, from wing-tip to wing-tip, fully a dozen feet. The
white otter, rarest and most valuable of all the game hunted by her
people, eluded them, but many a small gray fox slipped away among the
bushes, leaving the Englishman tingling for the chase.

At twilight, as they made their way back to the cavern, they came upon a
tiny lake lying asleep within the crater of a dead volcano. From the
sides little clouds of ashes rose, floating softly away on the breezes
of evening. The princess gathered a handful and murmuring some musical
words in her own tongue she threw them into the air.

"And would it be amiss for me to ask what 'tis you do?" questioned her
companion, observing her closely.

"I was sending a prayer to Wakan-ate, the Great Spirit," she replied
quietly.

"A prayer, - and borne to heaven on the wings of ashes!" He seemed
amused. "But what hast thou to pray for, oh fair princess?"

Her cheeks glowing with quick color, she replied: "It were not fitting
that any maiden tell for what she prays!"

The words were spoken with such gravity that the young man flushed under
the rebuke.

When she left him at the doorway of the cavern that evening she said as
she made a gay little gesture of farewell: "Today the land, but tomorrow
we shall find still more beautiful things that lie hidden under the deep
waters. You shall see!"

And once again with dawn she came. This time it was the splash of a
paddle that brought him to the opening in the rock.

"Aloho-ate, lazy one!" she called gaily from below. "Make haste! The
world is always loveliest while it lies waiting for the sun!"

That day, perhaps, from among them all, lived longest within the memory
of young Harold, - the porpoises playing fearlessly around her canoe as
the princess, with graceful, effortless strokes, paddled around one
after another of the pointed tongues of rock; the flying fish, skimming
the surface of the ocean until, by virtue of their speed alone, they
rose like gleaming bows of silver from the foam. Intent to show him all
her treasures, Wildenai guided him to a quiet stretch of water lying
close to shore within the shadow of tall cliffs which rose at that point
with precipitous abruptness from the sea itself.

"Here are my gardens that grow under the water," she explained, as they
glided above the spot. "Look well at them. They are most beautiful."

And gazing down at her command through the clear green into the luminous
depths below, he caught glimpses of these gardens of the sea where
goldfish darted like tropical birds among the branches of tall tree-like
stalks of swaying seaweed, and strange shapes of jade and blue floated
in the shadows.

"Is it not wonderful?" she asked.

"It is indeed, my Wildenai," he answered earnestly. "Never in all my
travels, methinks, have I seen aught before like this your island here!
It seems to me indeed a charmed land, a kind of magic isle!"

One day it rained, the last belated rain of winter. But even the storm
brought pleasures of its own, for, seated on the pile of skins beside
him, the little gray fox curled contentedly at her feet, Wildenai worked
at her loom. Within its dull-colored warp a blanket, woven in a strange
design of mingled red, and black, and white, grew slowly beneath her
busy fingers.

For hours the maiden drew the short woolen threads in and out while the
young man, stretched lazily upon the ground, told her many a tale of the
England he had left. Then, quite without warning, she ceased her work
and sat pensively watching through the opening in the rocks the long
gray swell of the sea.

"And what is it now, my princess?" laughed young Harold. "The pattern is
not yet finished, nor is the rain abated."

"Ah, senor Harold lord," wistfully replied the girl, "I was but wishing
I had been born one of those same fair English maids with the eyes of
blue and golden hair you tell about. Then would you love me even as you
do them!" she added artlessly, and leaned her chin upon her hand,
considering. A secret trembled on her lips.

"And how if I were Spanish born?" she questioned, and lifted hesitating,
frightened eyes to his, "dark to look at, that I know well, but even so,
the white man's kind of princess, who also has a throne?"

And all unwitting Lord Harold answered scornfully, "Spanish! Say no such
word to me! The English hate the Spanish!" Fiercely he caught up a
pebble and sent it whirling out across the water. "Even now their robber
king plans his huge armada to take our queen and rule our land, but
that, by the holy virgin herself, shall never be! Sooner will every drop
of blood in bonny England be spilt. Never could I make thee understand
how much I hope to be at home before he comes! Spanish indeed! Nay,
never let me hear the hateful word again!"

Then, noting her puzzled, downcast face, with the impulsive
changeableness which had so endeared him to her, he caught one little
brown hand and raised it to his lips.

"But I do love thee even as thou art, my Wildenai," he told her with the
careless assurance of one much older speaking to a child. "Is not a wild
rose sweet as any garden bloom? Nay, methinks 'tis often sweeter!"

Again he laughed and the little princess laughed with him now, for into
her heart at his words had come a happiness so unlooked for and so
wildly sweet as wholly to bewilder her. Quickly she rose, struck by a
sudden thought, and running to the farthermost corner of the cavern she
brushed aside a pile of leaves and lifted some stones, disclosing at
length a box fashioned from the choicest cedar. Out of it, while the
Englishman watched with wondering eyes, she drew a garment made of
creamy doeskin, deeply fringed and trimmed besides with strings of
wampum, the polished fragments of abalone shells and many-colored beads.
Silently she brought it to him and when he touched it admiringly, for
the dress was beautiful. "It is my marriage robe," she told him gravely.

That night, while the rain tapped softly at her tepee, the princess
dreamed of a wondrous land beyond the sea where proudly she walked by
her white chief's side and fair women with braided, golden hair spoke
kind words of welcome, smiling at her out of sweet blue eyes.

Then, without warning, came the end of all her dreams. Hurrying along
the beach at sunset only a few days later, Wildenai caught the first
glimpse of the returning vessel as it stole around a distant point. For
the space of a second her heart stood still, then throbbed wildly, but
whether with joy or pain she could not herself have told. One question
only demanded all her thought. Should she let Lord Harold know? Perhaps
the great white captain would not remember their bay. Perhaps, - her
breath came fast, - perhaps the ship, unseen by anyone, would pass and
Lord Harold remain behind content. With hands tight-clenched she watched
the distant sail, fear growing in her eyes. Yet she knew that she would
tell him. Nothing else was honorable. This, surely, he must decide for
himself.

But tidings of such moment outran even her swift feet. She found him
buckling on his swordbelt, in his eyes the glad light of some trapped
bird which sees the door of its cage suddenly open.

"The ship - " she began with sinking heart.

"Yes, yes, I know! I saw it!" he answered, a fever of impatience in his
voice. "'Tis Drake. I knew he dared not leave me! 'Twill soon be too
close in. Needs not he risk his safety. I must go before he gains the
shore."

The princess hesitated. What meant that strange heaviness at her heart?
Was he not still her brave, true warrior, - her great white chief? Had
he not told her that he loved her? Crossing to where he stood she bowed
herself before him until her silver fillet touched his feet.

"I, too!" she whispered, "I shall go to England with thee!"

