And I can make a will in her favor if I want to? said Mrs. Peyton quickly.
Always, responded her husband smilingly; but you have ample time to think of that, I trust. Meanwhile I have some news for you which may make Susys visit to the rancho this time less dull to her. You remember Clarence Brant, the boy who was with her when we picked her up, and who really saved her life?
No, I dont, said Mrs. Peyton pettishly, nor do I want to! You know, John, how distasteful and unpleasant it is for me to have those dreary, petty, and vulgar details of the poor childs past life recalled, and, thank Heaven, I have forgotten them except when you choose to drag them before me. You agreed, long ago, that we were never to talk of the Indian massacre of her parents, so that we could also ignore it before her; then why do you talk of her vulgar friends, who are just as unpleasant? Please let us drop the past.
Willingly, my dear; but, unfortunately, we cannot make others do it. And this is a case in point. It appears that this boy, whom we brought to Sacramento to deliver to a relative
And who was a wicked little impostor,you remember that yourself, John, for he said that he was the son of Colonel Brant, and that he was dead; and you know, and my brother Harry knew, that Colonel Brant was alive all the time, and that he was lying, and Colonel Brant was not his father, broke in Mrs. Peyton impatiently.
As it seems you do remember that much, said Peyton dryly, it is only just to him that I should tell you that it appears that he was not an impostor. His story was TRUE. I have just learned that Colonel Brant WAS actually his father, but had concealed his lawless life here, as well as his identity, from the boy. He was really that vague relative to whom Clarence was confided, and under that disguise he afterwards protected the boy, had him carefully educated at the Jesuit College of San Jose, and, dying two years ago in that filibuster raid in Mexico, left him a considerable fortune.
And what has he to do with Susys holidays? said Mrs. Peyton, with uneasy quickness. John, you surely cannot expect her ever to meet this common creature again, with his vulgar ways. His wretched associates like that Jim Hooker, and, as you yourself admit, the blood of an assassin, duelist, andHeaven knows what kind of a pirate his father wasnt at the lastin his veins! You dont believe that a lad of this type, however much of his fathers ill-gotten money he may have, can be fit company for your daughter? You never could have thought of inviting him here?
Im afraid thats exactly what I have done, Ally, said the smiling but unmoved Peyton; but Im still more afraid that your conception of his present condition is an unfair one, like your remembrance of his past. Father Sobriente, whom I met at San Jose yesterday, says he is very intelligent, and thoroughly educated, with charming manners and refined tastes. His fathers money, which they say was an investment for him in Carsons Bank five years ago, is as good as any ones, and his fathers blood wont hurt him in California or the Southwest. At least, he is received everywhere, and Don Juan Robinson was his guardian. Indeed, as far as social status goes, it might be a serious question if the actual daughter of the late John Silsbee, of Pike County, and the adopted child of John Peyton was in the least his superior. As Father Sobriente evidently knew Clarences former companionship with Susy and her parents, it would be hardly politic for us to ignore it or seem to be ashamed of it. So I intrusted Sobriente with an invitation to young Brant on the spot.
Mrs. Peytons impatience, indignation, and opposition, which had successively given way before her husbands quiet, masterful good humor, here took the form of a neurotic fatalism. She shook her head with superstitious resignation.
Didnt I tell you, John, that I always had a dread of something coming
But if it comes in the shape of a shy young lad, I see nothing singularly portentous in it. They have not met since they were quite small; their tastes have changed; if they dont quarrel and fight they may be equally bored with each other. Yet until then, in one way or another, Clarence will occupy the young ladys vacant caprice, and her school friend, Mary Rogers, will be here, you know, to divide his attentions, and, added Peyton, with mock solemnity, preserve the interest of strict propriety. Shall I break it to her,or will you?
No,yes, hesitated Mrs. Peyton; perhaps I had better.
Very well, I leave his character in your hands; only dont prejudice her into a romantic fancy for him. And Judge Peyton lounged smilingly away.
Then two little tears forced themselves from Mrs. Peytons eyes. Again she saw that prospect of uninterrupted companionship with Susy, upon which each successive year she had built so many maternal hopes and confidences, fade away before her. She dreaded the coming of Susys school friend, who shared her daughters present thoughts and intimacy, although she had herself invited her in a more desperate dread of the childs abstracted, discontented eyes; she dreaded the advent of the boy who had shared Susys early life before she knew her; she dreaded the ordeal of breaking the news and perhaps seeing that pretty animation spring into her eyes, which she had begun to believe no solicitude or tenderness of her own ever again awakened,and yet she dreaded still more that her husband should see it too. For the love of this recreated woman, although not entirely materialized with her changed fibre, had nevertheless become a coarser selfishness fostered by her loneliness and limited experience. The maternal yearning left unsatisfied by the loss of her first-born had never been filled by Susys thoughtless acceptance of it; she had been led astray by the childs easy transference of dependence and the forgetfulness of youth, and was only now dimly conscious of finding herself face to face with an alien nature.
She started to her feet and followed the direction that Susy had taken. For a moment she had to front the afternoon trade wind which chilled her as it swept the plain beyond the gateway, but was stopped by the adobe wall, above whose shelter the stunted treetopsthrough years of exposureslanted as if trimmed by gigantic shears. At first, looking down the venerable alley of fantastic, knotted shapes, she saw no trace of Susy. But half way down the gleam of a white skirt against a thicket of dark olives showed her the young girl sitting on a bench in a neglected arbor. In the midst of this formal and faded pageantry she looked charmingly fresh, youthful, and pretty; and yet the unfortunate woman thought that her attitude and expression at that moment suggested more than her fifteen years of girlhood. Her golden hair still hung unfettered over her straight, boy-like back and shoulders; her short skirt still showed her childish feet and ankles; yet there seemed to be some undefined maturity or a vague womanliness about her that stung Mrs. Peytons heart. The child was growing away from her, too!
Susy!
The young girl raised her head quickly; her deep violet eyes seemed also to leap with a sudden suspicion, and with a half-mechanical, secretive movement, that might have been only a schoolgirls instinct, her right hand had slipped a paper on which she was scribbling between the leaves of her book. Yet the next moment, even while looking interrogatively at her mother, she withdrew the paper quietly, tore it up into small pieces, and threw them on the ground.
But Mrs. Peyton was too preoccupied with her news to notice the circumstance, and too nervous in her haste to be tactful. Susy, your father has invited that boy, Clarence Brant,you know that creature we picked up and assisted on the plains, when you were a mere baby,to come down here and make us a visit.