"A great city!" repeated his mother. "Thus my father dreamed of it.... But you will pardon us, Don Adrian, for you have other things in mind than Yerb--than San Francisco's future. See, my little one! Even now she comes to bid you welcome."
Inez as she joined them gave her hand to Stanley. "Ah, Don Adrian, your color is high"--her tone was bantering, mock-anxious. "You have not, perchance, a touch of fever?"
He eyed her hungrily. "If I have," he spoke with that slow gentleness she loved so well, "it is no fever that requires roots or herbs.... Shall I," he came a little closer, "shall I put a name to it, Senorita?" His words were for her ears alone. Her eyes smiled into his. "Come, let us show you the rose garden, Senor Stanley," she said with playful formality and placed her silk-gloved fingers on his arm.
Senora Windham's hand groped for her husband's. There were tears in her eyes, but he bent down and kissed them away. "Anita, mia, do not grieve. He is a good lad."
"It is not that." She hid her face against his shoulder. "It is not that--"
"I understand," he whispered.
After a little time Benito spoke. "Mother, I learned something from the warring of the rancheros aganist Alcalde Bartlett." He came forward and picked up the newspaper which had fallen from his mother's lap. "I learned," his hand fell on his father's shoulder, "that I am an American."
"Benito!" said his mother quickly.
"I am Don Roberto's son, as well as thine, remember, madre mia!" he spoke with unusual gentleness. "Even with Sanchez, Vasquez and Guerrero at my side in battle, I did not shoot to kill. Something said within, 'These men are brothers. They are of the clan of Don Roberto, of thy father.' So I shot to miss. And when the commandante, Senor Hull, dismissed me with kind words--he who might have hanged me as a traitor--my heart was full of love for all his people. And contrition. Mother, you will forgive? You, who have taught me all the pride of the Hidalgo. For I must say the truth, to you and everyone...." He knelt at her feet, impressing a kiss of love and reverence upon her outstretched hand.
"Rise, my son," she said, tremulously. "You are right, and it is well." She smiled. "Who am I to say my boy is no Americano? I, who wed the best and noblest of them all."