And at her words, within the little cavern there came a silence to be
felt. In undisguised dismay the Englishman gazed at her where she knelt.
Then:

"By the holyrood!" he muttered aghast, "She must have thought, - God
only knows what she must have thought!"

He glanced hurriedly toward the doorway and back again, ashamed. Then
even such impatience as was his gave way, for the moment at least, to
something more chivalric. He stooped and patted awkwardly the smooth
black head.

"Come, Wildenai, little wild rose, look up and speak to me. I must be
going!"

But still the maid lay prostrate, clasping close his rough buskins in
her little brown hands. Never in all his life had Lord Harold been so
sorely uncomfortable. How was it possible she had ever imagined that he
could take her with him, - that he had meant so much? Resentment grew
within him at the thought, yet strangely mingled always with something
far more tender. Hastily he considered, his heart torn between the
desire not to wound her and dread of what he knew she wanted. To be sure
the maid was beautiful, with the softened beauty of a moonlit night in
summer, her eyes beneath her dusky hair like stars between the branches
of dark trees, her voice that of the forest stream when it sings itself
to sleep. Yet past all doubt he knew that not one among the gorgeous
throng that crowded about Elizabeth would ever see that beauty, no
English ear take heed to hear the music of her voice. Nay, he could
even, as he thought of it, picture the amazement of the great queen,
could hear her scornful laughter, should he present, to help adorn her
court, a savage Indian girl! No, a thousand times no! Such disgrace he
could not suffer. Nor was the maid herself, so he defended himself,
fitted for such a life. Soon would she be as unhappy in England as he
would be to have her there. Besides, she was but a child. Else had she
never so far forgot all womanly dignity as to force herself upon him,
and being but a child she would soon forget. Gently he made to raise her
to her feet.

"Wildenai, little wild rose," he began again, "what thou hast asked of
me thou dost well know thyself is an unheard of thing. Much as I owe to
thee, and well know I that 'tis so much I never can repay it; still for
thine own sweet sake 'tis not in this way thy reward must come. The long
journey and the strange new life would kill thee, Wildenai." Having once
begun he stumbled on, but half aware of how each word he uttered hurt
her, eager only to have done with the whole sorry scene. "Thou art but a
little wild flower. Thou couldst not live away from this, thy sunny
island. Can'st thou not understand, my Wildenai?"

He paused, waiting for a reply; but the maiden answered nothing. Silent
she lay as though in very truth she were a wild flower tossed to earth
and trampled upon by some uncaring foot.

At last the man could bear it no longer. Forcibly he loosed her hands
and stepped back. For a moment longer he lingered, looking down upon her
in mingled impatience and regret; then, turning abruptly, he passed
hastily out of the cavern and down the trail to the beach.

Still the girl lay motionless. It was as if every sense were stunned,
all power of thought suspended except to grasp the one fact that made
her whole world empty, - he was gone! As in a dream she heard the
grating of the pebbles when he pushed his boat into the water, heard the
clank of the oars as they dropped into the oar-locks. Even yet she did
not move. Then, after many minutes, she crept to the opening and
searched the sea with eyes almost, too dim with tears to find that for
which she sought. But yes, there it was, - a black speck against the
golden sunset. She watched until she had seen the distant vessel put
about, making for the open sea. Ah, now she knew that he was safe
aboard, - no need had they to come farther into shore. Yet still she
waited, straining her eyes to see the ship sink slowly beneath the
horizon. One last glint of sunlight against a white sail, and it was
gone.

Then at once she rose, and moving quietly about the little cavern, she
put all in perfect order with touch as tender as that of a mother
preparing for its last sleep some little child. Here was the basket he
had helped to weave, here the mat on which he had lain. Her fingers
lingered caressingly on each thing that he had touched. There in the
corner still stood the olla in which she had brought him water. How
amused he had been that she could carry it on her head all the way up
the hill from the spring without so much as spilling one drop! But that
was all past now.

When at last everything was finished she gave the little rock-walled
room one long, lingering look, the look of one who would carry in his
heart the image of what he beholds all the rest of his life. Then she,
too, made her way through the doorway into the deepening dusk.

On the beach below, squatted within the opened flap of his tepee,
Torquam, mighty chief of the Mariposa, smoked his evening pipe. A
wonderful pipe it was, long and delicately fashioned, inlaid with
iridescent fragments of shell. Yet instantly he laid it aside as the
slender form of his daughter darkened the doorway.

"Ah, Wildenai, little wild rose, welcome art thou as sunshine after
rain!" His eyes lighted with the tenderness never seen there by any
other than this motherless girl. He stretched his hand to her and the
princess came silently and knelt before him.

"My father," she said firmly, though in so low a tone that Torquam bent
to hear. "Oh, father, thou art always wise! Thou only knowest best. I
come to thee to tell that I will wed Cabrillo. I will wed with him
whenever thou dost choose!"

Taking her face between his hands, Torquam gazed long and searchingly
into the sorrowful eyes of his daughter.

"And thou art wise to do so, my beloved one," he said at last. "He will
make to thee a good husband." In his voice was the keen understanding of
a father. "He will be kind to thee and heal thy wounded heart, my
daughter. Don Cabrillo is a good man," he repeated solemnly."

Miss Hastings Brings It to an End

Part II

Miss Hastings Brings It to an End

Centuries passed, and again, with the same sweet suddenness as in the
days gone by, spring came to Catalina. Guests of the St. Catherine,
lounging on its wide verandahs, gazed across a sunlit sea to where the
faint cloud that was San Jacinto hovered, the merest ghost of a
mountain, above the misty mainland. Along the broad board-walk leading
down to Avalon benches, shaded by brightstriped awnings, flaunted an
invitation to every passing tourist. Strings of Japanese lanterns bobbed
merrily above the narrow village streets. Everywhere were laughter and
movement and color from the bathing beaches, dotted with gay umbrellas -
even to the last yacht anchored round the point.

To the man making slow progress down the crowded wharf from the
afternoon boat this holiday world into which he thus suddenly stepped,
presented an appearance so different from that he had pictured as almost
to bewilder him. At sight of the jaunty little motorbus waiting to haul
him up the winding grade to the hotel, he actually hesitated. Yet seldom
before, to his knowledge, had he found it difficult to adapt himself to
an unexpected situation.

"Hotel St. Catherine! Bus to the hotel, sir?"

Other guests, more certain of their intentions, pushed impatiently
against him, and presently he found himself, wedged well toward the
middle of the long seat, chugging comfortably up the hill. Still
half-daunted, he gazed about him. It was all of it charming to be sure,
fascinating even; yet, could this festive summering place be the Avalon
of his dreams? Was this the quaint village of Spanish times, reaching
back still further through dimly remembered Indian lore to a world lost
now except to legend? Yet it was for the sake of a mere legend, a
fanciful tale handed down in his family through many a generation, that
he had made the long journey from New York to California, nor - and here
he set his lips with dogged determination, did he intend to return until
he had found that for which he searched.

