“Are you going to Don Mariano's?”
“Yes. I will ask Tano to give me a place to sleep; that is, if Doña Josefa is not too disgusted to tolerate a Darrell under her roof.”
“I am sure they feel nothing but kindness for you.”
“I hope so; but should she wish to break the engagement, I will not stay. I'll drive to town to-night and take the boat for San Francisco, which is not to leave until to-morrow at daylight. I'll have time, I think.”
“Don't do that. Wait for the Don, if he is not in now.”
“I may, but I don't know. I dread to see Mercedes. I feel so humiliated, so ashamed. What can I say to her?”
At the foot of the hill Clarence stopped his horses to send to his mother and sisters—especially to Alice—loving messages. He also said if he should miss seeing Don Mariano, Everett would say that he would write from San Francisco, and would return at any moment, if Mercedes called him.
“But you will see her yourself,” Everett said.
“I hope so,” said the disheartened Clarence, driving up toward the house in which he felt his fate would be decided. Victoriano had heard the phæton's wheels and came out to meet it.
“I am so glad to see you, old fellow,” said he to Clarence; “it seems an age since sundown.”