"She only knows that the name she has taken she has no right to.""Right to? Why, it was written on the Trust--Yerba Buena.""No, not that. She thought it was a mistake. She took the name of Arguello.""What?" said Mrs. Argalls, suddenly grasping the invalid's wrist with both hands. "What name?" her eyes were startled from their rigid coldness, her lips were colorless.
"Arguello! It was some foolish schoolgirl fancy which that hound helped to foster in her. Why--what's the matter, Kate?"The woman dropped the helpless man's wrist, then, with an effort, recovered herself sufficiently to rise, and, with an air of increased decorum, as if the spiritual character of their interview excluded worldly intrusion, adjusted the screen around his bed, so as partly to hide her own face and Pendleton's. Then, dropping into the chair beside him, she said, in her old voice, from which the burden of ten long years seemed to have been lifted,--"Harry, what's that you're playing on me?""I don't understand you," said Pendleton amazedly.
"Do you mean to say you don't know it, and didn't tell her yourself?" she said curtly.
"What? Tell her what?" he repeated impatiently.
"That Arguello WAS her father!"
"Her father?" He tried to struggle to his elbow again, but she laid her hand masterfully upon his shoulder and forced him back.
"Her father!" he repeated hurriedly. "Jose Arguello! Great God!--are you sure?"
Quietly and yet mechanically gathering the scattered tracts from the coverlet, and putting them back, one by one in her reticule, she closed it and her lips with a snap as she uttered--"Yes."Pendleton remained staring at her silently, "Yes," he muttered, "it may have been some instinct of the child's, or some diabolical fancy of Briones'. But," he said bitterly, "true or not, she has no right to his name.""And I say she HAS."
She had risen to her feet, with her arms folded across her breast, in an attitude of such Puritan composure that the distant spectators might have thought she was delivering an exordium to the prostrate man.