It was now something over two years since Harrison Blair, then fresh
from Yale, had astonished both those who wished him well and those who,
for various envious reasons, did not, with the wholly unreasonable
success of his first book. For, to those who did not understand, his
sudden fame had seemed all the more surprising in that it rested upon
nothing more substantial than a slender volume of Indian verse. So
unusual, however, had been his treatment of this well-worn subject as to
call forth more than a little comment from even the most conservative of
critics. The Brush and Pen had hastened to confer upon him an honorary
membership. Cadmon, magic weaver of Indian music, had written a warm
letter of appreciation. And, most precious tribute of all, the Atlantic
Monthly had become interested in his career.

To be sure, it was nothing more than might have been expected of a man
whose undergraduate work in English had aroused the reluctant wonder of
more than one instructor. Nevertheless, the fact that he pulled stroke
on the 'varsity crew had somewhat blinded other contemporaries to his
more scholarly attainments. Nor had anyone thought it probable, because
of his father's wealth, that Blair, in any event, would feel called upon
to do much more than make a frolic of life. No one, indeed, had been
more taken aback than had his father to find him, a year after
graduation, drudging over the assistant editor's desk of a struggling
magazine the payroll of which, to put it mildly, offered no financial
inducements.

"It's good practice for me, though, - quickest way to learn," was all he
vouchsafed when the older man remonstrated.

Yet, had that same father, shrewd capitalist that he was, but taken the
trouble to reason back from premises evident enough, he might have been
the first to realize that this tall son of his, with the keen gray eyes
and a face the strength of which was but increased by the high cheek
bones and squarely molded chin, was scarcely the type of man to sit idly
by enjoying the fruits of another's labor.

And now, after two years more of grinding apprenticeship, he had in mind
something much bigger than the slender volume of verse, - an adventure
into authorship more suited to his metal, - a story for which an intense
personal sympathy would furnish fitting atmosphere, with the final spur
to his ambition a letter from the Atlantic even at the moment stowed
safely away in his pocket.

Some two hours later, after an unexpectedly excellent dinner in the
luxurious dining room, he sauntered over to the hotel desk. There was no
more than the faintest probability that a clerk of the St. Catherine
would be able to tell him how to reach a secret cavern bower above the
Bay of Moons; still, he had to enter an opening wedge somewhere. The one
man on duty was for the moment occupied with another guest, and Blair,
lighting his after-dinner cigar, prepared with leisurely patience to
await his turn.

The guest happened to be a young woman, rather pretty, he casually
decided, although her greatest claim to beauty lay more, perhaps, in the
swift changes in expression of which her face was capable, than in any
actual regularity of line. For lack of anything better to do, Blair
watched idly her encounter with the clerk. There appeared to be some
kind of misunderstanding.

"Awfully sorry it's happened that way, Miss Hastings," the man behind
the desk was saying. He lifted with genuine reluctance the key she had
just laid down. "We'd be mighty sorry to interfere with your work, but
those small rooms always do go first. You know that yourself."

"I hadn't heard about it, though. I didn't know they were all gone." Her
voice quivered with disappointment.

Blair, whose vocation taught him a certain technical sympathy, shot a
swift glance at her. She couldn't be more than twenty-two or
thereabouts, he decided less casually, and went on to observe her still
further. She wore a shabby, broad-brimmed hat much faded as if from
constant exposure to the sun, but the shadows in the coil of hair
beneath were warmly golden.

"Couldn't you find a room down in the village somewhere, - at Mrs.
Merrill's perhaps?" suggested the clerk.

"But Mrs. Merrill isn't here this spring." In spite of its quiver the
voice was very sweet.

"No," she started to turn away, "I'll have to put it off again, I
suppose. I've looked everywhere."

She took a step or two, hesitated, then returned to the desk.

"You're positive there isn't a single one of the small rooms left?" she
pleaded. "I wouldn't care how far back it was, - anything would do. You
can't think how I hate to give up. I had so hoped to finish it this
time!"

The man shook his head.

"No, we're absolutely full just now. Later on there might be something,
- after the season is over."

"But that will be after school begins," answered the girl bitterly. "I
can't work at all then!" and catching up a bag fully as shabby as the
hat, she hurried away.

"Who is she?" asked Blair abruptly, overlooking for the moment his
original purpose in seeking the man.

"School-teacher from Pasadena," replied the clerk briefly. "Teaches art
in some private school over there, I believe." He eyed Blair amusedly.
"Think you've met her before somewhere?"

Blair allowed his annoyance to show. "No, never laid eyes on her till
just now. But I couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for her," he
persisted. "She seemed so sort of cut up. What's the trouble?"

"I'm sorry for her myself," declared the man on the other side as he
hung the returned key on its board. "This is the third time that poor
little woman's had to leave before she could finish what she came for on
account of the expense. But what can we do?" He shrugged his shoulders.
"The St. Catherine isn't exactly a Y. W. C. A."

"What is it she's trying to do?"

Amusement deepened in the man's eyes.

"She's supposed to be painting Indians."

"Indians!" To the amazement of the other man Blair suddenly leaned
forward, his eyes agleam with interest.

"But I didn't know there were any around here."

"There aren't."

"Then how - ?"

"Makes 'em up out of her head, I guess. I never heard that she had even
a model."

"But - but what I want to know is why she comes here at all?" The
situation seemed to Blair to offer possibilities, yet he was thoroughly
puzzled. "I met a fellow on the train who does that sort of thing, but
he always goes to the desert to paint, - at least he said he did."

"Yes, they do mostly. Probably he meant Taos, - whole nest of artists at
Taos."

"Well, but why in thunder then - ?"

The clerk smiled skeptically.

"Why, you see, it's something like this. Miss Hastings' bent on being an
illustrator, pays better than teaching, I suppose, or - well, at any
rate, that's what she's aiming for, - and she has an idea that if she
can only get a series of pictures, - several of them on the same
subject, you understand, - accepted by one of those Eastern magazines,
she can soon work in with some big publisher and get an order. She told
us all about it one night last winter when she was over."

"But in heaven's name, why Indians?" persisted Blair.

"Because she thinks she's found some good material here. She told me
about that, too. Seems there's an old legend connected with Catalina,
about an Indian princess and a cavern. The princess died of a broken
heart or something of the sort, I believe she said. I never heard the
particulars myself. Nobody else, either, seems to know anything about
it. But Miss Hastings says there's quite a story, and she's got it all
down pat from A to Z. She's using it for her series."

A porter brought up some newcomers and Blair stepped aside. But the
moment his man was at leisure again he cornered him at once. An idea had
come to him, an idea almost dazzling in its possibilities.

"You say she hasn't finished her series yet?"

