have been to a girl accustomed to the great forest of the Sierras,
she had gazed upon it for the most part with unseeing eyes, while
her thoughts turned, magnet-like, backward to the delights and the
bewilderment of the old Mexican town. So now, as the pursuing horseman
swept rapidly nearer, each swinging stride of the powerful horse, each
rhythmic movement of the graceful rider brought nearer and more vivid
the vision of a handsome _picador_ holding off with his lance a
thoroughly maddened bull until the crowd roared forth its appreciation.

"See, Señorita," said the horseman, at last galloping close to the coach
and lifting his sombrero, "A beautiful bunch of syringa," and then, with
his face bent towards her and his voice full of appeal, he added in
lower tone: "for you!"

For a brief second, the Girl was too much taken back to find the
adequate words with which to accept the stranger's offering.
Notwithstanding that in his glance she could read, as plainly as though
he had spoken: "I know I am taking a liberty, but please don't be angry
with me," there was something in his sweeping bow and grace of manner
that, coupled with her vague sense of his social advantage, disconcerted
her. A second more, however, and the embarrassment had passed, for on
lifting her eyes to his again she saw that her memory had not played
her false; beyond all chance of a mistake, he was the man who, ten days
earlier, had peered into the stage, as she was nearing Monterey, and
later, at the bull-fight, had found time to shoot admiring glances
at her between his daring feats of horsemanship. Therefore, genuine
admiration was in her eyes and extreme cordiality in her voice when,
after a word or two of thanks, she added, with great frankness:

"But it strikes me sort o' forcible that I've seen you before." Then,