The morning was dull. A prophetic contrast to the glorious Christmas dawn of the day before. The rains had been threatening at intervals for several weeks, but the sun had dissipated the clouds each day, leaving always the impression of a pleasant trick arranged for the bewildered tourist, who, contrary to the example of natives and adopted Californians, lugged about persistently his mackintosh and umbrella, declaring each cloudy morning that rain must certainly fall before night. Then, suddenly, the gray clouds seemed to melt into the liquid blue of the sky, while against the sides of the purple mountains only one long streak of vapor rested, like the shroud of a giant. The week before Christmas the sky had smoothed away its every trace of rain. Light snows had sugared the feathery outlines of the distant peaks, and the delighted tourist had hung up his mackintosh and umbrella, deciding that the climates of Southern France and Italy were not to be considered with that of Southern California. Now the clouds had returned reënforced. The range had grown richer in color, almost black, except when the sun shot for a moment his presence in temporary triumph against a spur, that glistened responsively, while the cañons scowled in dark disapproval. Then, all at once, a gloom, like a half-dropped curtain, settled back of the foothills, defying the prophecies of the most ancient mariner of the Coast. As I awoke I felt with unusual depression the absence of the sun. And when I drew aside my curtains I peered in vain for streaks of gold threading the horizon. The morning was lifeless and gray. Even the great clusters of cactus, the remains of the natural wall planted by the good padres years ago for protection against the Indians, seemed an invasion of gray spirits. Not so when the sun glanced their bristling tops, for then they shone like knights in full armor. My heart went out in childish homesickness to the Doña Maria and the little nest I had prepared for myself in her simple Spanish home. While I dressed myself and Marjorie, I turned over and over the subject which had taken possession of my thoughts. How could I escape the complications of this inopportune visit? How could I, without offending the Sandersons and noticeably meddling with the discretion of the Doña Maria, return quietly with Mariposilla to the ranch?