ich she inclosed and readdressed, and gave to her husband. The
recurrence of this incident apparently struck a bright idea from the
simple Zephas.

"Look here, Mollie, why don't you come YOURSELF and see your aunt. I
can't go into port without a license, and them port charges cost a heap
o' red tape, for they've got a Filibuster scare on down there just
now, but you can go ashore in the boat and I'll get permission from the
Secretary to stand off and wait for you there for twenty-four hours."
Mrs. Bunker flushed and paled at the thought. She could see him! The
letter would be sufficient excuse, the distrust suggested by her husband
would give color to her delivering it in person. There was perhaps a
brief twinge of conscience in taking this advantage of Zephas' kindness,
but the next moment, with that peculiar logic known only to the sex, she
made the unfortunate man's suggestion a condonation of her deceit. SHE
hadn't asked to go; HE had offered to take her. He had only himself to
thank.

Meantime the political excitement in which she had become a partisan
without understanding or even conviction, presently culminated with the
Presidential campaign and the election of Abraham Lincoln. The intrigues
of Southern statesmen were revealed in open expression, and echoed in
California by those citizens of Southern birth and extraction who
had long, held place, power, and opinion there. There were rumors
of secession, of California joining the South, or of her founding an
independent Pacific Empire. A note from "J. E. Kirby" informed Mrs.
Bunker that she was to carefully retain any correspondence that might be
in her hands until further orders, almost at the same time that Zephas
as regretfully told her that his projected Southern trip had been
suspended. Mrs. Bunker was disappointed, and yet, in some singular
conditions of her feelings, felt relieved that her meeting with Marion
was postponed. It is to be feared that some dim conviction, unworthy
a partisan, that in the magnitude of political events her own petty
personality might be overlooked by her hero tended somewhat to her
resignation.

Meanwhile the seasons had changed. The winter rains had set in; the
trade winds had shifted to the southeast, and the cottage, although
strengthened, enlarged, and made more comfortable through the good
fortunes of the Bunkers, was no longer sheltered by the cliff, but
was exposed to the full strength of the Pacific gales. There were