“No,” said Peyton grimly, “nor will they dare to do it as long as I live to fight them.”

“But,” persisted Clarence, with the same singular hesitancy of manner, “why didn’t you purchase possession of at least that part of the land which lies so dangerously near your own house?”

“Because it was held by squatters, who naturally preferred buying what might prove a legal title to their land from these impostors than to sell out their possession to me at a fair price.”

“But couldn’t you have bought from them both?” continued Clarence.

“My dear Clarence, I am not a Croesus nor a fool.  Only a man who was both would attempt to treat with these rascals, who would now, of course, insist that their whole claim should be bought up at their own price, by the man who was most concerned in defeating them.”

He turned away a little impatiently.  Fortunately he did not observe that Clarence’s averted face was crimson with embarrassment, and that a faint smile hovered nervously about his mouth.

Since his late rendezvous with Susy, Clarence had had no chance to interrogate her further regarding her mysterious relative.  That that shadowy presence was more or less exaggerated, if not an absolute myth, he more than half suspected, but of the discontent that had produced it, or the recklessness it might provoke, there was no doubt.  She might be tempted to some act of folly.  He wondered if Mary Rogers knew it.  Yet, with his sensitive ideas of loyalty, he would have shrunk from any confidence with Mary regarding her friend’s secrets, although he fancied that Mary’s dark eyes sometimes dwelt upon him with mournful consciousness and premonition.  He did not imagine the truth, that this romantic contemplation was only the result of Mary’s conviction that Susy was utterly unworthy of his love.  It so chanced one morning that the vacquero who brought the post from Santa Inez arrived earlier than usual, and so anticipated the two girls, who usually made a youthful point of meeting him first as he passed the garden wall.  The letter bag was consequently delivered to Mrs. Peyton in the presence of the others, and a look of consternation passed between the young girls.  But Mary quickly seized upon the bag as if with girlish and mischievous impatience, opened it, and glanced within it.

“There are only three letters for you,” she said, handing them to Clarence, with a quick look of significance, which he failed to comprehend, “and nothing for me or Susy.”

“But,” began the innocent Clarence, as his first glance at the letters showed him that one was directed to Susy, “here is”—­

A wicked pinch on his arm that was nearest Mary stopped his speech, and he quickly put the letters in his pocket.

“Didn’t you understand that Susy don’t want her mother to see that letter?” asked Mary impatiently, when they were alone a moment later.

“No,” said Clarence simply, handing her the missive.