creasing exaggeration: "No, it is YOU who
have forgotten the flag--forgotten your country, your people, your
manhood--everything for that high-toned, double-dyed old spy and
traitress! For while you are standing here, your wife is gathering under
her roof at Robles a gang of spies and traitors like herself--secession
leaders and their bloated, drunken 'chivalry'! Yes, you may smile your
superior smile, but I tell you, Clarence Brant, that with all your
smartness and book learning you know no more of what goes on around you
than a child. But others do! This conspiracy is known to the government,
the Federal officers have been warned; General Sumner has been sent out
here--and his first act was to change the command at Fort Alcatraz, and
send your wife's Southern friend--Captain Pinckney--to the right about!
Yes--everything is known but ONE thing, and that is WHERE and HOW this
precious crew meet! That I alone know, and that I've told you!"

"And I suppose," said Clarence, with an unchanged smile, "that this
valuable information came from your husband--my old friend, Jim Hooker?"

"No," she answered sharply, "it comes from Cencho--one of your own
peons--who is more true to you and the old Rancho than YOU have ever
been. He saw what was going on, and came to me, to warn you!"

"But why not to me directly?" asked Clarence, with affected incredulity.

"Ask him!" she said viciously. "Perhaps he didn't want to warn the
master against the mistress. Perhaps he thought WE are still friends.
Perhaps"--she hesitated with a lower voice and a forced smile--"perhaps
he used to see us together in the old times."

"Very likely," said Clarence quietly. "And for the sake of those old
times, Susy," he went on, with a singular gentleness that was quite
distinct from his paling face and set eyes, "I am going to forget all
that you have just said of me and mine, in all the old willfulness and
impatience that I see you still keep--with all your old prettiness." He
took his hat from the table and gravely held out his hand.

She was frightened for a moment with his impassive abstraction. In
the old days she had known it--had believed it was his dogged
"obstinacy"--but she knew the hopelessness of opposing it. Yet with
feminine persistency she again threw herself against it, as against a
wall.

"You don't believe me! Well, go and see for yourself. They are at Robles
NOW. If you catch the early morning stage at Santa Clara you will come
upo