little story--maybe?"

"I'm in no mood for stories, and you're talking in riddles as you've
always been fond of doing. Say what you mean at once, Antonio, for I'm
going home to-morrow. Home! going home!"

"Ah! me! And? But yes. I will. I will force myself. I will ask it.
That--that--title? Know you of that?"

"How should I know?"

"Ephraim. Was not Ephraim at the safe one midnight? Is not Ephraim a
little strange--here?" touching his own forehead.

Jessica turned away, indignant.

"No, but you are. The queerest, crookedest man I ever saw. If you've
anything to tell me, just be quick, I am going. As for Ephraim, I wish,
unhappy man, that you had half the goodness and honesty in your whole
body that dear old fellow has in his littlest finger. He couldn't do a
mean thing nor even think one, and if you sent for me to abuse him to me
you might have spared yourself the trouble."

"Well, then. It is known, is it not? That when I shook the dust of
Sobrante rancho from my feet I took away with me all the papers that
appertained to the so great business of the place? Why not? Was I not
to go back the master, and for the settlement of all affairs which I
had with the Dona Gabriella?"

"You will please never call my mother by her first name again, Antonio
Bernal. She is an American gentlewoman, and her title is Mrs. Trent.
Understand? She is not afraid of you, nor am I, though she was patient
and, for her children's sakes, would not quarrel nor resent your
insolence. All that is changed. You can do us no further harm. My
father's name is freed from all the shadow that your wickedness cast
over it, and as for titles to property--poor! None of the Trents, big
or little, care anything for property since we have regained honor!
Besides, Sobrante isn't the only home in the world. They are everywhere,
waiting for those who will take them. If we lose Sobrante, as I suppose
we may, I--just I, Jessica Trent, a child, will make a home for my
mother and my brother--somewhere. I am strong. I can work. I am not
at all afraid."

Despite his meanness and cupidity, Antonio was moved. The girl was
radiant in her courage and enthusiasm, and her disdain of what he could
make her suffer was infinite.

"Good, senorita. When you speak and look like that I can no longer
keep silence, I. The papers! It is possible, no? That among them, in
my so great haste at leaving Sobrante, that little, yes, it might--it
might be among those other papers a