e six weeks. Until your final decision I shall consider myself
bound to you. And, I repeat, I think it best that we should marry.
You have acted on impulse, and your mind and judgment were
constructed to work slowly. And God knows this is not a matter to
be decided in haste. I shall have sailed before even a telegram
from you could reach me. Don Roberto knows that I have thought more
than once of a trip to the Islands. Tell him when he returns that I
suddenly decided to go. J. T.

But Magdalena wanted no respite. It was her temper to die once rather
than a thousand times. Her father was in Sacramento on business. He
would return the following day. She was too dull and listless to feel
fear of him, but she wanted it over.

She wrote at once to Helena, enclosing Trennahan's letter: "I have made
up my mind, and that is the end of it. As far as I am concerned, he now
belongs to you. I shall speak to papa to-morrow night. Immediately after
I shall write to Mr. Trennahan, and that will put an end to my part in
the matter."

Helena ordered her devoted parent to take her to Southern California at
once. To pick up the old routine, to show herself daily and nightly in
the studied simulacrum of her former self, was no part of her code. She
felt she should tell every man that came near her that she hated him,
and the reason why. Nor was hers the temperament for suspense without
diversion. She could live through the next six weeks with change of
scene, but not otherwise. She made a full confession to her father and
received the severest reprimand of her life; but Colonel Belmont took
her to Southern California.

Magdalena went to a lunch-party on the day following Trennahan's
departure and paid calls during the afternoon. The small details
diverted her, and she found herself able to make conversation, despite
the sluggish current of misery beneath. She had told her mother of her
determination not to marry Trennahan; and although Mrs. Yorba had paced
the room in apprehension of her husband's wrath, she was secretly
pleased. A daughter, particularly one that gave no trouble, was
companionable and useful, and she saw no reason why she should be asked
to give her to any man for years to come. Although meagre, she was not
heartless, and was much relieved that Magdalena appeared indifferent to
the sudden break. She was dimly conscious that she did not understand
her daughter, but she had no desire to