"Beg pardon? Oh, the teacher?" The man shook his head. "Evidently not
from what she said just now. She never stays long enough really to put
it over. Every few months she bobs up over a week-end, but that doesn't
give her time even to visit some of the places she's after. She never
seems to get much more than started before she has to go home again."

For a moment Blair smoked in silence. Then:

"Look here," he cut in abruptly, "You split my suite and give her one of
my rooms."

The man's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Her? What do you mean?"

Blair made an impatient gesture.

"Why, this Miss - the teacher, you know. Didn't you just say you hadn't
any room for her? Well, I've got three, you know."

"Yes, but that's altogether a different proposition. You made your
reservation weeks ago."

"But you could still give her one of them, couldn't you?"

Clerks in large hotels listen with patience to a vast number of strange
proposals, but at this from Blair, the man opposite eyed him in
unflattering amazement.

"But you said, when you wired, you wanted the extra room to work in," he
objected, "and you'll remember, Mr. Blair, that you were pretty emphatic
about it, too, at the time. We went to all kinds of trouble to fix that
up for you."

"I can get along all right without it, though," coolly observed his
changeable guest, "and I'd rather she'd have it. It's possible to split
suites here, isn't it?" he persisted. "They do at most hotels."

"It's possible, of course." Across the desk the eyes of the two men met
squarely. "That part of it's easy enough. But why? and who's going to
pay for it?"

"I'm going to pay for it! What did you suppose?" exploded Blair. "It's
worth that and a lot more to me just now to keep her from getting away.
Oh, I'm in earnest all right. I mean it! Look here! Can't you see how
that woman can be a perfect gold mine to me? You know enough about my
work to understand that I'm really out here after Indians myself, and
she - well, I'll wager a cool thousand there isn't a spot on this whole
island that ever dreamed of seeing an Indian that she doesn't know all
about!"

The clerk nodded. "But - "

"But nothing!" Impatiently Blair brushed aside all objections. "Why, I
hadn't the remotest idea how I was going to get started. It's a rattling
piece of good luck, and we'll fix it up right now!"

"Yes, but - " Still the other man hesitated. "It sounds all right
enough, - from your end of it especially, but you'd better see her
first. She's a proud little piece, - doesn't like obligations of any
kind, - and a stranger, - a man - I'm sorry to discourage you, but I
don't believe she'll have a thing to do with it."

In Blair's eyes impatience threatened to become something more emphatic.

"It's a business proposition pure and simple," he argued. "She gives me
all the information she's been able to get together, and I pay her
expenses while she does it. That gives her a chance to finish her own
work, don't you see? A mighty good proposition for her, too, I should
say, and if she doesn't see it that way herself, - why, - well, she
isn't as intelligent as she looks, that's all!"

"Providing you can persuade her it is just business. I'd advise you to
talk with her first, just the same. And you'll have to be quick about
it, too. She's planning to wait in the village tonight for the morning
boat, and she'll be starting down about now."

Outside was one of those radiant nights intended for dreams and the
makers of dreams. Over an ocean white with light long breakers rolled
crests gleaming with silver that fell in soft thunder on the beach. Miss
Hastings, hurrying along the board-walk to the village, glanced at them
and looked quickly away.

"Oh, I say!" came a voice out of the darkness behind her, "if you don't
mind, hold on there a minute, will you? Wait for me, please!" The voice
was that of a man, pleasant, but exceedingly determined. Without so much
as turning her head Miss Hastings quickened her steps.

But it was of no use. Whoever her pursuer might be, he was even then at
her side.

"I beg your pardon," breathlessly he began again, "but I've been chasing
you all the way down from the hotel. I want you to come right back there
with me. I have a proposal to make to you."

Even in the darkness he could see how the girl's eyes blazed.

"I never listen - " she began hotly, "to proposals from people I don't
know," she had meant to add, but he gave her no time.

"It will mean the biggest chance for your pictures you've ever had," he
broke in. "Now, listen!"

And, to her complete surprise, Miss Hastings suddenly found herself
doing that very thing.

"There are a lot of things I've got to find out right away," continued
the astonishing stranger, "and the clerk up there tells me you're
painting a series of Indian portraits."

The little art teacher gazed at him fascinated. What manner of man could
this be, she wondered.

"I don't see the connection - " Coldness struggled with curiosity in her
voice.

"Listen!" With uplifted, peremptory hand again he stopped her. Nor is it
safe to say that any book agent, watching the door slowly closing upon
him, ever talked faster, or more rigidly to the point, than did Blair
within the next few minutes.

"Perhaps you won't understand it all right off. I wouldn't expect that.
But it's this way. I'm representing Harper's, and Houghton and Mifflin,
and Dodd and Mead, and - several other firms" (to satisfy his conscience
Blair contended with himself that he might as well as not have been
their representative - a mere oversight on their part ought not to be
allowed to stand in his way), "and I'm out here to find the best
illustrator I can lay hands on to do the pictures for some Indian stuff
I'm getting into shape for one of 'em. I want to see your work. And, if
I like it, I'll pay you well. And anyway, I'll pay every bit of the
expense while you finish your series here if you'll tell me what you
know about Wildenai!"

But, at the name, the girl beside him had given a low cry of utter
amazement. She stopped short.

"Do you know it too, then?" she gasped. "How did you hear about it?"

"Oh, I've known it for years," replied Blair carelessly. "Some of it
I've known all my life. But look here now. Is it a bargain? - about your
helping me, I mean?"

Before he left her, an hour or so later, every detail had been arranged.
Miss Hastings had meekly agreed to return to the hotel in the morning.
Blair would pay her expenses and something he called a retaining fee
besides. That would make an extra fifty dollars, - she smiled to herself
in the dark, - a new winter suit at least, and perhaps one or two
matinees if she managed! All this for the information she could give him
about the island and its history. The various points in their contract
spun dizzily in her dazed brain. No spot known to legend to which it was
possible to conduct him should remain unvisited. Four hours out of every
day were pledged without fail to his interests. The rest of the time she
might have for her own work. It had all come about so unexpectedly, and
was altogether so extraordinary that, after he had gone, his new
employe, stretched uncomfortably upon a narrow cot in the tent of a
fellow teacher, spent the remainder of the night in imaginary interviews
with Eastern publishers regarding impossible royalties. She was far too
excited to sleep.

And, for a week, the arrangement worked very well, - almost too well.
Every day brought with it some new adventure, and every adventure became
a pleasure.

Mounted at Blair's expense on more or less energetic ponies, for from
the first he had insisted that horses were a necessary part of their
business equipment, they cantered gaily along the shady canyon trails,
or over the sunlit slopes sheeted in pale lavender wherever the wild
lilacs were in bloom. Often, emerging from some thicket of dwarf oak
they caught glimpses of a sapphire sea held between red, twisted
branches of manzanita as in a frame. About them rang the music of the
meadow larks. Merry shouts of bathers floated up from the beaches far
below, mingled with the distant click of golf balls on the greens.

