Even the sorrow of losing Sutro had taken on a softer aspect when, after his first night’s absence, Steenie learned from Judge Courtenay that the old caballero had been at Rookwood just at nightfall, had remained long enough to “transact some business” with himself, and then had started on a late train across the continent to Santa Felisa. The Judge had also given her Sutro’s last loving message:—
“Tell, mi niña, that her love has made old Sutro Vives a better man. That he could not stay to be a burden to anybody; that he’ll be well and happy in the spot where he was born; and that he goes to make his last home on his own property of Santa Trinidad. Caramba! He will rest well, with old Californian soil for his bed, and Californian sunshine for his blanket. Thou wilt say to her these words, Señor Juez?”
When the gentleman answered warmly: “I will do everything I can for your ‘Little Lady of the Horse,’ Señor Vives; I will carry out your instructions to the letter,” Sutro murmured: “Ten thousand thanks, most generous. Gracias a Dios! I shall see San’ Felis once more!” and departed.
But all this was sometime past; and as Steenie went now to Rookwood, the brilliant autumn leaves were beginning to fade on the paths, and the Michaelmas daisies bloomed thickly by the roadside. She passed along, a gay, cheerful, loving little maiden, feeling that the world held but one trouble for her now, and that one so far beyond her power to remove, that she was trying to “march straight up to it,” and see if it would smile at her, as Mary Jane had said.
The trouble has probably been foreseen; and Judge Courtenay put it into words for her as she danced up to the porch where he was pacing, and swept him a grave, graceful Spanish “courtesy,” that she had learned “at home” from dark-eyed Suzan´.
“Good-morning, good-morning, Miss Sunbeam! You look as bright as if we elder people were not worrying our heads off this minute! So when does the ‘flitting’ occur? The removal from High Street to that miserable cottage?”
“To-morrow, sir, thank you! An’, please ’xcuse me, but it isn’t mis’able. It’s as pretty as it can be, I think.”
“And ‘I think’ settles it, eh? Well, well; you ought to thank Heaven for your temperament! Now if I only had it, I shouldn’t be feeling this minute angry enough to ‘bite a ten-penny nail in two.’”
Down sat the funny gentleman in the big Plymouth rocker, and opened his arms to “his other little girl,” who nestled in them quite as confidently and almost as lovingly as Beatrice would have done. “Why, sir, whatever can be the matter to make you—look cross?”
“I look it, too, do I?—as well as feel it. Hm-m. Thank you. Children, et cetera,—truth, you know. First reason, please: I’m deserted. My wife and daughter are busy with all these guests, and I’ve had to retreat to the schoolroom for a bit of quiet.”