ting them."

He turned away a little impatiently. Fortunately he did not observe that
Clarence's averted face was crimson with embarrassment, and that a faint
smile hovered nervously about his mouth.

Since his late rendezvous with Susy, Clarence had had no chance to
interrogate her further regarding her mysterious relative. That that
shadowy presence was more or less exaggerated, if not an absolute myth,
he more than half suspected, but of the discontent that had produced it,
or the recklessness it might provoke, there was no doubt. She might be
tempted to some act of folly. He wondered if Mary Rogers knew it. Yet,
with his sensitive ideas of loyalty, he would have shrunk from any
confidence with Mary regarding her friend's secrets, although he
fancied that Mary's dark eyes sometimes dwelt upon him with mournful
consciousness and premonition. He did not imagine the truth, that this
romantic contemplation was only the result of Mary's conviction that
Susy was utterly unworthy of his love. It so chanced one morning that
the vacquero who brought the post from Santa Inez arrived earlier than
usual, and so anticipated the two girls, who usually made a youthful
point of meeting him first as he passed the garden wall. The letter bag
was consequently delivered to Mrs. Peyton in the presence of the others,
and a look of consternation passed between the young girls. But
Mary quickly seized upon the bag as if with girlish and mischievous
impatience, opened it, and glanced within it.

"There are only three letters for you," she said, handing them to
Clarence, with a quick look of significance, which he failed to
comprehend, "and nothing for me or Susy."

"But," began the innocent Clarence, as his first glance at the letters
showed him that one was directed to Susy, "here is"--

A wicked pinch on his arm that was nearest Mary stopped his speech, and
he quickly put the letters in his pocket.

"Didn't you understand that Susy don't want her mother to see that
letter?" asked Mary impatiently, when they were alone a moment later.

"No," said Clarence simply, handing her the missive.

Mary took it and turned it over in her hands.

"It's in a man's handwriting," she said innocently.

"I hadn't noticed it," returned Clarence with invincible naivete, "but
perhaps it is."

"And you hand it over for me to give to Susy, and ain't a bit curious to
know who it's from?"

"No," returned Clarence, opening his big eyes in smiling and