“Very well; I shall call for you about nine A.M.,” said Mr. Mechlin. Mr. Holman then arose, and, saying he wished to speak with the ladies and try to forget railroads, went into the parlor. Mr. Mechlin followed him, saying to George as he was leaving the room:
“Here is a lot of letters and papers that came this morning which I was almost forgetting to give to you.”
Among the various letters of less interest to George, there was one from his uncle, one from Bob Gunther and (would he believe his eyes!) one from Clarence! The sight of that writing made George start, and he immediately thought of the effect it would have on Mercedes. He hastily tore open the envelope and found four letters besides the one for himself. One was for Don Mariano, one for Gabriel, one for Tano, and one for Mercedes. “The noble fellow forgets no one,” said George, beginning to read his letter, and thinking it was best not to give to Mercedes hers until all the visitors had left, was soon absorbed in what Clarence said. Knowing that all would repeat the contents of his letters to one another, Clarence related to each different incidents of his travels, leaving for Mercedes alone the recital of his heart's longings, and sufferings, and fears, and hopes. To George he related his travels in the interior of Mexico, speaking with great enthusiasm of the transcendent beauty, the sublimity of the scenery in that marvelous country. He had passed several weeks in the Sierra Madre, had ascended to the summits of Popocatepetl and Orizaba, viewing from the snow-clad apex of this last named mountain, at an elevation of more than three miles above the sea level, a vast panorama of the entire Mexico, bordered on each side by the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. Clarence also spoke in highest terms of praise of the delta of the Sumasinta River, and beautiful scenery of the Rio Verde and Rio Lerma, and Chapala Lake, so large and picturesque that it looks like an ocean set apart by the jealous gods so that men may not defile its beauty and break its silence with the hurry scurry of commercial traffic. Clarence dwelt, also, upon his visit to Yucatan, where he went more especially to see the ruins of Urmal. Those ruins which are the irrefragable witnesses of a past civilization, lost so entirely that archæology cannot say one word about its birth or death. Clarence found those ruins intensely interesting, and would have spent much longer time than the month he passed there, examining, studying and admiring them, had his traveling companions been willing to remain longer, but they were anxious to visit the City of Mexico, and so he was obliged to leave those majestic ruins whose silence spoke to him so eloquently. They seemed to him symbolical of his ruined hopes, his great love, in fact, himself. Was he not like those crumbling edifices—a sad ruin of lofty aspirations? Poor Clarence, his sad heart was only made sadder when, upon his arrival at the City of Mexico, he found no letters there. He inquired at the American Legation whether any letters had come for him, and was told by the Secretary that no letters, but one package, only one, had been received, which had been kept for six months, at the end of which time Mr. Hubert Haverly had written saying that if Mr. Darrell did not call for the package soon, to return it to him (Haverly) at San Francisco. This had been done about two weeks previously. On hearing this, Clarence sat down, wrote letters to all his friends, and then started for South America, intending to cross that continent and embark at Brazil for Europe. His letter to Mercedes he ended with these words.
“I do not blame you for renouncing me, for it must be repugnant to you to unite yourself with one who has such rough blood in his veins. But, Oh! Mercedes, can you not pity me enough to say one kind word? What have I done to deserve being the miserable outcast that I am?”
Mercedes was in despair. Where could all their letters be? Why did he not get them? He wrote to his mother, to Everett and Alice, and to them he made the same complaint, and yet, all had written to him repeatedly.
Mr. Mechlin, accompanied by Mr. Holman, arrived at the rancho about luncheon hour. Their drive had given them a good appetite and they enjoyed their repast. After it, they all adjourned to the parlor to discuss, by the fire, their intended visit to San Francisco. Don Mariano would have preferred to sit out doors on one of the verandas, but Doña Josefa reminded him that a whole year had passed since he was overtaken by that disastrous snow-storm, and he had not yet regained his usual health; neither had Victoriano. The injury to his health seemed even greater and more difficult to remedy, for every two or three months he had attacks more or less serious of the same lameness which deprived him of the use of his limbs.
As for the cattle, the poor, dumb brutes who had never seen snow, they became so frightened at the sight of that white pall, enveloping everything, that they were absolutely unmanageable after Don Mariano had gone in advance with Victoriano, and the mayordomo thought they would wait until the storm had passed. Next day the mayordomo went about in hopes of finding such stray animals as might have ran less wildly, but none were to be seen, excepting those which lay stiff in death under the snow.
The loss of his cattle made it more imperative that Don Mariano should look closely into land matters, into the prospects of a railroad for San Diego. He therefore listened attentively to what his friends said about Mr. Lawrence Mechlin having written, and their proposed visit of inquiry to ex-Governor Stanford as to what might be the fate of San Diego's railroad.
“It seems to me incredible that Doctor Guller should have lent himself for such service, no matter how well paid,” said Don Mariano. “If he had been sent to deceive the North, to fool the Yankees, the errand would have been—if not more honorable—at least less odious for a Southerner, not so treacherous; but to go and deceive the trusting South, now when the entire country is so impoverished, so distressed, that act, I say, is inhuman, is ignominious. No words of reprobation can be too severe to stigmatize a man capable of being so heartless.”
“Truly, but the instigators are as much to blame as the tool they used. They should be stigmatized also as corrupters, as most malignant, debasing, unscrupulous men,” said Mr. Holman. “Men who are harmful to society, because they reward dishonorable acts; because they reward, with money, the blackest treason!”