The nest of the tuneful Burnhams, although in the suburbs of Indian Spring, was not in ordinary weather and seasons hidden from the longing¹ eyes of the youth of that settlement. That night, however, it was veiled in the smoke that encompassed² the great highway leading to Excelsior. It is presumed that the Burnham brood had long since folded their wings, for there was no sign of life nor movement in the house as a rapidly-driven horse and buggy pulled up before it. Fortunately, the paternal³ Burnham was an early bird, in the habit of picking up the first stirring mining worm, and a resounding⁴ knock brought him half dressed to the street door. He was startled at seeing Father Wynn before him, a trifle flushed and abstracted.  
“Ah ha! up betimes, I see, and ready. No sluggards here—ha, ha!” he said heartily⁶, slamming the door behind him, and by a series of pokes⁷ in the ribs⁸ genially⁹ backing his host into his own sitting-room¹⁰. “I'm up, too, and am here to see Nellie. She's here, eh—of course?” he added, darting¹¹ a quick look at Burnham.
 
But Mr. Burnham was one of those large, liberal Western husbands who classified his household under the general title of “woman folk,” for the integers of which he was not responsible. He hesitated, and then propounded¹³ over the balusters to the upper story the direct query—
 
“You don't happen to have Nellie Wynn up there, do ye?”
 
There was an interval¹⁴ of inquiry¹⁵ proceeding¹⁶ from half a dozen reluctant throats, more or less cottony and muffled¹⁷, in those various degrees of grievance¹⁸ and mental distress¹⁹ which indicate too early roused young womanhood. The eventual²⁰ reply seemed to be affirmative, albeit²¹ accompanied with a suppressed giggle²², as if the young lady had just been discovered as an answer to an amusing conundrum²³.
 
“All right,” said Wynn, with an apparent accession of boisterous²⁴ geniality²⁵. “Tell her I must see her, and I've only got a few minutes to spare. Tell her to slip on anything and come down; there's no one here but myself, and I've shut the front door on Brother Burnham. Ha, ha!” and suiting the action to the word, he actually bundled the admiring Brother Burnham out on his own doorstep. There was a light pattering on the staircase, and Nellie Wynn, pink with sleep, very tall, very slim, hastily draped in a white counterpane with a blue border and a general classic suggestion, slipped into the parlor²⁶. At the same moment her father shut the door behind her, placed one hand on the knob, and with the other seized her wrist.
 
“Where were you yesterday?” he asked.
 
Nellie looked at him, shrugged²⁷ her shoulders, and said, “Here.”
 
“You were in the Carquinez Woods with Low Dorman; you went there in disguise; you've met him there before. He is your clandestine²⁸ lover; you have taken pledges of affection from him; you have—”
 
“Stop!” she said.
 
He stopped.
 
“Did he tell you this?” she asked, with an expression of disdain²⁹.
 
“No; I overheard it. Dunn and Brace³⁰ were at the house waiting for you. When the coach did not bring you, I went to the office to inquire. As I left our door I thought I saw somebody listening at the parlor windows. It was only a drunken Mexican muleteer leaning against the house; but if HE heard nothing, I did. Nellie, I heard Brace tell Dunn that he had tracked you in your disguise to the woods—do you hear? that when you pretended to be here with the girls you were with Low—alone; that you wear a ring that Low got of a trader here; that there was a cabin in the woods—”
 
“Stop!” she repeated.
 
Wynn again paused.
 
“And what did YOU do?” she asked.
 
“I heard they were starting down there to surprise you and him together, and I harnessed up and got ahead of them in my buggy.”
 
“And found me here,” she said, looking full into his eyes.
 
He understood her and returned the look. He recognized the full importance of the culminating fact conveyed in her words, and was obliged to content himself with its logical and worldly significance. It was too late now to take her to task for mere³¹ filial disobedience; they must become allies.
 
“Yes,” he said hurriedly; “but if you value your reputation, if you wish to silence both these men, answer me fully³².”
 
“Go on,” she said.
 
“Did you go to the cabin in the woods yesterday?”
 
“No.”
 
“Did you ever go there with Low?”
 
“No; I do not know even where it is.”
 
Wynn felt that she was telling the truth. Nellie knew it; but as she would have been equally satisfied with an equally efficacious falsehood, her face remained unchanged.
 