For the whole of a golden day they chartered a sailboat from one, Capt.
Warren, and rounding the yellow headlands under his lazy guidance, they
went to examine the Ning Po, the ancient Chinese barge stranded, no one
knew how many hundreds of years before, among the rocks off the isthmus.

"Fascinating old place," observed Blair gazing, his eyes aglow with
interest, around the mediaeval cabin. "Don't doubt a dozen murders at
least were pulled off in this one room!"

"Oh yes, of course," eagerly echoed his assistant. "It's absolutely
unique!"

Her gaze, as bright with interest as his own, rested upon Blair himself.
She was considering, absent-mindedly, how becoming white trousers can be
to most men, especially when they are reasonably dark themselves. But, -
her glance travelled upward, - how unusually dark he was, and his hair,
- yes, without question, the straightest and blackest she had ever seen.
Yet it seemed in some indefinable way to become him, - to belong, as it
were, to his type. Leaning her elbows meditatively upon the rusty
anchor, her chin in her hands, she silently appraised him. He really was
a handsome man, she decided, and clever, too, of the sort who does
things in the world! A dreamy light grew within her eyes.

It was only two or three evenings later when, on their way back from the
site of an historic Indian village on the other side of the island, they
walked their horses slowly around the Wishbone Loop, the ostensible
reason being that, as Blair had already discovered, it commanded the
widest view of the ocean at sunset.

He was the first to speak when they struck again into the main trail.

"I wished for something about a rose, a wild rose, - want to guess?" He
eyed her mischievously.

"Hush, - mustn't tell!" she laughed. "Your wish won't come true if you
tell." Then, for no reason at all, she blushed.

Never, in truth, during her twenty-three years of working, and
scrimping, and going without, had life shown to the little art teacher
so fair and generous a side, seemed so extravagantly joyous an affair as
during that magic week. The spending of money, it was easy to see, meant
little or nothing to Blair. But that was the least of his attractions,
for, to the girl herself, mere wealth for its own sake had never
appealed. The charm lay rather in the genial broadness of his view of
things, the strength of reasoning behind the few opinions he put
forward, his reticence, and quiet modesty. In these dwelt the spell that
swept her into an almost delirious enjoyment of his society. For, all
unknown to herself, like many another woman in like condition, she had
needed a change of people. In the cramped life of a private school men
played but little part, and the men who were most worth while, almost no
part at all. Instinctively, in time, she had wearied of little girls and
their lessons. Sorely had she craved the stimulus which only the
companionship of congenial men can give. Of this fact, however, she had
been even less aware.

One crisp morning, seated in a diminutive wicker cart behind a
discontented pony, they searched out Chicken John's cabin on the mesa
behind the golf links.

"Not that it has anything to do with Indians," she apologized, "only I
want you to see him. He's such a character, so nice and untidy and
queer!"

As a result of this expedition they brought away with them what old John
designated a "plump little fry" to be served at the cosy table for two
in the sunniest window of the dining room, a luxury which Blair had
likewise confiscated in the interests of business.

And so for seven glorious days they tramped the fragrant hills, or
sailed a sea as softly blue as though fallen fresh that morning from the
cloudless heaven above. In the warmth and glow of his friendship the
starved heart of the little art teacher opened like some hot-house
flower carried suddenly into the wide outdoors. And when at last the
week drew to an end, their work, both his and hers, was still
unfinished, so that there was nothing else to do but to live on through
another fully as wonderful.

Blair himself took things much more for granted, and even when their
talk strayed farthest afield it was plain to the girl that his mind
never fully lost sight of the purpose for which he had come. His work
stood always first, while, - she blushed to own it even to herself, -
she had sometimes entirely forgotten her own.

At the end of the third week they had seen almost everything he
considered essential and at times she sensed in his manner, even when he
was least aware of it, a kind of repressed impatience. She knew what it
meant and shivered. Presently he would leave her, and life would become
again the same dull round of work. Only one spot of real importance
remained unvisited, - the cavern bower above the Bay of Moons. Of this
he had spoken frequently, and well she knew he held it the climax of his
search.

But for reasons best known to herself Miss Hastings put off from day to
day this final expedition until Blair began to chaff at the delay.

"That's really the one place I came to see!" he told her more than once.
"After I've been there I think I can go."

"But we've planned Middle Ranch for today," she would answer evasively,
or, "This is the best time to see Orazaba; it's so clear this morning.
That's the mountain, you know, where the Indians carved out their ollas.
Some of them are still there, only half cut away. It would be too bad
for you to miss that."

At length, however, there came a day when excuses would do no longer.

"We've waited long enough," he declared that morning over their coffee,
"Besides, I may have to go now in a few days."

And although at his words the sunshine of her new world faded suddenly
away, yet the little teacher kept a brave front. She even laughed
carelessly.

"Men are so impatient," she teased, "But we'll go today."

Nevertheless, it was not until the rose of sunset rested among the hills
that at last they found themselves on the crest of the tall cliff which
commanded so wide a stretch of the ocean and the shimmering valleys
below.

"It reminds one of the Bay of Naples," observed Blair, pausing to scan
the rocky coastline against which, far beneath them, the foaming
breakers threw themselves. He shaded his eyes with his hand and looked
far out to sea. "What a wonderful place for a watch tower it would have
made!"

"It had one once," softly replied the girl, "Wildenai's watch tower!"

Blair turned, their eyes met, and he smiled.

"It's been splendid to have you with me all these days," he said, "I've
been wanting to tell you. You've been more of a help than you'll ever
know." And then, after a pause, "It's because you care so much about the
story yourself, I suppose, that you've been such an inspiration to me."

Something in the girl's heart seemed suddenly to snap.

"It's because I care more about your work, and - and you. You are so
wonderful!" she broke forth impulsively, and stood before him crimson
with confusion. For a second, which seemed to her an age, there was
silence. Then he spoke and, in her bitter humiliation, his voice sounded
strained and cold.

"Shall we go in?" he asked.

Silently he parted the tangle of manzanita that for centuries had veiled
the secrets of the princess, and stood aside for her to enter. Wildly
the little art teacher glanced about her. This moment to which she had
so looked forward, and yet had dreaded as much because it meant the end,
- this moment which might, nevertheless, have meant much to them both
even though it were the end, she herself had spoiled! All its delicate
beauty changed to a sordid suspicion, it lay in ruins now because of her
thoughtless words. She dared not guess at what he must be thinking! For
a desperate second she considered flight. Then proudly she raised her
head. One more thing, at least, about her now he should learn!

"Did you know - ?" she began, then broke off irresolute.

Blair glanced at her and again their eyes met. This time he did not
smile.

"Know what?" he asked.

She laughed with embarrassment.

