ey do not design to stay there. The ride has _been_ too short,
the sweet moments have flown quickly; and the summit of a high hill,
seen far beyond, induces them to continue the excursion.

They only stop to give a glance at the old monastery, where Spanish
monks once lorded it over their copper-skinned neophytes; at the church,
where erst ascended incense, and prayers were pattered in the ears of
the aborigines--by them ill understood.

A moment spent in the cemetery, where Carmen points out the tomb
enclosing the remains of her mother, dropping a tear upon it--perhaps
forced from her by the reflection that soon she will be far from that
sacred spot--it may be, never to revisit it!

Away from it now; and on to that hill from which they can descry the
Pacific!

In another hour they have reined up on its summit, and behold the great
South Sea, stretching to far horizon's verge, to the limit of their
vision. Before them all is bright and beautiful. Only some specks in
the dim distance--the lone isles of the Farrallones. More northerly,
and nearer, the "Seal" rocks and that called _Campana_--from its arcade
hollowed out by the wash of waves, giving it a resemblance to the belfry
of a church. Nearer still, below a belt of pebbly beach, a long line of
breakers, foam-crested, and backed by a broad reach of sand-dunes--there
termed _medanos_.

Seated in the saddle, the excursionists contemplate this superb
panorama. The four are now together, but soon again separate into
pairs, as they have been riding along the road. Somehow or other, their
horses have thus disposed themselves: that ridden by Crozier having
drawn off with the one carrying Carmen; while the steed so ill-managed
by Cadwallader has elected to range itself alongside that of Inez.

Perhaps the pairing has not been altogether accidental. Whether or no,
it is done; and the conversation, hitherto general, is reduced to the
simplicity of dialogue.

To report it correctly, it is necessary to take the pairs apart, giving
priority to those who by their years have the right to it.

Crozier, looking abroad over the ocean, says--

"I shall ere long be upon it." He accompanies the speech with a sigh.

"And I, too," rejoins Carmen, in a tone, and with accompaniment,
singularly similar.

"How soon do you think of leaving California?" queries the young
officer.

"Oh, very soon! My father is already making arrangements, and hopes
being able to set sail i