



Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover]




                                  THE

                           SAN ROSARIO RANCH


                                   BY
                               MAUD HOWE



                                 BOSTON
                            ROBERTS BROTHERS
                                  1884




                           _Copyright, 1884_,
                          BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.



                           University Press:
                    JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.




                                   TO
                           My Beloved Sister,
                           LAURA E. RICHARDS.




                           SAN ROSARIO RANCH.



                               CHAPTER I.

    "Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet,
    Scatter the blossoms under her feet!"


The house was a large square building, simple and hospitable in
appearance.  A wide veranda ran about the four sides, heavily draped by
climbing roses and clematis.  There were indisputable evidences that
visitors were expected. Old Tip, the dog, knew it as well as everybody
else about the house.  He had been routed out from his favorite spot on
the sunny side of the piazza, by Ah Lam, who had given him a shower-bath
of water and soap-suds, because he did not move away to make room for
the scrubbing-brush which the white-clad Celestial plied vigorously.
From earliest morning the inhabitants of the simple house had been
busied in making it ready.  The very kittens which played about the
steps of the piazza had licked an extra gloss upon their shining coats
in honor of the expected guest.  Only Tip, the old hunting-dog, the
spoiled child of the household, showed no interest in what was going on,
and with a cynical growl trotted off to the woods behind the house,
where he might sleep safe from all fear of interruption.

From the wide doorway, which stood hospitably open, stepped a lady.  At
the first sight of Barbara Deering, strangers were always strongly
impressed with the indisputable fact that she was above and before all
else a lady.  A second look,--and people were sure to take one,--and it
appeared that she was a young lady and a beautiful one.  She was tall,
above the height of ordinary women, and her carriage was remarkably
erect and commanding.  She walked with a quick, light step to the edge
of the piazza, and raising one hand to shade her eyes from the rays of
the setting sun, stood looking out across the wide garden.  Her figure
was like that of a Greek Diana, muscular and graceful, indicating great
strength and endurance.  The limbs were rounded but not languidly, as
one saw by the arm, from which the sleeve had slipped back: it was
white, firm, and hard.  Her hands were large and shapely, the tips of
the fingers red, and the texture of the skin showed that they were used
to other work than that of the broidery-frame.  Her head, with its crown
of pretty, curling flaxen hair, was habitually held rather high, and her
face wore an expression in which a certain natural hauteur and
imperiousness seemed at war with a gentleness which was more the result
of education than a natural trait.  The forehead was wide and unlined,
the eyes brown and clear, the nose straight, and the mouth small and
rosy.  The soft, white woollen gown, with its breast-knot of red roses,
suited the young woman perfectly; and as she stood in the sunset light,
a spray of climbing rose hanging overhead from the roof of the piazza,
she made an unconscious picture of grace and loveliness.

At the sound of a wagon on the driveway a warm flush mantled her cheek
and throat, and stepping to the door of the house she called out in a
sweet, high voice, "Mamma, mamma! they are coming!"

A moment later and a large open vehicle came into sight, drawn by two
swift mules, which were urged forward by the driver, a young man in
whose face the traits of the girl on the piazza were reproduced, but
somewhat roughly.  On the seat behind the driver was seen a female
figure closely enveloped in heavy travelling wraps, her features
concealed by a thick veil. As the mules stopped before the entrance, the
young woman on the piazza came forward with both hands outstretched,
saying cordially but half shyly,--

"Dear Millicent, welcome to San Rosario! Are you very, very tired?  Let
me help you out."

So saying, Barbara Deering almost lifted the new arrival from the wagon,
and with her strong arm supported her to a chair.

"Thank you so much!" said the new-comer, speaking with a slightly
foreign accent, and lifting her veil; "and you are Barbara?  I know you
from your picture, only you are much prettier."

"Poor child, you must be terribly tired; you shall come and speak to
mamma, and then you must go directly to your room and lie down. Hal, you
will go down for Millicent's luggage?"

The young man nodded an assent, touched up his steeds, and the wagon
disappeared down the red dusty road.  The two young girls entered the
house, Barbara leading the stranger to a large room on the upper story.
In a low chair sat a small woman, with a face which must have once been
beautiful, and which now shone with an expression of simple sincerity
and kindliness. She held out her hand to Millicent, kissed her on both
cheeks, and warmly bade her welcome to San Rosario.  Millicent Almsford
acknowledged the greeting with a courteous grace, and immediately after
accepted Barbara's offer to show her to her room.

When the door was shut upon her, and she was for the first time in many
days alone, she seated herself at the window, and leaning her head upon
her hand, remained wrapped in thought.  She had travelled from the coast
of the Adriatic Sea to the shores of the Pacific Ocean, with no
companion save her maid and her own painful thoughts.  And now the long
journeying was at an end, and she found herself in the far West, in
California, amidst her kindred, all strangers to her save by tradition
and some slight correspondence.  She looked about the strange room.  It