The young man nodded an assent, touched up his steeds, and the wagon
disappeared down the red dusty road. The two young girls entered the
house, Barbara leading the stranger to a large room on the upper story.
In a low chair sat a small woman, with a face which must have once been
beautiful, and which now shone with an expression of simple sincerity
and kindliness. She held out her hand to Millicent, kissed her on both
cheeks, and warmly bade her welcome to San Rosario. Millicent Almsford
acknowledged the greeting with a courteous grace, and immediately after
accepted Barbara’s offer to show her to her room.
When the door was shut upon her, and she was for the first time in many
days alone, she seated herself at the window, and leaning her head upon
her hand, remained wrapped in thought. She had travelled from the coast
of the Adriatic Sea to the shores of the Pacific Ocean, with no
companion save her maid and her own painful thoughts. And now the long
journeying was at an end, and she found herself in the far West, in
California, amidst her kindred, all strangers to her save by tradition
and some slight correspondence. She looked about the strange room. It
was exquisitely neat and fresh, with its clean whitewashed walls and new
blue Kidderminster carpet, its black-walnut "bedroom set," and
comfortable lounge, which had been newly covered in her honor. On the
bureau were blue and white mats and cushions, a toilet-set which
Barbara’s busy fingers had stolen time to make.
She marked all these little details, not one of which escaped her eyes,
even to the embroidered towel-rack with her initials, and the worked
motto, "Welcome home." Again she looked out from the window over a wide
pleasant orchard, filled with heavily fruited peach and plum trees; over
a garden gay with bright-hued flowers, and beyond to the everlasting
hills which close about the happy valley wherein stands the house of the
San Rosario Ranch. Numbers of oxen and cows were straying over the
hills, with here and there groups of sheep cropping the sun-dried grass
of the hills.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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