Many
of the valuable tapestries imported from Spain had been removed by
McTurpin during his tenure, but even bare adobe walls were cheerful in
the light of blazing logs, and rugs of native weave accorded well with
the simple mission furniture. In a great chair that almost swallowed her
sat Alice, gazing dreamily into the embers. Family portraits hung upon
the wall, and one of these, stiff and haughty in the regimentals of a
soldado de cuero, seemed to look down upon the domestic picture with a
certain austere benignity. This was the painting of Francisco Garvez of
hidalgo lineage, who had stood beside Ortega, the Pathfinder, when that
honored scout of Portola had found the bay of San Francisco and the
Golden Gate.
"Carissima, how he would have loved you, that old man!" Benito's tone
was dreamy.
Alice Windham turned. "You are like him, Benito," she said fondly.
"There is the same flash in your eye. Come, sit for awhile by the fire.
It's so cosy when it storms."
Benito kissed her. "I would that I might, but today there is an election
in the city," he reminded. "I must go to vote. Perhaps I can persuade
the good Broderick to dine with us this evening; or Brannan--though he
is so busy nowadays.
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