“And when did he leave you?”
 
“At nine o'clock, here. He went to the hotel.”
 
“He saved his life, then, for Dunn is on his way to the woods to kill him.”
 
The jeopardy³³ of her lover did not seem to affect the young girl with alarm, although her eyes betrayed some interest.
 
“Then Dunn has gone to the woods?” she said thoughtfully.
 
“He has,” replied Wynn.
 
“Is that all?” she asked.
 
“I want to know what you are going to do?”
 
“I WAS going back to bed.”
 
“This is no time for trifling³⁴, girl.”
 
“I should think not,” she said, with a yawn; “it's too early, or too late.”
 
Wynn grasped her wrist more tightly. “Hear me! Put whatever face you like on this affair, you are compromised—and compromised with a man you can't marry.”
 
“I don't know that I ever wanted to marry Low, if you mean him,” she said quietly.
 
“And Dunn wouldn't marry you now.”
 
“I'm not so sure of that, either.”
 
“Nellie,” said Wynn excitedly, “do you want to drive me mad? Have you nothing to say—nothing to suggest?”
 
“Oh, you want me to help you, do you! Why didn't you say that first? Well, go and bring Dunn here.”
 
“Are you mad? The man has gone already in pursuit of your lover, believing you with him.”
 
“Then he will the more readily come and talk with me without him. Will you take the invitation—yes or no?”
 
“Yes, but—”
 
“Enough. On your way there you will stop at the hotel and give Low a letter from me.”
 
“Nellie!”
 
“You shall read it, of course,” she said scornfully, “for it will be your text for the conversation you will have with him. Will you please take your hand from the lock and open the door?”
 
Wynn mechanically opened the door. The young girl flew up-stairs. In a very few moments she returned with two notes: one contained a few lines of formal invitation to Dunn; the other read as follows:
 
“DEAR MR. DORMAN,—My father will tell you how deeply I regret that our recent botanical excursions in the Carquinez Woods have been a source of serious misapprehensions to those who had a claim to my consideration, and that I shall be obliged to discontinue them for the future. At the same time he wishes me to express my gratitude³⁶ for your valuable instruction and assistance in that pleasing study, even though approaching events may compel me to relinquish³⁷ it for other duties. May I beg you to accept the inclosed ring as a slight recognition of my obligations to you?
 
“Your grateful pupil,
 
“NELLIE WYNN.”
 
When he had finished reading the letter, she handed him a ring, which he took mechanically. He raised his eyes to hers with perfectly³⁸ genuine admiration³⁹. “You're a good girl, Nellie,” he said, and, in a moment of parental⁴⁰ forgetfulness, unconsciously advanced his lips towards her cheek. But she drew back in time to recall him to a sense of that human weakness.
 
“I suppose I'll have time for a nap yet,” she said, as a gentle hint to her embarrassed parent. He nodded and turned towards the door.
 
“If I were you,” she continued, repressing a yawn, “I'd manage to be seen on good terms with Low at the hotel; so perhaps you need not give the letter to him until the last thing. Good-by.”
 
The sitting-room door opened and closed behind her as she slipped up-stairs, and her father, without the formality of leave-taking, quietly let himself out by the front door.
 
When he drove into the high road again, however, an overlooked possibility threatened for a moment to indefinitely postpone⁴¹ his amiable⁴² intentions regarding Low. The hotel was at the further end of the settlement towards the Carquinez Woods, and as Wynn had nearly reached it he was recalled to himself by the sounds of hoofs⁴³ and wheels rapidly approaching from the direction of the Excelsior turnpike. Wynn made no doubt it was the sheriff and Brace. To avoid recognition at that moment, he whipped up his horse, intending to keep the lead until he could turn into the first cross-road. But the coming travelers had the fleetest horse, and finding it impossible to distance them he drove close to the ditch, pulling up suddenly as the strange vehicle was abreast⁴⁴ of him, and forcing them to pass him at full speed, with the result already chronicled. When they had vanished in the darkness, Mr. Wynn, with a heart overflowing⁴⁶ with Christian⁴⁷ thankfulness and universal benevolence⁴⁸, wheeled round, and drove back to the hotel he had already passed. To pull up at the veranda⁴⁹ with a stentorian⁵⁰ shout, to thump⁵¹ loudly at the deserted⁵² bar, to hilariously⁵³ beat the panels of the landlord's door, and commit a jocose⁵⁴ assault and battery upon that half-dresssed and half-awakened⁵⁵ man, was eminently⁵⁶ characteristic of Wynn, and part of his amiable plans that morning.
 
