The man and woman turned their horses and looked along the way they had come. The San Francisco Bay reached in silvery arc to the horizon. The great white buildings of the Mendoza hacienda, stippled with the gray of peon dwellings, rested against the hills. Stray cattle and horses made their way body-deep in the luxuriant grass-growth, while the mountains echoed the bleating of the Mission's sheep. It was a picture of pastoral California, rich and splendid. The lady showed no trace of her accident of an hour before. Color was in her face and animation in her tones as she said: "Captain Morando, let us look our fill on this scene. The future will see a panorama here less wild, less beautiful, perhaps, but of greater usefulness." She turned her horse again southward. Morando rode by her side, not speaking for several moments. Finally: "Señora, you have deep interest in these Californias." "You have said it, señor Captain. I have, indeed, a deep interest in the province." As he said nothing she continued: "I have a kindred interest in the 'province of hearts' here also--to quote our host." He laughed. "Really, Captain, it would not surprise me if Señor Mendoza's ball brought about half a dozen weddings. The setting for love-making was exquisite. It might have been fashioned after some fairy scene, so delicately were light and color blended, with that delicious music of the natives permeating it all. Madrid would have gone wild over it! Even the most watchful mamma and dueña felt the spell and laughed and looked away while some fair one allowed the brave Don Juan to hold her hand and murmur nothings to her. Why, even señoritas and young sparks betrothed in childhood by their parents yielded to the passion divine, as if their love was at first sight." She laughed gently. "Was it so? I am too little acquainted with the families of Alta California to know of the young men and women so engaged." The señora's laugh was now merry, as she replied: "I sit much with the old wives and know all the gossip. I can tell you all about it. There are Patricio Martinez and Alfredo Castro. Their families intermarried in Spain before the new world was thought of, continued in intermarriage in Mexico, and will not desist in California. Then, there are Lucinda Higuera and Aviel Soto; Lolita Hernandez and young Julius Belden--part gringo he is, as they term it here--and--and--yes, Tula Rosa and Pancho Laynez." "I suppose there is the history of a family tree connected with each of these betrothals!" "There surely is. I actually ache down to the tips of my fingers," holding up her injured hand, "trying to remember it all. But come," checking her horse sharply, in sudden remembrance, "there was one account most interesting, or, rather, more interesting, even, than others. Who was it that told me? I think, Señora Valdez, or, perhaps, Señora Sanchez. No, it must have been the very aged Señora Hernandez, Don Marcel's mother."