But nevertheless she recognised that she had made a great mistake. Looking back now she wondered why in the name of heaven she had ever come out to this distant land, and got herself entangled in a life which could never be congenial to her; for once there, and having seen her surroundings and her limitations, she realised that it could never be attractive to her. She had loved Robert as well as she could love any one, and when his health broke down and he had to leave England, she continued her engagement as a matter of course, and his letters of love and longing were acceptable to her, not involving any strain on her part, nor any pressing need of arranging definitely for the future. So she drifted on, and when at last the question arose of her joining him, her relations and friends used every opposition to prevent her. It was pointed out to her that after a London life full of many interests and possibilities and actualities, ranching in Southern California would be simply madness. She had been accustomed to companions, men and women of a certain amount of culture and refinement. How would she manage, bereft of all these advantages? The strenuous opposition with which she met, and the solid arguments advanced against her leaving the old country, stimulated her desire to go; and a sudden wave of loyalty and pity for that lonely rancher who was counting on her help and companionship, confirmed her in her intentions. She felt that if she had not been intending to keep her promise, she ought at least to have let him know the drift of her mind. This, and a very decided inclination for travel and adventures, settled the matter. So she came. [Illustration: “SHE SAT ON THE LITTLE VERANDAH.”] And this afternoon, when she sat on the little verandah, resting after her housework, and watching Robert cultivating the eight-acre piece on the hill-slope, she realised that she had been mad. He paused for a moment and waved to her, and she waved back listlessly. She looked at the rich upturned soil, of chocolate brown, and the formal rows of lemon-trees; at the stretch of country all around her, with scarcely a sign of human habitation; at the great mountains, uncompromisingly stern and barren of everything except stone and brush. She watched the pointer Nellie going in front of the little grey team and encouraging them to do their work well. She glanced upwards and noticed the majestic flight of the turkey buzzards, and now she was attracted by the noise of a hummingbird who came to visit her fragrant honeysuckle creeper, and then sped on his way. Everything seemed so still and lifeless. There were no familiar noises such as greet one in the tiniest village in the old country. There was no pulsation nor throb of life. There was nothing to stimulate,--nothing in the circumstances of everyday life, nor in the scenery. With the exception of her husband, there was no one with whom to speak all through the living hours of the day.