absence, untied a small buckskin bag which depended from the
pommel of his saddle, and, remarking, "I thought you might need some
spending-money, Violante," held up the bag containing gold, containing
a hundred times more gold than her simple tastes and restricted
opportunities would permit her to employ. But was not her Robert the
most generous of men? Other eyes than hers saw it--those of Basilio
Velasco, one of the vaqueros; a small, swarthy man, with the blackest
and sharpest of eyes, in which just then was a strange glitter.

What a handsome couple were the young husband and wife, as, arm-in-arm,
they entered the house--he so large, and red, and masculine; she so
dark, and reliant, and feminine! Beautiful Spanish girls were plentiful
in those youthful days of California; but Violante had been known as
the most beautiful of all the maidens between the Santa Barbara Channel
and the Bay of Monterey. Hard-headed and fiery-tempered Scotch
Presbyterian; gentle, patient, and faithful Catholic; they were the
happiest and most devoted of couples.

"Well, little Violante," he said, "take the bag up to your room, and
give us dinner; for before we rest we must ride over to the range and
look after the cattle, and after that you and I shall have a good, long
visit."

These pleasant duties were quickly dispatched, and the dusty men, led
by her husband, galloped away. From the open window of her room she saw
the receding cloud of dust, wondering at that urgent sense of duty
which could make so fond a husband leave her, even though for a short
time, after so long a separation. Thus she sat, dreamily thinking of
her great happiness in having him once again at home, and drinking in
the rich perfume of the racemes of wistaria-blossoms which covered the
massive vine against the house. This old vine, springing from the
ground beneath the window at which she sat, spread its long arms almost
completely over that part of the wall, divided on either side for the
window, and hung gracefully from beneath the eaves, embowering their
lovely owner in a tangled mass of purple blossoms. It was an exquisite
picture--the pretty wife sitting there, in the whitest of lawns,
looking out over the hills from this frame of gorgeous flowers--all the
more charming from her unconsciousness of its beauty. Behind her, at
the opposite side of the room, sat her maid, Alice, sewing in silence.

As the senora looked dreamily over the hills, she became aware of