Don Mariano and Gabriel lifted their hats in congratulatory salutation; Victoriano and Everett twirled theirs in the air hurrahing; the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and the steamer giving a dip and a plunge—by way of a very low courtesy—bounded up and started onwards, as if satisfied she had been good natured long enough, and now must attend to business. In a few minutes she had made up for lost time, and was heading for Ballast Point, leaving San Diego's shore to be merged into the blue hills of Mexico beyond, as if obeying the immutable law which says that all things must revert to their original source.
Elvira's beautiful eyes were so filled with tears that she could see nothing. Still, she kept her gaze riveted upon that fast receding wharf. George stood a few feet apart, prudently thinking that the two sisters would perhaps prefer to be by themselves while taking their last look at the dear ones standing on the wharf. He, too, felt much moved; he would have preferred to remain with his family at Alamar. He would come next year—he thought—and perhaps remain in California permanently. With this thought in his mind, almost shaped into resolve, he came to Elvira's side, and quietly slipping his arm round her waist, said:
“Don't cry, sweetest, I will bring you back next year, and we will make our home near our parents. No matter if I make less money, we will have more happiness.”
Elvira looked unutterable thanks.
“Do you hear him, Mercedes?” she said, and Mercedes nodded, but moved a little further off, not yet trusting her voice to make any reply.
“Look here, this won't do; this will spoil our blue eyes,” said George, putting his other arm around Mercedes' pretty shoulders. “I insist upon you turning your thoughts toward New York, Long Branch, Newport and Washington; think of all the fun we will have visiting all those places. Then we will come back gay and happy, and our dear ones will be so glad to see us again. Think of all that,” and thus George exerted his eloquence to administer consolation. “I am sure all at home will be thinking of our return by to-morrow morning,” he added, by way of climax to his consoling rhetoric.
But George was mistaken. The Alamar ladies found it very hard and difficult to reconcile themselves to be separated from Elvira and Mercedes.
The fact that Clarence had gone in the same steamer, added much bitterness to Doña Josefa's sorrow at separating from both daughters. She did not even wish any one to mention Clarence's name in her presence. Don Mariano's arguments in favor of the bold young man were at first ineffectual, but after a while she began to think that she ought to trust more in Mercedes' pride and Elvira's vigilance.
In the meantime the travelers continued their voyage very happily. Clarence rightly conjectured that Mercedes would suppose he had followed her to declare his love, and this supposition would redouble her shyness. Her manner at first, fully confirmed this surmise, so, to put her at her ease, he was very kind and attentive, but never betrayed by word or look, his heart's devotion. His manner was exactly all that she could wish, the behavior of a devoted brother, and in consequence she began to be less shy. He spoke of having received three telegrams, calling him north; this surely was a good reason for his unexpected journey.
They visited Los Angeles, went ashore at Port Harford and Santa Barbara, and as George was naturally devoted to his bride, there seemed no alternative for Mercedes but to accept Clarence's escort, and lean on his arm whenever that operation became necessary.