It was on returning home from one of these trips that they touched briefly at San Francisco, where the Secretary of the Fishing Company came on board.Mrs.Bunker was startled to recognize in him one of the two gentlemen who had taken Mr.Marion off in the boat, but as he did not appear to recognize her even after an awkward introduction by her husband, she would have recovered her equanimity but for a singular incident.As her husband turned momentarily away, the Secretary, with a significant gesture, slipped a letter into her hand.She felt the blood rush to her face as, with a smile, he moved away to follow her husband.She came down to the little cabin and impatiently tore open the envelope, which bore no address.A small folded note contained the following lines:--"I never intended to burden you with my confidence, but the discretion, tact, and courage you displayed on our first meeting, and what I know of your loyalty since, have prompted me to trust myself again to your kindness, even though you are now aware whom you have helped, and the risks you ran.My friends wish to communicate with me and to forward to me, from time to time, certain papers of importance, which, owing to the tyrannical espionage of the Government, would be discovered and stopped in passing through the express or post-office.These papers will be left at your house, but here I must trust entirely to your wit and judgment as to the way in which they should be delivered to my agent at the nearest Mexican port.To facilitate your action, your husband will receive directions to pursue his course as far south as Todos Santos, where a boat will be ready to take charge of them when he is sighted.I know I am asking a great favor, but I have such confidence in you that I do not even ask you to commit yourself to a reply to this.If it can be done I know that you will do it; if it cannot, I will understand and appreciate the reason why.I will only ask you that when you are ready to receive the papers you will fly a small red pennant from the little flagstaff among the rocks.Believe me, your friend and grateful debtor, "W.M."Mrs.Bunker cast a hasty glance around her, and pressed the letter to her lips.It was a sudden consummation of her vaguest, half-formed wishes, the realization of her wildest dreams! To be the confidante of the gallant but melancholy hero in his lonely exile and persecution was to satisfy all the unformulated romantic fancies of her girlish reading; to be later, perhaps, the Flora Macdonald of a middle-aged Prince Charlie did not, however, evoke any ludicrous associations in her mind.Her feminine fancy exalted the escaped duelist and alleged assassin into a social martyr.His actual small political intrigues and ignoble aims of office seemed to her little different from those aspirations of royalty which she had read about--as perhaps they were.Indeed, it is to be feared that in foolish little Mrs.Bunker, Wynyard Marion had found the old feminine adoration of pretension and privilege which every rascal has taken advantage of since the flood.
Howbeit, the next morning after she had returned and Zephas had sailed away, she flew a red bandana handkerchief on the little flagstaff before the house.A few hours later, a boat appeared mysteriously from around the Point.Its only occupant--a common sailor--asked her name, and handed her a sealed package.Mrs.
Bunker's invention had already been at work.She had created an aunt in Mexico, for whom she had, with some ostentation, made some small purchases while in San Francisco.When her husband spoke of going as far south as Todos Santos, she begged him to deliver the parcel to her aunt's messenger, and even addressed it boldly to her.Inside the outer wrapper she wrote a note to Marion, which, with a new and amazing diffidence, she composed and altered a dozen times, at last addressing the following in a large, school-girl hand: "Sir, I obey your commands to the last.Whatever your oppressors or enemies may do, you can always rely and trust upon She who in deepest sympathy signs herself ever, Mollie Rosalie MacEwan." The substitution of her maiden name in full seemed in her simplicity to be a delicate exclusion of her husband from the affair, and a certain disguise of herself to alien eyes.The superscription, "To Mrs.Marion MacEwan from Mollie Bunker, to be called for by hand at Todos Santos," also struck her as a marvel of ingenuity.The package was safely and punctually delivered by Zephas, who brought back a small packet directed to her, which on private examination proved to contain a letter addressed to "J.E.
Kirby, to be called for," with the hurried line: "A thousand thanks, W.M." Mrs.Bunker drew a long, quick breath.He might have written more; he might have--but the wish remained still unformulated.The next day she ran up a signal; the same boat and solitary rower appeared around the Point, and took the package.Aweek later, when her husband was ready for sea, she again hoisted her signal.It brought a return package for Mexico, which she inclosed and readdressed, and gave to her husband.The recurrence of this incident apparently struck a bright idea from the simple Zephas.
"Look here, Mollie, why don't you come YOURSELF and see your aunt.
I can't go into port without a license, and them port charges cost a heap o' red tape, for they've got a Filibuster scare on down there just now, but you can go ashore in the boat and I'll get permission from the Secretary to stand off and wait for you there for twenty-four hours." Mrs.Bunker flushed and paled at the thought.She could see him! The letter would be sufficient excuse, the distrust suggested by her husband would give color to her delivering it in person.There was perhaps a brief twinge of conscience in taking this advantage of Zephas' kindness, but the next moment, with that peculiar logic known only to the sex, she made the unfortunate man's suggestion a condonation of her deceit.
