A French trader brought news to the coast of another unfortunate affair in the hinterland. It appears that two Englishmen, Dane and Maxwell, who left the coast months earlier, on a prospecting expedition, lost their carriers by sickness, and have since been hemmed in by hostile natives in a perilous position. Our correspondent states that the French authorities, who warned them against the expedition, consider their extrication impossible, and believe they must have perished already.
A French trader brought news to the coast of another unfortunate affair in the hinterland. It appears that two Englishmen, Dane and Maxwell, who left the coast months earlier, on a prospecting expedition, lost their carriers by sickness, and have since been hemmed in by hostile natives in a perilous position. Our correspondent states that the French authorities, who warned them against the expedition, consider their extrication impossible, and believe they must have perished already.
Lilian let the paper fall from her nerveless hands, and lay motionless, shivering in her chair. The shock of a supposed discovery, and a jealousy she would not own, had played their part in forcing on her attention a question she had resolutely striven to ignore, while now, when it was perhaps too late forever, the answer was clear. She could deceive herself no longer; and she guessed why the man had risked his life to win a little gold in Africa. Risked it—at the thought her eyes grew hazy. It might well be that he had flung his life away! Yet, even then, it was with a passing thrill of pride that she remembered the stubbornness beneath his patience, and knew that it would go very hard with his enemies before he went down.
Hilton Dane had changed swiftly in her estimation from a man with a weakness to a hero, generous, loyal, swift to do her pleasure, and yet fitted to command. It seemed to her overstrained fancy that she could almost hear his voice ringing through the blast of therifles in the last struggle; and that it would be a very grim and terrible struggle she knew. Then she shuddered once more, recollecting what she had read of the scenes within an African stockade when the rifles lay cold in the undergrowth, and the smoke of the flintlocks had melted away.
The sense of constraint inside grew unbearable, and the girl went forth into the night, and stood bareheaded, staring into the darkness, hoping, though almost afraid to hope, that the man she had sent away had not passed forever beyond her power to recall him.
Chatterton and his wife, returning presently, found her waiting in the hall; and the iron-master's action was characteristic when he had glanced at the paper she handed him. Wrenching out his notebook he wrote on the first blank leaf the address of a firm dealing in palm oil in Liverpool, and then a message beneath it:
"See newspaper report of disaster to West Coast explorers, Dane and Maxwell. Wire your agents to find out how much is true, and all possible details. Spare no expense whatever."
He flung the paper to the groom outside.
"Get that telegram sent off before the post-office closes, if you kill the horse!" he said.
There was a rattle of wheels, and Chatterton laughed a grim laugh as he turned toward the women.
"No great cause for anxiety as yet. I know Hilton Dane better than either of you, and I think I know Maxwell too. It would take several legions of niggers to hem them in—and I should be sorry for many of the black men."
A few days later, Thomas Chatterton sat beside his hearth one evening in an unpleasant frame of mind.The weather might have caused a more even tempered person some discontent, because the windows rattled under the impact of the sleet-laden blast, and the snugly curtained room was swept by chilling draughts. But Chatterton was not considering the weather; he glanced at the clock before he turned toward the owner of Culmeny.
"That lazy rascal is stopping somewhere to gossip on the way," he said.
"The telegraph office is closed now, and he must be here shortly," replied Maxwell. "I was sorry to hear that Miss Chatterton was no better. Have you any more favorable news to give me?"
"No. She is rather worse than better, and we are distinctly uneasy about her to-night," he said. "Dr. Gilmour was here an hour ago, looking rather more owl-like than usual, but I could get no opinion out of him. In fact, the man puzzled me. He appeared dazed, and either would not listen to my questions or was incapable of understanding plain English."
"Dazed? You do not as a rule speak ambiguously. If Miss Chatterton is seriously ill I think it is my duty to tell you what you evidently do not know, though it is no secret. Gilmour is not free from a weakness for alcohol."
Chatterton was a man of action; making no comment, he wrenched upon the rope of the bell before he pulled out his watch.
