"We'll go to my room," said her mother leading the way.
Mary Lee held the letter a few moments before breaking it open, then she said suddenly: "Suppose you read it to me, mother."
Mrs. Corner settled herself by the window and Mary Lee leaned on the back of her chair.
"Dear Miss Mary," the letter began, "this is my farewell to you. I'm not going to live long, the doctor says, so I'll write this while I can, and I'll get Jim Sanders to give it to you after I'm gone, then I'll not be breaking the word I gave to one over twenty years ago. You asked me about that Miss Garcia, and now that all are dead and gone who would care, in my judgment it isn't fair to keep some things secret. Her Aunt Dolores Garcia was a good friend to me. She was my wife's cousin and helped me in a time of great trouble. I promised her then that while I lived I'd not tell all I knew about the family affairs. Dolores Garcia's sister married a young American. Her father hated all Americans, because he was a proud Spaniard and because he thought one of them had cheated him and his brother out of their property. When his daughter married a young fellow whose people wouldn't acknowledge her——"
"Mother!" cried Mary Lee.
"What is it, daughter?"
"Never mind, go on," said Mary Lee breathlessly. "Go on, quick, please."
"Where was I? Oh yes: whose people wouldn't acknowledge her the old don was cut to the quick and vowed they should never know his daughter's child to teach her to despise her family. He was very proud of his Spanish blood and he made every member of his family swear not to tell the child's name, or to let her father's family know of her. The baby's father died before she was born and its mother soon after. It nearly broke the old man's heart, but he loved that baby as much as he hated her father's people who were not to have the chance to acknowledge her because they refused to accept the mother."
"Oh, oh," whispered Mary Lee, "doesn't it tell the father's name? Oh, mother!"
"So now I am keeping my word," Mrs. Corner went on, "and while I live the secret will not be told, but I think Elvira would want it known and I am sure John Pinckney would want his daughter to have people of her own and not have to be making her living when she needn't to. So there, Miss Mary, I've told you. John Pinckney was from New York, Jack they called him. He and Elvira were married in Mexico but he is buried at Santa Barbara where he died. Good-bye, Miss Mary, and thank you for coming into my life. I hope the good Master will let me see my wife and baby in another world.