“Something to wash this wood smoke from my throat, Brother Carter, and about as much again to prop¹² open your eyes,” he said, dragging Carter before the bar, “and glasses round for as many of the boys as are up and stirring after a hard-working Christian's rest. How goes the honest publican's trade, and who have we here?”
 
“Thar's Judge Robinson and two lawyers from Sacramento, Dick Curson over from Yolo,” said Carter, “and that ar young Injin yarb doctor from the Carquinez Woods. I reckon he's jist up—I noticed a light under his door as I passed.”
 
“He's my man for a friendly chat before breakfast,” said Wynn. “You needn't come up. I'll find the way. I don't want a light; I reckon my eyes ain't as bright nor as young as his, but they'll see almost as far in the dark—he! he!” And, nodding to Brother Carter, he strode along the passage, and with no other introduction than a playful and preliminary “Boo!” burst into one of the rooms. Low, who by the light of a single candle was bending over the plates of a large quarto, merely raised his eyes and looked at the intruder. The young man's natural imperturbability⁵⁷, always exasperating⁵⁸ to Wynn, seemed accented that morning by contrast with his own over-acted animation⁵⁹.
 
“Ah ha!—wasting the midnight oil instead of imbibing⁶⁰ the morning dews,” said Father Wynn archly, illustrating⁶¹ his metaphor⁶² with a movement of his hand to his lips. “What have we here?”
 
“An anonymous⁶³ gift,” replied Low simply, recognizing the father of Nellie by rising from his chair. “It's a volume I've longed to possess, but never could afford to buy. I cannot imagine who sent it to me.”
 
Wynn was for a moment startled by the thought that this recipient⁶⁴ of valuable gifts might have influential⁶⁵ friends. But a glance at the bare room, which looked like a camp, and the strange, unconventional garb⁶⁶ of its occupant, restored his former convictions. There might be a promise of intelligence, but scarcely of prosperity, in the figure before him.
 
“Ah! We must not forget that we are watched over in the night season,” he said, laying his hand on Low's shoulder, with an illustration of celestial⁶⁷ guardianship⁶⁸ that would have been impious but for its palpable grotesqueness⁶⁹. “No, sir, we know not what a day may bring forth⁷⁰.”
 
Unfortunately, Low's practical mind did not go beyond a mere human interpretation⁷¹. It was enough, however, to put a new light in his eye and a faint color in his cheek.
 
“Could it have been Miss Nellie?” he asked, with half-boyish hesitation⁷².
 
Mr. Wynn was too much of a Christian not to bow before what appeared to him the purely⁷³ providential interposition of this suggestion. Seizing it and Low at the same moment, he playfully forced him down again in his chair.
 
“Ah, you rascal⁷⁴!” he said, with infinite archness; “that's your game, is it? You want to trap poor Father Wynn. You want to make him say 'No.' You want to tempt⁷⁵ him to commit himself. No, sir!—never, sir!—no, no!”
 
Firmly convinced that the present was Nellie's, and that her father only good-humoredly guessed it, the young man's simple, truthful⁷⁶ nature was embarrassed. He longed to express his gratitude, but feared to betray the young girl's trust. The Reverend Mr. Wynn speedily relieved his mind.
 
“No,” he continued, bestriding a chair, and familiarly confronting Low over its back. “No, sir—no! And you want me to say 'No,' don't you, regarding the little walks of Nellie and a certain young man in the Carquinez Woods?—ha, ha! You'd like me to say that I knew nothing of the botanizings, and the herb collectings, and the picknickings there—he, he!—you sly dog! Perhaps you'd like to tempt Father Wynn further, and make him swear he knows nothing of his daughter disguising herself in a duster and meeting another young man—isn't it another young man?—all alone, eh? Perhaps you want poor old Father Wynn to say No. No, sir, nothing of the kind ever occurred. Ah, you young rascal!”
 
