AT a gentle pace they wound their way through the forest of magnificent
old oaks.
As for Munson, riding by Grace Darlington’s side, the miles were the
shortest he had ever before traversed. It seemed only a few minutes
before the red tiled roof and towers of a house built in the California
Mission style were gleaming through the trees only a short distance
ahead.
Great oaken doors closed the arched gateway, but at the clatter of hoofs
and the sound of voices, a little peep-hole wicket was withdrawn. The
inspection by unseen eyes apparently was satisfactory, for a moment
later a postern was opened, and two men, Mexicans obviously by their
garb and deferential manner, emerged to take and lead away the horses.
Within the patio stood Senor Robles, his usually grave face lighted by a
smile of cordial welcome.
“Let me tell you, young men,” he said while shaking hands, “that while
Grace and Merle are quite at home here, you are the very first strangers
who have passed through my portals.”
“Strangers no longer then,” said Dick, good-naturedly.
“Precisely,” replied Mr. Robles, “or you would not be here. But I
foresee that all of us are going to be very close friends. Isn’t that
so, Grace, my dear?”
“I’m sure I cannot say,” replied Grace, with a smile of demure innocence
toward Mr. Munson. Then she turned to Mr. Robles with a roguish twinkle
in her eye. “But I’ve news for you. Mr. Munson has resigned from the
army and is looking for a job.”
“Both facts are already known to me,” answered Robles, smiling.
“Oh,” exclaimed Grace, “one can never surprise you, Mr. Robles. Although
you live the life of a hermit, you seem to be always the first to learn
everything that is going on.”
“A hermit, my dear, need not necessarily be out of touch with the
world,” replied Robles, playfully pinching her ear. “And now, Mr.
Willoughby, you came specially to see my pictures. Lead the way, Merle.
Gentlemen, I say again—welcome to my mountain home.”
They lingered awhile in the patio to admire the marble columns of the
cloister that ran all around, the playing fountains at each of the four
comers, with groups of symbolical statuary, the wealth of beautiful
shrubs and flowers. On the side opposite to the gateway rose a tall
tower, fashioned like the campanile of an Old Mission and crowned with
bright red tiles.
“We shall ascend there later on,” remarked Mr. Robles, following Dick’s
upward glance.
Then they passed through the wide-opened French window into the living
rooms.
The first was a great apartment that occupied one entire side of the
building. In the centre was a large globe of the world. Here and there
were glass cases displaying manuscripts and illuminated missals. Along
the walls were finely-carved bookcases filled with several thousands of
volumes.
“When you have the leisure you can come and browse here,” said the
host, addressing both young men. “Meanwhile you may care to look at the
bronzes and statuary”—this with a sweep of the hand that indicated the
art treasures distributed about the apartment.
On the side of the house beneath the tower were the dining room and the
billiard and smoking room. Passing through these, the visitors came to
the picture gallery, a room corresponding in size to the library. Here
were hung treasures of the painter’s art, masterpieces signed by names
that are immortal. These, as their owner again explained, had been
acquired by him during several prolonged visits to Europe.
“Count this just as a preliminary survey, Mr. Willoughby,” he said
finally. “Then come again. There are guest chambers on either side of
the gateway, and one of these will always be at your disposal when I am
at home. I extend the same invitation to you, Mr. Munson.”
“My word, but you may feel honored,” exclaimed Grace, in unconcealed
amazement.
“When I open my gates, I open my heart as well,” said Mr. Robles, with a
courtly little bow to his new friends.
Next they ascended the tower. Its first floor, above the living rooms,
was a delightful den filled with curios of all kinds. From this sprang a
winding iron staircase, up which Mr. Robles led the way.
The upper chamber, extending on all sides some distance beyond the
supporting tower, proved larger than might have been expected. Its one
conspicuous article of furniture was a great terrestrial telescope. The
sliding panels of glass which formed a complete window all around the
room showed that the instrument could be used without obstruction in any
direction.
