already green
with the early winter rains, and nestled in a thicket of the harlequin
painted trees that gave it a name. The young man was a little relieved
to find that Rosey had gone to the post-office a mile away, and that he
would probably overtake her or meet her returning--alone. The
road--little more than a trail--wound along the crest of the hill
looking across the canada to the long, dark, heavily-wooded flank of
Mount Tamalpais that rose from the valley a dozen miles away. A
cessation of the warm rain, a rift in the sky, and the rare spectacle
of cloud scenery, combined with a certain sense of freedom, restored
that lighthearted gayety that became him most. At a sudden turn of the
road he caught sight of Rosey's figure coming towards him, and
quickened his step with the impulsiveness of a boy. But she suddenly
disappeared, and when he again saw her she was on the other side of the
trail apparently picking the leaves of a manzanita. She had already
seen him.

Somehow the frankness of his greeting was checked. She looked up at
him with cheeks that retained enough of their color to suggest why she
had hesitated, and said, "YOU here, Mr. Renshaw? I thought you were in
Sacramento."

"And I thought YOU were in Petaluma," he retorted gayly. "I have a
letter from your father. The fact is, one of those gentlemen who has
been haunting the ship actually made an entry last night. Who he was,
and what he came for, nobody knows. Perhaps your father gives you his
suspicions." He could not help looking at her narrowly as he handed
her the note. Except that her pretty eyebrows were slightly raised in
curiosity she seemed undisturbed as she opened the letter. Presently
she raised her eyes to his.

"Is this all father gave you?"

"All."

"You're sure you haven't dropped anything?"

"Nothing. I have given you all he gave me."

"And that is all it is." She exhibited the missive, a perfectly blank
sheet of paper folded like a note!

Renshaw felt the angry blood glow in his cheeks. "This is
unpardonable! I assure you, Miss Nott, there must be some mistake. He
himself has probably forgotten the inclosure," he continued, yet with
an inward conviction that the act was perfectly premeditated on the
part of the old man.

The young girl held out her hand frankly. "Don't think any more of it,
Mr. Renshaw. Father is forgetful at times. But tell me about last
night."

In a few words Mr. Renshaw briefly but