“Miss Standish should be told the truth,” said he at last.

“No, no,” she exclaimed.  “I’m a wicked woman to wish ter kiss her.  I done wrong in telling the secret, but yer sympathy jest twisted it outer me.  Promise me, Mr. Ajax, that ye’ll never give me away.”

We pledged our word, and left her.

* * * * *

“Gloriana’s dun days must soon come to an end,” said Ajax to me upon the eve of the wedding.

“Why shouldn’t she marry Uncle Jake?  The old chap wants her.  He informed me this afternoon that a double team travelled farther than a single horse.  And he hangs about the kitchen door all the time, and divides Gloriana’s favours with the pig.”

“Tell him to propose.”

“I’ll have to do it for him,” replied my brother.  “Uncle Jake has not the gift of tongues.”

We accompanied Gloriana to San Lorenzo; as we feared to trust our friend—­for so we had come to regard her—­with the mule, a mischievous beast, spoiled by prosperity.  Ajax drove a skittish pair of colts.  Gloriana and I occupied the back seat of our big spring wagon.

“My brother is not Uncle Jake,” said Ajax, as soon as the colts had settled down to business, “but he’ll tell you all the pretty things the old man says about you.”

“Uncle Jake is puffectly rediclous,” replied Gloriana gaily.  “His love is cupboard love.”

“He has mired down at last.”

“Nonsense!  Mr. Ajax.”

“He is set on matrimony.  You are the one woman in the world for him.  Take him, Gloriana; and then we’ll all live together for ever and ever.”

“Mr. Ajax, you’d sooner joke than eat.”

“I’m not joking now.  Uncle Jake is an honest man, with money laid by.  He would make you comfortable for life, and such a marriage might pave the way to—­to a better understanding with Doctor Standish.”

Her face flushed at these last words, and fire flooded her eyes.  Looking at her, I realised that long ago this worn woman must have been a beautiful girl.

“No,” she answered steadily.  “I wouldn’t say Yes to the Angel Gabriel.  Uncle Jake and I would make a baulky team.  He’s obstinate as my old mule, an’ so am I. An’ there’s another thing:  I’m most petered out, an’ need a rest.  Mattermony ain’t rest.”

My brother had tact enough to change the subject.

Descending the San Lorenzo grade, a sharp incline, Gloriana called our attention to a view panoramic and matchless beneath the glamour of sunset.  Below us lay the mission town, its crude buildings aglow with rosy light; to the left was the canon, a frowning wilderness of manzanita, cactus and chaparral; to the right towered the triune peak of the Bishop, purple against an amber sky; in the distance were the shimmering waters of the Pacific.  Upon the face of the landscape brooded infinite peace, and the soft shadows of evening.