The Splendid Idle Forties: Stories of Old California

where so promptly as to the great sala of Do?a Modeste Castro, their

ere richer than Pio Pico's, and upon all grand occasions a string of wonderful pearls gleamed in her storm-black hair. But one feminine compensation had Ysabel: she was taller

e women wore white, the waist long and pointed, the skirt full. Ysabel's gown was of embroidered crêpe. Her hair was coiled about her head, and held by a tortoise c

g the honour of the contradanza. She sighed, and for the moment forgot the Southerner who had flashed and gone like the beginning of a dream. Here was a man-the only man of her knowledge whom she could have loved, an

His hair and beard-the latter worn à la Basca, a narrow strip curving from upper lip to ear-were as black as Pio Pico's once had been. The handsomest man in California, he had less consciousness than the least o

sweet monotonous music of the contradanza, "did

s cheek. "Which one, comman

the races, Vicente, son of my old friend Juan

think I saw a

rom the corridor without, although the fog is heavy about

arms were like lazy snakes uncoiling; her exquisitely poised head moved in perfect concord with her undulating hips. Her eyes grew brighter, her lips redder

Castro led her to her due?a, and h

adoring face of Guido Caba?ares, who stood beside her, but saw every movement of the form beyond the window. Don Guido kept his ardent eyes riveted upon her but detected no wandering in her glances.

jumping nerves, turned quickly to Caba?ares, who had p

see that I am fit to set the world on fire for l

at her voice might not tremble. "Bring me my pearls. What

. I can pick the little shining pieces out with my fi

him, and was making a deep courtesy to

of your acquaintance,"

se?orita," sa

versation had not bee

l plied her large fan w

wondering if her heart

had the gi

The emotions I felt my poor tongue cannot translate. They swarm in my head like a hive of puzzled bees; but

rdless of the indignation of the mob of men about her. Ysabel, whose being was fil

tiful women, I said: 'She is the fairest of them all. I shall have her.' And I read the future in"-he suddenly dropped the formal "yo

ave been cut from marble. Her body had lost its swaying grace; it was al

This intruding Southerner was welcome to the honours of the race-field, but the

a regiment of Castros-which they are not." B

pital that the Se?orita Do?a Ysabel Herrera, La Favorita of Alta California, has sworn by the Holy Virgin, by the blessed Junipero Serra, that she will wed no man who d

De la Vega wa

he demanded, t

y. She had not listened to the

and, who has even won your love, must first hang you with pearls like-" He stopped suddenly, the blood burning his

him Ysabel was herself. She crossed her arms

eyes to his and regarded him steadily. They lo

the iron conventions of his race, closed the door behind them. They were in the sleeping-room of Do?a Modeste. The bed with its rich satin coverlet, the bare floor, the simple furniture, were in semi-darkness; only on the altar in the corner

s as no queen in Europe possesses. Swear to me here, with your hands on this altar

im with eyes of passionate surrender; the man had conquered worl

nd a terrible act. Furthermore, I wish to show you that I can succeed where all

r it,"

a harsh but caressing whisper, "giv

lips; but she had been brought up behind grated wi

n her shoulders and pressed her to her knees. He knelt behi

tter from an intimate friend, one of the younger Franciscan priests of the Mi

Indian divers discovered an extravagantly rich bed of pearls. Instead of reporting to any of the companies, they have hung them all upon our Most Sacred Lady of Loreto,