The old Spaniard knew José too well to put much faith in any of his
utterances, but, nevertheless, inspired by a vague hope that Pearl might
have repented her decision and wearied of her bargain, he climbed the
hill to Seagreave's cabin the next afternoon to see her.

Harry had been sitting up longer than usual that day, and José and Pearl
had helped him back to his couch in the inner room, where he now lay
asleep, and Pearl had resumed her seat in the open door, where she sat
gazing out at the wonderful panorama spread before her and idly enjoying
the sight, the sound, the fragrance of early summer. Blue ranges, an
infinite succession of them, stretching away to an illimitable and
expanding horizon, floating in faint pearl hazes, but the hills near at
hand were vividly green, their varied monotony of tone broken here and
there by great waves of pink and blue wild flowers. Birds were flying
from tree to tree, calling and singing, and there fell pleasantly upon
Pearl's ears the ripple and splash of the mountain brook. The joy in her
heart at Harry's recovery mingled pleasantly with nature's joy in her
prodigal, flowering summer.

But all this harmonious blending of natural sounds and sights was broken
by the sudden, harsh intrusion of human discord. Hearing footsteps near
at hand, Pearl turned quickly to see her father standing almost at her
elbow. Lean, gnarled, grizzled and thorny as ever, he was gazing
searchingly at her from under his overhanging, bushy brows.

So unexpected was the sight of him that Pearl showed plainly her
uncontrollable surprise, which, courageous as she was, was not without a
faint touch of fear. Her upper lip drew back from her teeth at the
corners of the mouth and the frown so like his own darkened her brow.
Rising, she had sprung to the doorway, stretching her arms from post to