It was Susy’s words that stung their ears again; but it was Susy’s pretty figure, suddenly advanced and in a slightly theatrical attitude, that checked their anger.  There had been a sudden ominous silence, as the whole plot of rescue seemed to be revealed to them in those audacious words.  But a sense of the ludicrous, which too often was the only perception that ever mitigated the passions of such assemblies, here suddenly asserted itself.  The leader burst into a loud laugh, which was echoed by the others, and, with waving hats, the whole party swept peacefully out through the gate.

“But what does all this mean about your purchasing the land, Mr. Brant?” said Mrs. Peyton quickly, fixing her eyes intently on Clarence.

A faint color—­the useless protest of his truthful blood—­came to his cheek.

“The house is yours, and yours alone, Mrs. Peyton.  The purchase of the sisters’ title was a private arrangement between Mr. Peyton and myself, in view of an emergency like this.”

She did not, however, take her proud, searching eyes from his face, and he was forced to turn away.

“It was so like dear, good, thoughtful papa,” said Susy.  “Why, bless me,” in a lower voice, “if that isn’t that lying old Jim Hooker standing there by the gate!”

CHAPTER VIII.

Judge Peyton had bequeathed his entire property unconditionally to his wife.  But his affairs were found to be greatly in disorder, and his papers in confusion, and although Mrs. Peyton could discover no actual record of the late transaction with Mr. Brant, which had saved her the possession of the homestead, it was evident that he had spent large sums in speculative attempts to maintain the integrity of his estate.  That enormous domain, although perfectly unencumbered, had been nevertheless unremunerative, partly through the costs of litigation and partly through the systematic depredations to which its great size and long line of unprotected boundary had subjected it.  It had been invaded by squatters and “jumpers,” who had sown and reaped crops without discovery; its cattle and wild horses had strayed or been driven beyond its ill-defined and hopeless limits.  Against these difficulties the widow felt herself unable and unwilling to contend, and with the advice of her friends and her lawyer, she concluded to sell the estate, except that portion covered by the Sisters’ title, which, with the homestead, had been reconveyed to her by Clarence.  She retired with Susy to the house in San Francisco, leaving Clarence to occupy and hold the casa, with her servants, for her until order was restored.  The Robles Rancho thus became the headquarters of the new owner of the Sisters’ title, from which he administered its affairs, visited its incumbencies, overlooked and surveyed its lands, and—­occasionally—­collected its rents.  There were not wanting critics who averred that these were scarcely remunerative, and that the young San Francisco fine gentleman, who was only Hamilton Brant’s son, after all, yet who wished to ape the dignity and degree of a large landholder, had made a very foolish bargain.  I grieve to say that one of his own tenants, namely, Jim Hooker, in his secret heart inclined to that belief, and looked upon Clarence’s speculation as an act of far-seeing and inordinate vanity.