However, he had played his card. If he succeeded only in provoking a
duel with Fletcher, he at least would divert the public attention from
Harcourt to himself. He knew that his superior position would throw the
lesser victim in the background. He would make the sacrifice; that was
his duty as a gentleman, even if SHE would not care to accept it as an
earnest of his unselfish love!
He had reached the point where the mountain track entered the Santa
Clara turnpike when his attention was attracted by a handsome but
old-fashioned carriage drawn by four white mules, which passed down the
road before him and turned suddenly off into a private road. But it was
not this picturesque gala equipage of some local Spanish grandee that
brought a thrill to his nerves and a flash to his eye; it was the
unmistakable, tall, elegant figure and handsome profile of Clementina,
reclining in light gauzy wraps against the back seat! It was no fanciful
resemblance, the outcome of his reverie,--there never was any one like
her!--it WAS she herself! But what was she doing here?
A vaquero cantered from the cross road where the dust of the vehicle
still hung. Grant hailed him. Ah! it was a fine carroza de cuatro mulas
that he had just passed! Si, Senor, truly; it was of Don Jose Ramirez,
who lived just under the hill. It was bringing company to the casa.
Ramirez! That was where Fletcher was going! Had Clementina known that
he was one of Fletcher's friends? Might she not be exposed to
unpleasantness, marked coolness, or even insult in that unexpected
meeting? Ought she not to be warned or prepared for it? She had banished
Grant from her presence until this stain was removed from her father's
name, but could she blame him for trying to save her from contact with
her father's slanderer? No! He turned his horse abruptly into the cross
road and spurred forward in the direction of the casa.
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