d be able to skirt
the arid steppes of philosophy.

She told him that she had talked daily with Father Abella. "He will
say nothing to admit he is weakening, but I feel sure he has realized
not only that our marriage will be for the best interests of
California, but that to forbid it would wreck my life; and from this
responsibility he shrinks. I can see it in his kind, shrewd, perplexed
eyes, in the hesitating inflections of his voice, to say nothing of the
poor arguments he advances to mine. What of my father and mother?"

"They look troubled, almost ill, but nothing could exceed their
kindness to me, although they have pointedly given me no opportunity to
introduce the subject of our marriage again. The Governor makes no
sign that he knows of any aspiration of mine above corn, but he
informed me to-day that California is doomed to abandonment, that the
Indians are hopeless, that Spain will withdraw troops before she will
send others, and that the country will either revert to savagery or
fall a prey to the first enterprising outsider. As he was in
comparison cheerful before, I fancy he apprehends the irresistible
appeal of your father's surrender."

Concha nodded. "If my father yields he will see that you have
everything else that you wish. He may have advocated meeting your
wishes in other respects in order to leave you without excuse to
linger, but that argument is not strong enough for the Governor,
whereas if he made up his mind to accept you as a son he would throw
the whole force of his character and will into the scale; and when he
reaches that pitch he wins--with men. I must, must bring you good
fortune," she added anxiously. "Marriage with a little California
girl--are you sure it will not ruin your career?"

"I can think of nothing that would advantage it more. What are you
going to call me?"

"I cannot say Petrovich or Nicolai--my Spanish tongue rebels. I shall
call you Pedro. That is a very pretty name with us."

"My own harsh names suit my battered self rather better, but the more
Californian you are and remain the happier I shall be. When am I to
see your ears? Are they deformed, pointed and furry like a fawn's? Do
they stand out? Were all the women of California tattooed in some
Indian raid--"

Concha glanced about apprehensively, but not even Santiago was there to
see the dreadful deed. With a defiant sweep of her hands she lifted
both loops of hair, and two little ears, rosy e