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had not only refrained from registering his name； but had enjoined secrecy
upon the landlord； whom he knew。 Yet the next morning after his arrival；
the porter not answering his bell promptly enough； he so far forgot himself
as to walk to the staircase； which was near the lady's room； and call to the
employee over the balustrade。 As he was still leaning over the railing；
the faint creak of a door； and a singular magnetic consciousness of being
overlooked； caused him to turn slowly； but only in time to hear the rustle
of a withdrawing skirt as the door was quickly closed。 In an instant he
felt the full force of his foolish heedlessness； but it was too late。 Had the
mysterious fugitive recognized him？ Perhaps not； their eyes had not met；
and his face had been turned away。
He varied his espionage by subterfuges； which his knowledge of the
old town made easy。 He watched the door of the hotel； himself unseen；
from the windows of a billiard saloon opposite； which he had frequented
in former days。 Yet he was surprised the same afternoon to see her； from
his coigne of vantage； reentering the hotel； where he was sure he had left
her a few moments ago。 Had she gone out by some other exit；or had
she been disguised？ But on entering his room that evening he was
confounded by an incident that seemed to him as convincing of her
identity as it was audacious。 Lying on his pillow were a few dead leaves
of an odorous mountain fern； known only to the Sierras。 They were tied
together by a narrow blue ribbon； and had evidently been intended to
attract his attention。 As he took them in his hand； the distinguishing
subtle aroma of the little sylvan hollow in the hills came to him like a
memory and a revelation！ He summoned the chambermaid； she knew
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nothing of them； or indeed of any one who had entered his room。 He
walked cautiously into the hall； the lady's sitting…room door was open； the
room was empty。 〃The occupant；〃 said the chambermaid； 〃had left that
afternoon。〃 He held the proof of her identity in his hand； but she herself
had vanished！ That she had recognized him there was now no doubt： had
she divined the real object of his quest； or had she accepted it as a mere
sentimental gallantry at the moment when she knew it was hopeless； and
she herself was perfectly safe from pursuit？ In either event he had been
duped。 He did not know whether to be piqued； angry； or relieved of his
irresolute quest。
Nevertheless； he spent the rest of the twilight and the early evening in
fruitlessly wandering through the one long thoroughfare of the town； until
it merged into the bosky Alameda； or spacious grove； that connected it
with Santa Luisa。 By degrees his chagrin and disappointment were
forgotten in the memories of the past； evoked by the familiar pathway。
The moon was slowly riding overhead； and silvering the carriage…way
between the straight ebony lines of trees； while the footpaths were
diapered with black and white checkers。 The faint tinkling of a tram…car
bell in the distance apprised him of one of the few innovations of the past。
The car was approaching him； overtook him； and was passing； with its
faintly illuminated windows； when； glancing carelessly up； he beheld at
one of them the profile of the face which he had just thought he had lost
forever！
He stopped for an instant； not in indecision this time； but in a grim
resolution to let no chance escape him now。 The car was going slowly； it
was easy to board it now； but again the tinkle of the bell indicated that it
was stopping at the corner of a road beyond。 He checked his pace；a lady
alighted；it was she！ She turned into the cross…street； darkened with the
shadows of some low suburban tenement houses； and he boldly followed。
He was fully determined to find out her secret； and even； if necessary； to
accost her for that purpose。 He was perfectly aware what he was doing；
and all its risks and penalties； he knew the audacity of such an
introduction； but he felt in his left…hand pocket for the sprig of fern which
was an excuse for it； he knew the danger of following a possible
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confidante of desperadoes； but he felt in his right…hand pocket for the
derringer that was equal to it。 They were both there； he was ready。
He was nearing the convent and the oldest and most ruinous part of the
town。 He did not disguise from himself the gloomy significance of this；
even in the old days the crumbling adobe buildings that abutted on the old
garden wall of the convent were the haunts of lawless Mexicans and
vagabond peons。 As the roadway began to be rough and uneven； and the
gaunt outlines of the sagging roofs of tiles stood out against the sky above
the lurking shadows of ruined doorways； he was prepared for the worst。
As the crumbling but still massive walls of the convent garden loomed
ahead； the tall； graceful； black…gowned figure he was following presently
turned into the shadow of the wall itself。 He quickened his pace； lest it
should again escape him。 Suddenly it stopped； and remained motionless。
He stopped； too。 At the same moment it vanished！
He ran quickly forward to where it had stood； and found himself
before a large iron gate； with a smaller one in the centre； that had just
clanged to on its rusty hinges。 He rubbed his eyes！the place； the gate；
the wall； were all strangely familiar！ Then he stepped back into the
roadway； and looked at it again。 He was not mistaken。
He was standing before the porter's lodge of the Convent of the Sacred
Heart。
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CHAPTER V。
The day following the great stagecoach robbery found the patient
proprietor of Collinson's Mill calm and untroubled in his usual seclu