Part 10 (1/2)

”You say so?” said the secretary, cautiously.

”Yes,” said Grace, defiantly.

The secretary glanced at the paper again, and then said, looking at Grace intently--

”There is no name of Mees Graziashly.”

The hot blood suddenly dyed the cheek of Grace and her eyelids dropped.

She raised her eyes imploringly to the Commander. If she could have reached him directly, she would have thrown herself at his feet and confessed her innocent deceit, but she shrank from a confidence that first filtered through the consciousness of the secretary. So she began to fence feebly with the issue.

”It is a mistake,” she said. ”But the name of Philip, my brother, is there?”

”The name of Philip Ashley is here,” said the secretary, grimly.

”And he is alive and safe!” cried Grace, forgetting in her relief and joy her previous shame and mortification.

”He is not found,” said the secretary.

”Not found?” said Grace, with widely opened eyes.

”He is not there.”

”No, of course,” said Grace, with a nervous hysterical laugh; ”he was with me; but he came back--he returned.”

”On the 30th of April there is no record of the finding of Philip Ashley.”

Grace groaned and clasped her hands. In her greater anxiety now, all lesser fears were forgotten. She turned and threw herself before the Commander.

”Oh, forgive me, Senor, but I swear to you I meant no harm! Philip is not my brother, but a friend, so kind, so good. He asked me to take his name, poor boy, G.o.d knows if he will ever claim it again, and I did. My name is not Ashley. I know not what is in that paper, but it must tell of my brother, Gabriel, my sister, of all! O, Senor, are they living or dead? Answer me you must--for--I am--I am Grace Conroy!”

The secretary had refolded the paper. He opened it again, glanced over it, fixed his eyes upon Grace, and, pointing to a paragraph, handed it to the Commander. The two men exchanged glances, the Commander coughed, rose, and averted his face from the beseeching eyes of Grace. A sudden death-like chill ran through her limbs as, at a word from the Commander, the secretary rose and placed the paper in her hands.

Grace took it with trembling fingers. It seemed to be a proclamation in Spanish.

”I cannot read it,” she said, stamping her little foot with pa.s.sionate vehemence. ”Tell me what it says.”

At a sign from the Commander, the secretary opened the paper and arose.

The Commander, with his face averted, looked through the open window.

The light streaming through its deep, tunnel-like embrasure, fell upon the central figure of Grace, with her shapely head slightly bent forward, her lips apart, and her eager, pa.s.sionate eyes fixed upon the Commander. The secretary cleared his throat in a perfunctory manner; and, with the conscious pride of an irreproachable linguist, began--

”NOTICE.

”TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE COMANDANTE OF THE PRESIDIO OF SAN FELIPE.

”I have the honour to report that the expedition sent out to relieve certain distressed emigrants in the fastnesses of the Sierra Nevadas, said expedition being sent on the information of Don Jose Bluent of San Geronimo, found in a canon east of the Canada del Diablo the evidences of the recent existence of such emigrants buried in the snow, and the melancholy and deeply-to-be-deplored record of their sufferings, abandonment, and death. A written record preserved by these miserable and most infelicitous ones gives the names and history of their organisation, known as 'Captain Conroy's Party,' a copy of which is annexed below.

”The remains of five of these unfortunates were recovered from the snow, but it was impossible to identify but two, who were buried with sacred and reverential rites.