Slightly troubled, in spite of Wynn's hearty⁷⁷ manner, Low, with his usual directness, however, said, “I do not want anyone to deny that I have seen Miss Nellie.”
 
“Certainly, certainly,” said Wynn, abandoning his method, considerably⁷⁸ disconcerted by Low's simplicity⁷⁹, and a certain natural reserve that shook off his familiarity. “Certainly it's a noble thing to be able to put your hand on your heart and say to the world, 'Come on, all of you! Observe me; I have nothing to conceal⁸⁰. I walk with Miss Wynn in the woods as her instructor—her teacher, in fact. We cull⁸¹ a flower here and there; we pluck an herb fresh from the hands of the Creator. We look, so to speak, from Nature to Nature's God.' Yes, my young friend, we should be the first to repel⁸² the foul⁸³ calumny⁸⁴ that could misinterpret our most innocent actions.”
 
“Calumny?” repeated Low, starting to his feet. “What calumny?”
 
“My friend, my noble young friend, I recognize your indignation. I know your worth. When I said to Nellie, my only child, my perhaps too simple offspring—a mere wildflower like yourself—when I said to her, 'Go, my child, walk in the woods with this young man, hand in hand. Let him instruct you from the humblest roots, for he has trodden in the ways of the Almighty⁸⁵. Gather wisdom from his lips, and knowledge from his simple woodman's craft. Make, in fact, a collection not only of herbs, but of moral axioms and experience'—I knew I could trust you, and, trusting you, my young friend, I felt I could trust the world. Perhaps I was weak, foolish. But I thought only of her welfare. I even recall how that to preserve the purity of her garments, I bade her don a simple duster; that, to secure her from the trifling companionship of others, I bade her keep her own counsel, and seek you at seasons known but to yourselves.”
 
“But . . . did Nellie . . . understand you?” interrupted Low hastily.
 
“I see you read her simple nature. Understand me? No, not at first! Her maidenly⁸⁶ instinct—perhaps her duty to another—took the alarm. I remember her words. 'But what will Dunn say?' she asked. 'Will he not be jealous?'”
 
“Dunn! jealous! I don't understand,” said Low, fixing his eyes on Wynn.
 
“That's just what I said to Nellie. 'Jealous!' I said. 'What, Dunn, your affianced husband, jealous of a mere friend—a teacher, a guide, a philosopher. It is impossible.' Well, sir, she was right. He is jealous. And, more than that, he has imparted his jealousy⁸⁷ to others! In other words, he has made a scandal!”
 
Low's eyes flashed. “Where is your daughter now?” he said sternly.
 
“At present in bed, suffering from a nervous attack brought on by these unjust suspicions. She appreciates your anxiety, and, knowing that you could not see her, told me to give you this.” He handed Low the ring and the letter.
 
The climax⁸⁸ had been forced, and, it must be confessed, was by no means the one Mr. Wynn had fully arranged in his own inner consciousness. He had intended to take an ostentatious leave of Low in the bar-room, deliver the letter with archness, and escape before a possible explosion. He consequently backed towards the door for an emergency. But he was again at fault. That unaffected stoical fortitude⁹⁰ in acute suffering, which was the one remaining pride and glory of Low's race, was yet to be revealed to Wynn's civilized⁹¹ eyes.
 
The young man took the letter, and read it without changing a muscle, folded the ring in it, and dropped it into his haversack. Then he picked up his blanket, threw it over his shoulder, took his trusty rifle in his hand, and turned towards Wynn as if coldly surprised that he was still standing⁹² there.
 
“Are you—are you—going?” stammered⁹³ Wynn.
 
“Are you NOT?” replied Low dryly, leaning on his rifle for a moment as if waiting for Wynn to precede him. The preacher looked at him a moment, mumbled⁹⁴ something, and then shambled feebly and ineffectively down the staircase before Low, with a painful suggestion to the ordinary observer of being occasionally urged thereto by the moccasin of the young man behind him.
 
On reaching the lower hall, however, he endeavored to create a diversion in his favor by dashing into the bar-room and clapping the occupants on the back with indiscriminate playfulness. But here again he seemed to be disappointed. To his great discomfiture⁹⁶, a large man not only returned his salutation with powerful levity⁹⁷, but with equal playfulness seized him in his arms, and after an in............