Here a Mexican boy was on duty. When the visitors entered, his hand was
resting on the telescope. A bright red sash around his waist imparted a
touch of picturesqueness to his costume. He was perhaps only twelve or
thirteen years of age, but wonderfully keen and alert-looking for his
years. At a glance from his master, the youngster took his departure,
closing the door behind him.
“Gentlemen,” remarked Mr. Robles, when they were again alone, “perhaps
before I brought you here I should have exacted the promise I am now
going to ask you to make. Grace and Merle know that I am a recluse and
wish to live undisturbed by curiosity-mongers or tittle-tattlers. I want
nobody but the friends I deliberately choose to know about my habits
of living or the contents of my home. Only in this way can I hope to
be left alone. Therefore, please give me your word, Mr. Willoughby and
Lieutenant Munson, that you will not speak with any outsider about the
things I am showing you today.”
The promise was instantly given and sealed by a hearty hand clasp.
“Now,” resumed the host in lighter tone, “perhaps you would like to view
the landscape. I may explain that I had this observatory, as I call it,
specially built and equipped so that I could sweep the valley from end
to end. For example, I saw you two young men riding along the road this
morning,” he went on, with a smile. “I saw one of you alight, about
twelve miles from here—it was you, lieutenant—and tighten the girths of
your saddle.”
“Great Scott!” murmured Munson, in half-incredulous surprise.
“Test the glass for yourself,” continued Robles, as, placing one eye
at the lens, he adjusted the instrument. “Look”—and he stepped back,
motioning Munson to approach.
Munson peeped through the long tube and there came from his lips a cry
of mingled delight and amazement.
“Dick, Dick, there’s the store as large as life—Buck Ashley standing
at the door and lighting a cigar. Geewhizz, and it must be twenty miles
away.”
He rose erect and made room for Dick. The latter gazed in silence for a
few moments. When he turned to Mr. Robles he said:
“It’s really wonderful—it is the most wonderful glass I ever looked
through.”
There was the glimmer of an exultant smile on the face of Ricardo
Robles.
“I saw you at the round-up across the valley the other day,” he
remarked. “You were much nearer to me than is the store. And while I do
not invite any confidence, Mr. Willoughby, you certainly engaged in
a very spirited conversation, to say the least, with young Marshall
Thurston. Indeed, I half expected to see you come to blows.”
“What was that?” asked Merle in some trepidation.
Willoughby had reddened.
“Nothing of consequence,” he responded, almost curtly. “I had to tell
the young cub to mind his own business. That was all.”
“You certainly have the whole valley under observation,” remarked
Munson, considerately diverting the conversation.
“Yes,” assented Mr. Robles, with an almost grim smile of satisfaction.
“The telescope teaches one not merely to observe, but to reason from the
facts observed. Tia Teresa evidently thought that she should have come
along today to play duenna, eh, Merle?”
“You don’t say you guessed that?” exclaimed Merle in great astonishment.
“Guessed it! I knew it when she raised her protesting finger.”
“You are a magician, Mr. Robles,” cried Grace.
“No, only a logician,” was the sententious rejoinder.
“Please let me peep at our garden,” asked Merle. “I wonder if mother is
among her roses.”
Without a word Robles swung round the instrument on its pivot and
changed the focus.
“That’s about right,” he said, stepping back. “There is no one out
of doors at present. Move the glass slightly and you can see over the
entire garden.”
Each girl in turn made a prolonged scrutiny; they were enchanted with
the clearness and marvellous detail of the picture.
“Henceforth we’ll have to be on our best behavior, Dick,” laughed
Munson, as they turned toward the winding stairway. “We’ve got to
remember Mr. Robles has a constant eye on us.”
“Perhaps I’ve had you under observation quite a while,” laughed the
senor, tapping the young fellow on the shoulder.
