"But what do you suppose it was intended for?" he said at last,
vaguely. "It was certainly 'Yerba Buena' in the Trust. At least,
I suppose so," he corrected himself hurriedly.
"It is only a supposition," she said quietly, "for you know it
cannot be proved. The Trust was never recorded, and the only copy
could not be found among Mr. Hammersley's papers. It is only part
of the name, of which the first is lost."
"Part of the name?" repeated Paul, uneasily.
"Part of it. It is a corruption of de la Yerba Buena,--of the
Yerba Buena,--and refers to the island of Yerba Buena in the bay,
and not to the plant. That island was part of the property of my
family--the Arguellos--you will find it so recorded in the Spanish
grants. My name is Arguello de la Yerba Buena."
It is impossible to describe the timid yet triumphant, the half-
appealing yet complacent, conviction of the girl's utterance. A
moment before, Paul would have believed it impossible for him to
have kept his gravity and his respect for his companion under this
egregious illusion. But he kept both. For a sudden conviction
that she suspected the truth, and had taken this audacious and
original plan of crushing it, overpowered all other sense.
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