anied by his daughter, Senorita Refugio, would
without fail be waiting for Miss Carmody when her train reached Cordoba
and would see her safely into the hands of her friends. Honor said
good-by reluctantly to the family of Menendez y Garcia; the beautiful
little father kissed her hand and the grave mother gave her a blessing
and Mariquita embraced her passionately and kissed her on both cheeks
and produced several entirely genuine tears. She saw them greeted by a
flock of relatives and friends on the platform but they waved devotedly
to her as long as she could see them. Then she had a quiet and solitary
day and in the silence the old anxieties thrust out their heads again,
but she drove them sturdily back, forcing herself to pay attention to
the picture slipping by the car window,--the lovely languid _tierra
caliente_ which was coming to meet her. The old _Profesor_ and his
daughter were waiting for her; shy, kindly, earnest, less traveled than
the Menendez', with a covered carriage which looked as if it might be a
relic of the days of Maximilian. Conversation drowsed on the long drive
to the Kings' coffee plantation; the Senorita spoke no English and
Honor's High School Spanish got itself annoyingly mixed with Italian,
and the old gentleman, after minute inquiries as to her journey and the
state of health of his cherished friend, Senor Felipe Hilario Menendez
y Garcia, sank into placid thought. It was a ridiculous day for winter,
even to a Southern Californian, and the tiny villages through which they
passed looked like gay and shabby stage settings.

The _Profesor_ roused at last. "We arrive, Senorita," he announced, with
a wave of his hand. They turned in at a tall gateway of lacy ironwork
and Honor's heart leaped--"_El Pozo_." Richard King.

"The name is given because of the old well," the Mexican explained. "It
is very ancient, very deep--without bottom, the _peons_ believe." They
drew up before a charming house of creamy pink plaster and red tiles,
rioted over by flowering vines. "I wait but to make sure that Senor or
Senora King is at home." A soft-eyed Mexican woman came to the door and
smiled at them, and there was a rapid exchange of liquid sentence. "They
are both at home, Senorita. We bid you farewell."

The servant, wide-eyed and curious, had come at his command to take
Honor's bags.

"Oh--but--surely you'll wait? Won't you come in and rest? It was such a
long, warm drive, and you must be tired."

He