Then he threw open the door, and, with a slight bow and extended hand,
motioned to his visitors to descend. At the foot of the narrow, winding
staircase they found the Mexican youth standing on guard. He bowed low
as the ladies passed, and when Mr. Robles followed last of all, saluted,
and then immediately returned to the chamber above, again without
a single word of instruction from his master. Munson and Willoughby
exchanged meaning looks; obviously a well-disciplined outlook was kept
from the observatory all the time, as if from the conning-tower of a
battleship.
Again the party was in the patio. Mr. Robles turned to Willoughby.
“I hope Grace and Merle have explained to you that at present I do not
entertain. My own fare is of the simplest.”
“Mother is to have luncheon ready at one,” interposed Grace. “I caught
the broiled trout myself this morning.”
“You caught them ready broiled, eh?” laughed Munson.
“Oh, you know what I mean,” rejoined Grace, with a pretty little moue.
“Broiled trout!” exclaimed Dick, appreciatively. “Then I think we’ll
be hurrying down the hill, senor.” He had recognized with intuitive
courtesy that the interview was at an end.
“Is he not delightful?” asked Merle, as their horses started off at a
walk. “And you would never guess how sweet and kind he can be.”
“I don’t doubt it,” assented Willoughby. “A polished gentleman, but a
man of mystery, isn’t he?”
“Not when you come to know him. A recluse always has his little
idiosyncrasies.” As she spoke, she set her pony at a canter down the
gentle incline.
After luncheon, Dick found himself tête-à -tête with Mrs. Darlington
in the music room. The mystery attaching to the personality of the
recluse was still uppermost in his mind. But for the present the music
claimed his attention.
Merle had seated herself at the grand piano and was softly fingering the
keys, striking a chord here and there, until finally she drifted into
Chopin’s Fifth Nocturne. There was something almost divine in her
interpretation. The music fairly rippled from her deft fingers, as they
glided on from one beautiful cadence to another until at last, note by
note, as if sobbing a reluctant adieu, the melody died away.
Both the visitors were generous in their tributes of congratulation.
“Thank you,” said Merle, as she arose from the piano and proceeded to
unfasten the clasps of a violin case.
“What now?” exclaimed Munson.
“Oh, I am not the performer; I am merely the accompanist,” and she
held out a beautiful old violin to Grace. As Merle sounded a key on the
piano, Grace touched the strings of the Stradivarius. When all was ready
she tenderly caressed the violin with her chin, and, her bow sweeping
across the instrument, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata trembled from the
strings, in soft and plaintive melody, filling the room with echoing
and re-echoing notes of sweetness, while Merle’s accompanying notes lent
support, in blending harmony, to the rich cadences.
“Splendid! magnificent!” exclaimed the young men in unison.
Munson was now called upon to sing, and Dick felt himself at full
liberty to converse with Mrs. Darlington. He broached the subject that
had been occupying his thoughts.
“What is known of Senor Ricardo Robles?” he enquired. “Have you been
long acquainted?”
“Oh, I have known him for many, many years,” replied Mrs. Darlington.
“We used to be next door neighbors in Los Angeles. That was twenty years
ago. Then we returned to England—Mr. Darlington had fallen heir to the
family estates. Mr. Robles used to visit us off and on. He is, as you
have seen, very fond of Grace”—she paused a moment, then went on—“and of
my adopted daughter Merle as well. Merle, you know, was the child of my
dearest girl friend who died a year after her baby was born.”
“Yes, Merle has told me this.”
“Well, six years ago my dear husband died, and it was Mr. Robles who
persuaded me to return to California. He selected this beautiful ranch
for us, near to his own home. And we have all been so happy here at La
Siesta.”
“Mr. Robles is certainly a wonderful man, with all those art treasures
around him.”
“He has princely tastes and princely wealth as well—this you will have
seen for yourself today. He travels a great deal abroad, sometimes for a
whole year at a time, and then returns quietly to his hermitage. He has
taken a great fancy to you, Mr. Willoughby. You are lucky in gaining the
friendship of such a man.”
“I think I’ll like him, too—when I know him better,” replied Willoughby,
with cautious reserve.