ting
here, tried to blackmail and ruin me," said Blandford, with a sudden
expression of hatred that seemed inconsistent with anything that Ezekiel
had ever known of his old master's character--"a scoundrel who tried to
break up my new life as another had broken up the old." He stopped and
recovered himself with a short laugh. "Well, Ezekiel, I don't know as
his opinion of me was any worse than yours or HERS. And until I catch
HIM to clear my name again, I let the other slanderers go."

"Wa'al, I reckon you might lay hands on that devil yet, and not far
away, either. I was up at Demorest's to-day, and I heard Joan and a
skittish sort o' Mexican young lady talkin' about some tramp that had
frightened her. And Miss Pico said--"

"What! Who did you say?" demanded Blandford, with a violent start.

"Wa'al, I reckoned I heerd the first name too--Rosita."

A quick flush crossed Blandford's face, and left it glowing like a
boy's.

"Is SHE there?"

"Wa'al, I reckon she's visitin' Joan," said Ezekiel, narrowly attentive
of Blandford's strange excitement; "but wot of it?"

But Blandford had utterly forgotten Ezekiel's presence. He had
remained speechless and flushed. And then, as if suddenly dazzled by an
inspiration, he abruptly dashed from the room. Ezekiel heard him call to
his passive host with a Spanish oath, but before he could follow, they
had both hurriedly left the house.

Ezekiel glanced around him and contemplatively ran his fingers through
his beard. "It ain't Joan Salisbury nor Dick Demorest ez giv' him that
start! Humph! Wa'al--I wanter know!"

CHAPTER IV

Mrs. Demorest was so fascinated by the company of Dona Rosita Pico and
her romantic memories, that she prevailed upon that heart-broken but
scarcely attenuated young lady to prolong her visit beyond the fortnight
she had allotted to communion with the past. For a day or two following
her singular experience in the garden, Mrs. Demorest plied her with
questions regarding the apparition she had seen, and finally extorted
from her the admission that she could not positively swear to its being
the real Johnson, or even a perfectly consistent shade of that faithless
man. When Joan pointed out to her that such masculine perfections
as curling raven locks, long silken mustachios, and dark eyes, were
attributes by no means exclusive to her lover, but were occasionally
seen among other less favored and even equally dangerous Americans, Dona
Rosita assent