"It really isn't of any interest to you, but - " and again she paused.

"Suppose you let me be the judge of that," he suggested stiffly. "You're
making me horribly curious, you know. You can't very well drop the
subject now." He was evidently making an effort at pleasantry.

She flushed brightly.

"Of course it couldn't be of the slightest importance to anyone except
myself," she explained. Then, as if doubting her courage to continue
long, she hurried on, "but one reason I take such an interest in - your
work is because I'm a direct descendant of Lord Harold myself. He became
the Duke of Norfolk afterward, you know, but Hastings was always the
family name." She flashed him a haughty glance, a pride that changed to
wideeyed surprise as she noted his amazement.

"Not really?" He had turned abruptly and in his eyes there was a curious
expression, almost of alarm. "How extraordinary, - how perfectly
extraordinary!"

"Why extraordinary?" That her cup of humiliation might brim to the full,
resentment was added to confusion. "You consider me unworthy, then, of
having had nobility among my ancestry? But, just the same, there was
nothing strange about it. The colonies were chiefly English, you
remember!" He smiled at her sarcasm. "The duke married one of
Elizabeth's ladies-in-waiting after he went home and there was a younger
son, and he had a younger son, and after a long time one of them came
over to Virginia just like anybody else. They have always been good,
loyal, highly respected American citizens," she told him fiercely, "and
I'm proud of them! Besides - " with reckless emphasis, "I've always felt
so sorry for Wildenai."

But at this point, quite incomprehensibly, Blair broke into peals of
laughter.

"And by and by, after a long, long time, one of these good, loyal,
American citizens that we're both so proud of had a hot-tempered, most
disloyal little daughter who intends to show her employer his proper
place before she dismisses him! But why are you sorry for Wildenai?"

With mischievous eyes he searched her face.

She flushed, then, looking squarely at him, "Because she was impulsive
like me, and just for that reason Lord Harold ran away and left her,"
she said. "He's the only one of them I never had any use for."

Blair wandered the length of the cavern and back before he replied.

"You think him a coward, I suppose." He still looked as though he wanted
to laugh, yet something in his tone seared her outraged pride. He might
as well have touched an iron to quivering flesh. "You ought to remember,
however, - I mean every woman ought to remember, - that when a girl lets
a man know that she cares for him she generally forfeits, then and
there, whatever interest she may have had for him. Wildenai risked too
much. Of course, in her case there was some excuse. She was only an
untrained barbarian. But, under ordinary circumstances, I tell you
there's nothing a man despises so much!"

What was done or said after that Miss Hastings never could have told.
She was possessed of but one desire, - to get away, to go back to the
hotel, - home, anywhere beyond the reach of his voice and his eyes. For
the moment she hated him, and although Blair, conscience smitten at he
knew not what, waited in the lobby a full hour before going in to
dinner, she did not come down.

Up in her room, mechanically brushing her hair for the night, Miss
Hastings stormily addressed the girl in the glass who stared so
scornfully back at her.

"I tell you I don't care a thing about it! He probably thought he was
justified in every word he said. He's probably smiling this very minute
because he thinks he managed it so well! But he's a coward just the
same, and I despise him, - I do despise him!" Her eyes brimming with
tears, she fiercely repeated the word. "Well, he'll soon find out how
much I really meant!"

Over and over she re-lived the short scene, - all of its humiliation,
all of its hurt, seeking at every turn solace for her woman's pride.

"Naturally I wanted to help him all I could, to appear, at least, to be
interested, especially when he was paying so much for it! It was only a
business arrangement anyway," she continued bitterly, "nothing but
business from start to finish, and if he doesn't know that yet, he'll
find it out the very first thing tomorrow morning!"

And having tumbled into bed she lay staring into the dark, planning the
details of a campaign warranted either to cure or kill the enemy.
Outside, a mocking bird, perched provokingly near her window, kept the
night ringing with music. Resolutely she closed her ears to his song.
But presently, through the faint fragrance of oleanders, other sounds
began to penetrate, - the strains of the waltz to which they had danced
only the night before. The little art teacher turned wearily over and
cried herself to sleep.

On the morning which followed she rose very early, however, much too
early to breakfast with Blair at the little table in the sunny corner.
Instead, she ordered some coffee and toast at Jim's Waffle Shop in the
village and was hard at work sketching on the wharf before eight
o'clock. She had suddenly remembered a promise to sketch Capt. Warren's
dog holding the gaff, a feat of which both Pal and his master were
justifiably proud. Indeed, so long had the arrangement been made and so
entirely had it been neglected, that no one was more surprised than the
Captain himself at her unexpected appearance.

"But Pal and me ought to be at the Tuna Club in fifteen minutes, to take
a party o' members out fishin'," he demurred. "You can't paint Pal in no
quarter of an hour!"

"I'm sorry to have had to put it off so long," replied Miss Hastings
crisply, "but I'm planning to go home in a few days now, - this
afternoon probably. It's the only chance I shall have." And she prepared
to make good the belated promise with such determination that, after a
wistful glance or two across the slapping white caps, the old skipper
meekly succumbed.

It was here Blair found her an hour or so later. Unceremoniously he
placed himself in front of her, his hands in his pockets, and gave vent
to a low whistle.

"Well, of all the - !"

"Oh, is it you, Mr. Blair?" she inquired in cool, sweet tones. "I
thought most probably you'd gone! Didn't you say yesterday you intended
to as soon as you'd seen the cavern?" Then, after a pause during which
Blair said nothing, "I've been getting dreadfully behind with my own
work, so I thought, if you didn't mind, I'd try to catch up a little
this morning."

"Certainly not. Take all the time you want! We've about finished anyway,
I guess." His coolness matched her own.

Another silence during which she painted furiously.

"I'm making a sketch of Pal holding the gaff," she ventured at length
when the strain had become too uncomfortable.

"So I see."

This second tentative effort at conversation having flickered and gone
out she bent again to her work, while Blair remained, looking down at
her, in his eyes mingled amusement and resentment. What had he done, he
wondered, to account for such a change? Or, perhaps, it was something he
had not done. He tried again.

"Aren't we going for our ride this morning? It's a glorious day, and I
have the refusal of the two best horses."

"No, I think not, - not this morning, thank you," she answered. In her
voice was the same crisp sweetness. "I haven't time!"

With a shrug of pure bewilderment he backed away, then lingered a moment
longer to watch the sketch take shape beneath her hurrying brush. That
was the particular moment Miss Hastings chose for the final reckless
stab.

"You're standing in my light," she said. "If you'd just as soon, please
do go away, Mr. Blair. It makes me nervous to have people looking over
my shoulder when I'm trying to paint."

This was just a trifle more than Blair at the moment was prepared to
stand. His eyes grew dark.

