Chapter I. Something Before Unknown

Clara Heyward was dressed in deep mourning, and it was evident that the emblems of bereavement were not worn merely in compliance with a social custom. Her face was pallid from grief, and her dark beautiful eyes were dim from much weeping. She sat in the little parlor of a cottage located in a large Californian city, and listened with apathetic expression as a young man pleaded for the greatest and most sacred gift that a woman can bestow. Ralph Brandt was a fine type of young vigorous manhood； and we might easily fancy that his strong, resolute face, now eloquent with deep feeling, was not one upon which a girl could look with indifference. Clara‘s words, however, revealed the apparent hopelessness of his suit.

"It‘s of no use, Ralph," she said； "I‘m in no mood for such thoughts."

"You don‘t believe in me； you don‘t trust me," he resumed sadly. "You think that because I was once wild, and even worse, that I‘ll not be true t

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