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waiting is concluded； and its performance will take me East at
once。 I have made arrangements that you will be left in the
literary charge of the 'Clarion。' It is only a fitting recompense
that the paper owes to you and your father；to whom I hope to see
you presently reconciled。 But we won't discuss that now！ As my
affairs take me back to Los Gatos within half an hour； I am sorry I
cannot dispense my hospitality in person；but you will dine and
sleep here to…night。 Good…by。 As you go out will you please send
up Mr。 Jackson to me。〃 He nodded briefly； seemed to plunge
instantly into his papers again； and John Milton was glad to
withdraw。
The shock he had felt at Mrs。 Ashwood's frigid disposition of his
wishes and his manuscript had benumbed him to any enjoyment or
appreciation of the change in his fortune。 He wandered out of the
house and descended to the beach in a dazed； bewildered way； seeing
only the words of her letter to Fletcher before him； and striving
to grasp some other meaning from them than their coldly practical
purport。 Perhaps this was her cruel revenge for his telling her
not to write to him。 Could she not have divined it was only his
fear of what she might say！ And now it was all over！ She had
washed her hands of him with the sending of that manuscript and
letter； and he would pass out of her memory as a foolish； conceited
ingrate；perhaps a figure as wearily irritating and stupid to her
as the cousin she had known。 He mechanically lifted his eyes to
the distant hotel； the glow was still in the western sky； but the
blue lamp was already shining in the window。 His cheek flushed
quickly； and he turned away as if she could have seen his face。
Yesshe despised him； and THAT was his answer！
When he returned； Mr。 Fletcher had gone。 He dragged through a
dinner with Mr。 Jackson； Fletcher's secretary； and tried to realize
his good fortune in listening to the subordinate's congratulations。
〃But I thought；〃 said Jackson； 〃you had slipped up on your luck to…
day； when the old man sent for you。 He was quite white； and ready
to rip out about something that had just come in。 I suppose it was
one of those anonymous things against your father；the old man's
dead set against 'em now。〃 But John Milton heard him vaguely； and
presently excused himself for a row on the moonlit bay。
The active exertion； with intervals of placid drifting along the
land…locked shore； somewhat soothed him。 The heaving Pacific
beyond was partly hidden in a low creeping fog； but the curving bay
was softly radiant。 The rocks whereon she sat that morning； the
hotel where she was now quietly reading； were outlined in black and
silver。 In this dangerous contiguity it seemed to him that her
presence returned；not the woman who had met him so coldly； who
had penned those lines； the woman from whom he was now parting
forever； but the blameless ideal he had worshiped from the first；
and which he now felt could never pass out of his life again！ He
recalled their long talks； their rarer rides and walks in the city；
her quick appreciation and ready sympathy； her pretty curiosity and
half…maternal consideration of his foolish youthful past； even the
playful way that she sometimes seemed to make herself younger as if
to better understand him。 Lingering at times in the shadow of the
headland； he fancied he saw the delicate nervous outlines of her
face near his own again； the faint shading of her brown lashes； the
soft intelligence of her gray eyes。 Drifting idly in the placid
moonlight； pulling feverishly across the swell of the channel； or
lying on his oars in the shallows of the rocks； but always following
the curves of the bay； like a bird circling around a lighthouse； it
was far in the night before he at last dragged his boat upon the
sand。 Then he turned to look once more at her distant window。 He
would be away in the morning and he should never see it again！ It
was very late； but the blue light seemed to be still burning
unalterably and inflexibly。
But even as he gazed； a change came over it。 A shadow seemed to
pass before the blind； the blue shade was lifted； for an instant he
could see the colorless star…like point of the light itself show
clearly。 It was over now； she was putting out the lamp。 Suddenly
he held his breath！ A roseate glow gradually suffused the window
like a burning blush； the curtain was drawn aside； and the red
lamp…shade gleamed out surely and steadily into the darkness。
Transfigured and breathless in the moonlight； John Milton gazed on
it。 It seemed to him the dawn of Love！
CHAPTER XIII。
The winter rains had come。 But so plenteously and persistently；
and with such fateful preparation of circumstance； that the long
looked for blessing presently became a wonder； an anxiety； and at
last a slowly widening terror。 Before a month had passed every
mountain； stream； and watercourse； surcharged with the melted snows
of the Sierras； had become a great tributary； every tributary a
great river； until； pouring their great volume into the engorged
channels of the American and Sacramento rivers； they overleaped
their banks and became as one vast inland sea。 Even to a country
already familiar with broad and striking catastrophe； the flood was
a phenomenal one。 For days the sullen overflow lay in the valley
of the Sacramento； enormous； silent； currentlessexcept where the
surplus waters rolled through Carquinez Straits； San Francisco Bay；
and the Golden Gate； and reappeared as the vanished Sacramento
River； in an outflowing stream of fresh and turbid water fifty
miles at sea。
Across the vast inland expanse； brooded over by a leaden sky； leaden
rain fell； dimpling like shot the sluggish pools of the flood； a
cloudy chaos of fallen trees； drifting barns and outhouses； wagons
and agricultural implements moved over the surface of the waters； or
circled slowly around the outskirts of forests that stood ankle deep
in ooze and the current； which in serried phalanx they resisted
still。 As night fell these forms became still more vague and
chaotic； and were interspersed with the scattered lanterns and
flaming torches of relief…boats； or occasionally the high terraced
gleaming windows of the great steamboats； feeling their way along
the lost channel。 At times the opening of a furnace…door shot broad
bars of light across the sluggish stream and into the branches of
dripping and drift…encumbered trees； at times the looming
smoke…stacks sent out a pent…up breath of sparks that illuminated
the inky chaos for a moment； and then fell as black and dripping
rain。 Or perhaps a hoarse shout from some faintly outlined hulk on
either side brought a quick response from the relief…boats； and the
detaching of a canoe with a blazing pine…knot in its bow into the
outer darkness。
It was late in the afternoon when Lawrence Grant； from the deck of
one of the larger tugs； sighted what had been once the estuary of
Sidon Creek。 The leader of a party of scientific observation and
relief； he had kept a tireless watch of eighteen hours； keenly
noticing the work of devastation； the changes in the channel； the
prospects of abatement； and the danger that still threatened。 He
had passed down the length of the submerged Sacramento valley；
through the Straits of Carquinez； and was now steaming along the
shores of the upper reaches of San Francisco Bay。 Everywhere the
same scene of desolation；vast stretches of tule land； once broken
up by cultivation and dotted with dwellings； now clearly erased on
that watery chart； long lines of symmetrical perspective； breaking
the monotonous level； showing orchards buried in the flood； Indian
mounds and natural eminences covered with cattle or hastily erected
camps； half submerged houses； whose solitary chimneys； however；
still gave signs of an undaunted life within； isolated groups of
trees； with their lower branches heavy with the unwholesome fruit
of the flood； in wisps of hay and straw； rakes and pitchforks； or
pathetically sheltering some shivering and forgotten household pet。
But everywhere the same dull； expressionless； placid tranquillity
of destruction；a horrible leveling of all things in one bland
smiling equality of surface； beneath which agony； despair； and ruin
were deeply buried and forgotten； a catastrophe without convulsion；
a devastation voiceless； passionless； and supine。
The boat had slowed up before what seemed to be a collection of
disarranged houses with the current flowing between lines that
indicated the existence of thoroughfares and streets。 Many of the
lighter wooden buildings were huddled together on the street
corners with their gables to the flow； some appeared as if they had
fallen on their knees； and others lay complacently on their sides；
like the houses of a child's toy village。 An elevator still lifted
itself above the other warehouses； from the