es a little liberty.

"Well, it _may_ be best," she said, pursing her mouth as if she tasted the
bitter of some half-suspected and disagreeable future. "I don't know. I
won't undertake positively to decide. But, if you do go," and here she
became authentic and despotic--"if you do go, I shall go with you and see
you safe there."

"Oh! _will_ you?" exclaimed Clara, all Spanish and all emotion in an
instant. "How sweet and good and beautiful of you! You are my guardian
angel. Do you know? I thought you would offer to go. I said to myself, She
came on to Santa Fe for my sake, and she will go to California. But oh, it
is too much for me to ask. How shall I ever pay you?"

"I will pay myself," returned Aunt Maria. "I have plans for California."

It was as if she had said, "Go to, we will make California in our own
image."

The young lady was satisfied. Her strong-minded relative was a mighty
mystery to her, just as men were mighty mysteries. Whatever she or they
said could be done and should be done, why of course it would be done, and
that shortly.

By the time that Aunt Maria had announced her decision, another visitor
was on the point of entrance. Carlos Maria Munoz Garcia de Coronado was a
nephew of Manuel Garcia, who was a cousin of Clara's grandfather; only, as
Garcia was merely his uncle by marriage, Coronado and Clara were not
related by blood, though calling each other cousin. He was a man of medium
stature, slender in build, agile and graceful in movement, complexion very
dark, features high and aristocratic, short black hair and small black
moustache, eyes black also, but veiled and dusky. He was about
twenty-eight, but he seemed at least four years older, partly because of a
deep wrinkle which slashed down each cheek, and partly because he was so
perfectly self-possessed and elaborately courteous. His intellect was
apparently as alert and adroit as his physical action. A few words from
Clara enabled him to seize the situation.

"Go at once," he decided without a moment's hesitation. "My dear cousin,
it will be the happy turning point of your fortunes. I fancy you already
inheriting the hoards, city lots, haciendas, mines, and cattle of our
excellent relative Munoz--long may he live to enjoy them! Certainly. Don't
whisper an objection. Munoz owes you that reparation. His conduct has
been--we will not describe it--we will hope that he means to make amends
for it. Unquestionably he will. My dear cousin, nothi