n, was
everywhere bringing out the fresh color of the flower-strewn terraces,
as the last night's shadows, which had hidden them, were slowly beaten
back. He cast a last look at the brown adobe quadrangle of the quiet
house, just touched with the bronzing of the sun, and then turned his
face towards the highway. As he passed the angle of the old garden he
hesitated, but, strong in his resolution, he put the recollection of
last night behind him, and rode by without raising his eyes.

"Clarence!"

It was HER voice. He wheeled his horse. She was standing behind the
grille in the old wall as he had seen her standing on the day he had
ridden to his rendezvous with Susy. A Spanish manta was thrown over her
head and shoulders, as if she had dressed hastily, and had run out to
intercept him while he was still in the stable. Her beautiful face was
pale in its black-hooded recess, and there were faint circles around her
lovely eyes.

"You were going without saying 'goodby'!" she said softly.

She passed her slim white hand between the grating. Clarence leaped to
the ground, caught it, and pressed it to his lips. But he did not let it
go.

"No! no!" she said, struggling to withdraw it. "It is better as it
is--as--as you have decided it to be. Only I could not let you go
thus,--without a word. There now,--go, Clarence, go. Please! Don't you
see I am behind these bars? Think of them as the years that separate
us, my poor, dear, foolish boy. Think of them as standing between us,
growing closer, heavier, and more cruel and hopeless as the years go
on."

Ah, well! they had been good bars a hundred and fifty years ago, when it
was thought as necessary to repress the innocence that was behind them
as the wickedness that was without. They had done duty in the convent
at Santa Inez, and the monastery of Santa Barbara, and had been brought
hither in Governor Micheltorrenas' time to keep the daughters of Robles
from the insidious contact of the outer world, when they took the air
in their cloistered pleasance. Guitars had tinkled against them in vain,
and they had withstood the stress and storm of love tokens. But, like
many other things which have had their day and time, they had retained
their semblance of power, even while rattling loosely in their sockets,
only because no one had ever thought of putting them to the test, and,
in the strong hand of Clarence, assisted, perhaps, by the leaning
figure of Mrs. Peyton, I grieve to say