How he would slave and serve for her; how he would earn promotion for her sake; how he would fight her battle in life!  But would she let him do it?  Ah, it seemed too much to hope.  Poor though she was, she was still a heaven or so above him; she was so beautiful and had so many perfections!

Oh, the purity, the self-abnegation, the humility of love!  It makes a man scarcely lower than the angels, and quite superior to not a few reverenced saints.

CHAPTER II.

“I must say,” observed Thurstane—­“I beg your pardon for advising—­but I think you had better accept your grandfather’s invitation.”

He said it with a pang at his heart, for if this adorable girl went to her grandfather, the old fellow would be sure to love her and leave her his property, in which case there would be no chance for a proud and poor lieutenant.  He gave his advice under a grim sense that it was his duty to give it, because the following of it would be best for Miss Van Diemen.

“So I think,” nodded Clara, fortified by this opinion to resist Aunt Maria, and the more fortified because it was the opinion of a man.

After a certain amount of discussion the elder lady was persuaded to loosen her mighty grip and give the destinies a little liberty.

“Well, it may be best,” she said, pursing her mouth as if she tasted the bitter of some half-suspected and disagreeable future.  “I don’t know.  I won’t undertake positively to decide.  But, if you do go,” and here she became authentic and despotic—­“if you do go, I shall go with you and see you safe there.”

“Oh! will you?” exclaimed Clara, all Spanish and all emotion in an instant.  “How sweet and good and beautiful of you!  You are my guardian angel.  Do you know?  I thought you would offer to go.  I said to myself, She came on to Santa Fe for my sake, and she will go to California.  But oh, it is too much for me to ask.  How shall I ever pay you?”

“I will pay myself,” returned Aunt Maria.  “I have plans for California.”

It was as if she had said, “Go to, we will make California in our own image.”

The young lady was satisfied.  Her strong-minded relative was a mighty mystery to her, just as men were mighty mysteries.  Whatever she or they said could be done and should be done, why of course it would be done, and that shortly.

By the time that Aunt Maria had announced her decision, another visitor was on the point of entrance.  Carlos Maria Munoz Garcia de Coronado was a nephew of Manuel Garcia, who was a cousin of Clara’s grandfather; only, as Garcia was merely his uncle by marriage, Coronado and Clara were not related by blood, though calling each other cousin.  He was a man of medium stature, slender in build, agile and graceful in movement, complexion very dark, features high and aristocratic, short black hair and small black moustache, eyes black also, but veiled and dusky.  He was about twenty-eight, but he seemed at least four years older, partly because of a deep wrinkle which slashed down each cheek, and partly because he was so perfectly self-possessed and elaborately courteous.  His intellect was apparently as alert and adroit as his physical action.  A few words from Clara enabled him to seize the situation.