"Certainly," he replied icily. "So sorry to have bothered you at all. I
only came down to tell you that I've decided to leave today. There's
nothing more to keep me now, I think, and I'm rather anxious to get
home. You'll find your check at the desk." And he sauntered away.

She did not go back to the hotel for luncheon. She had finished her
sketch, yet, somehow, when the time came, she discovered that it would
be quite impossible to enter the dining room. She found it equally
impossible to take the afternoon boat herself. Instead, having clambered
half way up the steep slope to the cavern, she watched from behind a
flaming riot of wild nasturtians while, preceded by a hotel porter
bearing bags and suit-cases, Blair boarded the Avalon for Los Angeles.
He was going away, then, without even a word of farewell.

The heart of the little art teacher turned cold within her, so cold that
she sank numbly into the red and gold tangle; nor did she look up again
until the steamer, dipping below the horizon, had left only a trail of
smoke to show where it disappeared. She had not believed that he would
do quite that!

When evening came she went stoically in to dinner. There was no reason
any longer for staying away. Sternly she kept her eyes from the vacant
place opposite. Yet somehow she could not persuade herself that he was
really gone. More than once she caught herself watching the door, half
expecting to see him stroll in with apologies for tardiness and take his
empty chair. When again the orchestra drifted suddenly into the waltz to
which they had danced, she rose abruptly and left the room.

Well, she would go herself in the morning. She would settle everything
and pack her things at once. She went to the desk to ask for the check.
But there was nothing for her. No, the clerk assured her after much
fumbling, Mr. Blair hadn't left anything, either in her box or his own.
But, - the man stole a covert glance at her downcast face, - he was
still holding his rooms. Probably he meant to attend to it when he
returned.

That he might not see the wild joy that leaped to her eyes, Miss
Hastings turned with startling suddenness and fled upstairs. Safe in her
own room she flung herself with tears and laughter on the bed. So that
was the hand he was playing, was it? - the dear, wicked, unmanageable - !
Of course he would have to be punished, - well punished! but - she
laughed aloud for pure joy - the world was a radiant place once more,
and nothing of any sort really mattered, because he was coming back.

But the next day went by, and the next, and he had not come. Day after
day passed in an empty procession, yet no one of them brought that for
which she waited. And there was nothing else to do. Work was out of the
question. She could not sit still long enough. It became, instead, her
sole occupation to linger each morning and afternoon on the verandah
until the steamer from Los Angeles had rounded the point and crossed the
bay in front of the hotel. Then, hidden behind the palms she would watch
until the last straggling tourist had left the pier. But still he did
not come.

Doubt in every tormenting guise assailed her. Perhaps he had changed his
mind and decided later not to return. Yet the clerk had said he meant to
come back! Perhaps her check, sent by mail, was even now in her box. But
she had not the courage to go again to the desk. Driven by alternate
hope and fear she lost color, and she could not sleep. During seven
miserable nights she planned to go back to Pasadena by the morning boat,
and as many times she put it off. Yet, if he did return to find her
waiting, what, then, would she have given him the right to think? But,
on the other hand, if she went she might never see him again!

On the eighth day she took herself grimly in hand. No longer would she
humiliate herself by any further delay. Wildenai had not waited, and
even a school teacher can be as proud as an Indian princess! That very
afternoon she would finish her sketch of the cavern. Then tomorrow she
would go back to Pasadena and the long gray round of work. Desolately
she wandered up the secret trail to Wildenai's bower. Never had her
sympathy for the deserted princess been so keen. Perhaps, she mournfully
considered, if the spirit of the Indian maiden still lingered there it
might feel sympathy for her as well. Perhaps she, too, would find
comfort in the spot where that other woman had paid an equal price for
her impulsiveness.

The shadows in the little cavern were dark and cool and, laying aside
her box of colors, for a long time she sat quite motionless, staring out
to where the gulls drifted and glinted against the blue. She heard after
a while the whistle of the approaching steamer but gave no heed. Lying
back against the moss she had almost dropped asleep when something in
the corner opposite attracted her attention. She sat up nervously and
stared into the shadows. Was it only that the darkness was deeper over
there, or was that really something propped against the wall? And had it
moved?

In the years that followed she never knew how long she sat there after
the stones had been lifted away, holding in her lap those shreds of torn
white doeskin. Still caught together, though in tatters, by long strings
of shells and beads, they shone, a ghostly film of white from out the
dimness. A breath, and the whole would have crumbled into dust. Yet the
beads, she noticed, were still perfect as when strung by slim brown
fingers centuries before. Only half believing it was not all of it a
dream, she lifted them strand after strand. Then, suddenly, she gave a
little cry. Somewhere from out the torn folds a slender chain had
slipped. Trembling with a curiosity that bordered close on terror, she
carried it to the light, and there it glowed, a glancing stream of
crimson, in her hand.

"Wildenai's necklace!" she breathed, and hid her face.

There came the sound of a step outside. The manzanita branches were
pushed impatiently aside and he stood before her.

The journey across the channel from Los Angeles had seemed twice as long
as when he made it a few weeks before, and he had hurried all the way
from the hotel straight to the little cavern. But now that he had found
her again, there seemed to be plenty of time for everything, and he
stood quite silent looking down at her. He was glad he had found her
there, glad, in a curious, unreasoning way, for the quiet of the late
afternoon, for the faint fragrance of the Mariposa lilies blooming just
beyond the ledge. Yet he let her know nothing of this in what he said.

"So here you are, after all! I thought I should find you here."

She had not heard him come and was startled into a cry.

"You!" she gasped, and lifted eyes in which the telltale signs of tears
were still quite evident, so evident that, with a woman's instinct to
hide them, she caught up the necklace and held it toward him.

"See what I've found!" she exclaimed.

But he paid no heed. Instead, manlike, he proceeded, quite
unconsciously, to say the one thing that could hurt her most.

"I looked for you at the hotel first, then I came on up here. I knew you
wouldn't go till I came!"

The color that had flooded her face at the sound of his voice faded
again. She was quite white as she asked quietly:

"How could you know I would stay?"

He laughed easily, settling himself confidently on the moss at her side.

"Because I hadn't paid you yet," he answered gaily. "Don't you think
that was clever of me, Wildenai?"

"I would rather you did not call me that," she told him coldly, "It
sounds irreverent." And she dropped her eyes, which had filled again
miserably, to the film of white in her lap. Then, with a pitiful attempt
to hurt him in return: "Of course you realize that I really don't know
much about you. I don't want you to think that I distrusted you exactly
- " she marvelled at herself that she could say such things to him, but
went recklessly on. "The check wasn't there, - and so, well, it seemed
wisest to wait. They said you were coming back, and I couldn't afford to
lose it; so I stayed. Just a matter of business, you see!" She finished
in a tone which, except for a suspicious tremble, was satisfactorily
disagreeable.

But Blair's armor, since his return, seemed proof against such thrusts
as she could give.

