at I don't believe."

"Impossible! Think of what you are saying."

"I never could quite understand or feel that he was dead when everybody
said so, and now that I've heard this story I KNOW that he is living."

"But why did he not make himself known in time to claim the property?"

"Because he did not care for it."

"What did he care for, then?"

"Me, I suppose."

"But this calumny is not like a man who loves you."

"It is like a JEALOUS one."

With an effort Harcourt threw off his bewildered incredulity and grasped
the situation. He would have to contend with his enemy in the flesh and
blood, but that flesh and blood would be very weak in the hands of the
impassive girl beside him. His face lightened.

The same idea might have been in Clementina's mind when she spoke again,
although her face had remained unchanged. "I do not see why YOU should
bother yourself further about it," she said. "It is only a matter
between myself and him; you can leave it to me."

"But if you are mistaken and he should not be living?"

"I am not mistaken. I am even certain now that I have seen him."

"Seen him!"

"Yes," said the girl with the first trace of animation in her face.
"It was four or five months ago when we were visiting the Briones at
Monterey. We had ridden out to the old Mission by moonlight. There were
some Mexicans lounging around the posada, and one of them attracted my
attention by the way he seemed to watch me, without revealing any more
of his face than I could see between his serape and the black silk
handkerchief that was tied around his head under his sombrero. But I
knew he was an American--and his eyes were familiar. I believe it was
he."

"Why did you not speak of it before?"

The look of animation died out of the girl's face. "Why should I?" she
said listlessly. "I did not know of these reports then. He was nothing
more to us. You wouldn't have cared to see him again." She rose,
smoothed out her skirt and stood looking at her father. "There is one
thing, of course, that you'll do at once."

Her voice had changed so oddly that he said quickly: "What's that?"

"Call Grant off the scent. He'll only frighten or exasperate your game,
and that's what you don't want."

Her voice was as imperious as it had been previously listless. And it
was the first time he had ever known her to use slang.

It seemed as startling as if it had fallen from the marble lips above
him.

"But I've promised him that