"Won't play Indian at all, then?" he retorted teasingly. "But of course
not! How could you when you happen to come from the other side of the
house? However," he continued whimsically, "there are such things as
English roses, you know. I've always loved them, too, even when they
were thorny!"

He pulled absently at a fern growing near, while, suddenly, for no
particular reason, the color glowed again in the cheeks of the little
art teacher. She smiled, half unwillingly.

"But don't pull up the wild flowers here," she warned him, "You'll have
the forester after you! When did you get back?" she added. "Where have
you been so long?" burned on her lips, but she scorned to ask it.

"About an hour ago," he replied amiably. "The boat was late."

"I was beginning to think you'd given up coming at all." She could not
keep it back. "The duke never bothered to, you know."

But this blow, like the first, failed to reach any vulnerable spot.
Blair did not flinch.

"No, naturally he didn't! He was English, and you can't depend upon the
English, I've discovered. But there's not the slightest reason for
linking me up with him. The princess never ran away now, did she? And I
- " He paused, then without looking at her he began again.

"Seriously, I'm sorry if I seemed to be deserting. I - well, honestly, I
didn't know what else to do. You suggested it yourself, you remember!
And I'd promised my father to look after some business for him in Los
Angeles while I was out here. You see, he - our family, have lived in
the East for a long time now, but we used to own pretty much all of Los
Angeles county some three centuries ago, when the Spanish were here, and
- " Again he broke off abruptly. "Do you want to know about me?" he
demanded.

Miss Hastings leaned breathlessly toward him. Her heart was beating
wildly.

"Oh, please!" she begged.

"Perhaps I should have told you at the first," he began, "or at least
after you told me who you were, but - anyway, I didn't. I'd never told
anyone before and I didn't much suppose I ever would. There's a reason,
though, why I'm particularly interested in this legend, too, a reason
just as good as you've got. I'm - well, I'm one of Wildenai's great,
great grandsons!"

And then, because she sat quite silent there in the shadows, and
motionless except for fingering something white that lay in her lap, he
waited uneasily. Was she angry again, he wondered, or perhaps she was
only laughing!

She was the first to break the silence.

"Are you trying to be funny?" Her voice was very cold.

"Not at all," he answered hotly. "It must be all of ten generations back
or even more, and of course it wasn't all Spanish afterward, but, just
the same, I'm as much a descendant of the princess as you are of the
duke, - always have been! I'm just as proud of it, too. Possibly you
will remember that the Spanish beat the English to it, at least in
California. Anyway," he finished bitterly, "what difference does it
make? So far as I can see, it only gives us one more good subject to
quarrel about!"

Then out of the dimness came a queer little sound, whether of tears or
of laughter it was impossible to know. For the least part of a second a
hand brushed his own.

"Oh, no!" she whispered, "Let's not do that. It wouldn't be right! And
see," she laughed tremulously, "Isn't it strange I should have found it
today, but," she lifted the white thing in her lap, "here is Wildenai's
wedding dress - and the chain of garnets!"

The cavern was quite dark before they had finished talking about it, but
at length they laid the poor little ghost of a garment reverently back
among the stones and rose to go.

"But the necklace?" Blair asked, hesitating, "do you think we ought to
leave that here?"

The girl considered a moment.

"It's really yours," she decided. "Nobody else could have the least
claim to it."

"Except - " Suddenly his eyes shone with a strange expression before
which the little art teacher instinctively shrank. He took a step toward
her.

"I believe I'll give the garnets back," he announced. "I fancy that's
what the princess would have liked to do if she'd had the chance.
Besides," his eyes grew still darker, "they were meant in the first
place for a wedding gift, and so if you - "

He would have clasped them about her neck, but Miss Hastings backed
frantically away.

"No! - not for worlds," she cried. "You know you're only saying it
because you think you can't get out of it!" And before he could realize
just what was happening, she was gone.

The boat for Los Angeles was unusually crowded that night. For either
this reason, or some other she would not acknowledge, Miss Hastings
found herself pushed aside by more impatient passengers every time she
attempted to enter the gangway.

"All aboard!" called a peremptory voice from somewhere on deck. She took
a step forward, hesitated, drew back. The plank was hauled irrevocably
away, and she turned to face Blair standing just behind her on the
wharf.

"I was sure you wouldn't run away," he declared, "but if you had - !"

She let him lead her back along the broad boardwalk toward the hotel
until they stood within the shadow of the huge boulder which for
centuries has marked the outer boundary of the Bay of Moons. Beyond them
the lights of the St. Catherine glimmered down the hill and on over the
water, rimming with golden bubbles the outlines of the pier.

"Wildenai!" Out of the darkness his voice came to her, mocking, tender,
wholly insistent. "Foolish, obstinate little lady! Can't you see how
it's up to you, - up to the English to make amends? Honestly now, when
he began it I don't imagine even that rascal Drake himself would have
believed a family scrap could last the better part of four centuries.
Don't you really think it's about time for you to call it off?"

And flinging her scruples to the winds, Miss Hastings suddenly decided
that it was.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THEIR MARIPOSA LEGEND ***

This file should be named marip10.txt or marip10.zip
Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, marip11.txt
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, marip10a.txt

Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.

Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.

Most people start at our Web sites at:
http://gutenberg.net or
http://promo.net/pg

These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).

Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.

http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04 or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext04

Or /etext03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90

Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.

Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)

We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.

The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.

Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):

eBooks Year Month

1 1971 July
10 1991 January
100 1994 January
1000 1997 August
1500 1998 October
2000 1999 December
2500 2000 December
3000 2001 November
4000 2001 October/November
6000 2002 December*
9000 2003 November*
10000 2004 January*

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.

We need your donations more than ever!

As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.

We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.

As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.

In answer to various questions we have received on this:

We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and
you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
just ask.

While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
donate.

International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.

Donations by check or money order may be sent to:

Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109

Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
method other than by check or money order.

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are
tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising
requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.

We need your donations more than ever!

You can get up to date donation information online at:

http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html

***

If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:

Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>

Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.

We would prefer to send you information by email.

**The Legal Small Print**

(Three Pages)

***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.

*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.

ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.

Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.

To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.

THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.

Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.

INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
or [3] any Defect.

DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:

[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this
requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however,
if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
including any form resulting from conversion by word
processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
*EITHER*:

[*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
does *not* contain characters other than those
intended by the author of the work, although tilde
(~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
be used to convey punctuation intended by the
author, and additional characters may be used to
indicate hypertext links; OR

[*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
the case, for instance, with most word processors);
OR

[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
or other equivalent proprietary form).

[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
"Small Print!" statement.

[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you
don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are
payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to
let us know your plans and to work out the details.

WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.

The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
hart@pobox.com

[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only
when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by
Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be
used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be
they hardware or software or any other related product without
express permission.]

*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END*