"Send Robertson here at once!" he ordered; and when his groom appeared, he asked:
"Is it possible to ride a horse to Swiftsbridge across the Langside moss and through the ford in time to bring out the doctor by the last train?"
"No, sir," was the answer. "The moor track's under water, the ford just roaring full, and I'm thinking that to swim the Swift to-night is impossible."
"I think he is right," Maxwell said; "though I fancy I could have done it twenty years ago."
"Then you can drive!" Chatterton said harshly to the groom. "It's a little over forty miles there and back by road. Get a fresh horse at the bridge; but if you value your place don't come back without the doctor!"
Chatterton walked to the window and flung the curtains behind him; then he returned with brows contracted farther.
"The moor is white all over, and the air thick with sleet," he said. "It will take that fellow all his time to bring the doctor here by to-morrow."
A maid, appearing, laid a telegraphic envelope on the table, and Chatterton tore it open.
"At last! I always thought the man was incapable. Listen to this!
"Difficult to communicate by ocean cable except at heavy cost, but surmise from message received that our coast agent credits published account. His cable just received reads, as deciphered by our code: Yes. Consider prospects discouraging. Do not look for improvement. Think we could confirm."
Chatterton whipped out a pencil and, scribbling across the foot of the message, handed it to Maxwell.
"Can you send somebody down to the office with that?" he said. "It can't go until to-morrow. I want to keep my other man ready."
"Yes," agreed Maxwell. "There are regulations, Chatterton, which will bar out your opening sentence,Damn your private code.The rest is, I think, plain enough.Get news whatever it costs. Wire your agent in English if he has sense enough to understand it. Believe I am quite able to meet the bill."
"That man," explained Chatterton, "is, I blush to say, a relative of my own, and given to complaining that times are bad. It surprises me that he does not find them ruinous, if this is a sample of his enterprise. I'm almost as much cut up as you are about this affair; and I'm sorry for you, Maxwell."
"Thanks," returned the master of Culmeny, quietly. "He was the only son left me, and I have a presentiment of what the end will be. It is, however, in the hands of the Almighty; but, if the worst comes, I know that neither of them will forget what is due to the land that bred him."
Chatterton coughed huskily.
"You are morbid, Culmeny. If they can only steer clear of treachery, by the Lord, those two lads will cut their way out in spite of all the savages in Africa. I know the one whose father was my partner, and I know your son. If my own brother told me he had seen them beaten, I would not believe him."
Maxwell left, and in a few minutes Mrs. Chatterton came in to say that Lilian was growing delirious. As they spoke together the iron-master heard a voice in the hall.
"It is that confounded Rae," he observed. "It was he who encouraged Lily to go poking into the houses of poor folks who didn't want her, all winter. I consider him responsible for her illness, and feel quite capable of telling him so."
The clergyman was ushered in, and he had barelystated the purport of his visit when the elder man cut him short.
"No. Miss Chatterton will neither sing at your concert, nor distribute any more coal tickets to encourage professional loafers!" he said. "In fact she is seriously ill. If you had not been enjoying yourself in Edinburgh you would have known it. You are sorry! Well, I really cannot help saying that I think you ought to be. Miss Chatterton has not been strong all winter, and was warned against damp and exposure; but you managed to convince her it was her duty to wander up and down the village, pestering the sick folk, in spite of the rain and snow. Women have not the sense to discriminate between what is necessary and sentimental foolishness, you know."
Rae, who was not readily browbeaten, interrupted the speaker, and though he expressed no contrition, he showed such genuine anxiety concerning Miss Chatterton's health that her uncle was surprised, as well as mollified. It is possible that the clergyman showed his fears too plainly.
"Perhaps you could not help it, being possibly afflicted with the crazy notion that to destroy one's bodily health is good for the soul," he said. "It is one of the few things which always excites my indignation."
Rae, who knew that the things which roused the speaker's ire were numerous, smiled a little. "I certainly have never preached that doctrine."
"You must forgive me if I appear abrupt," Chatterton apologized. "The fact is that when I'm anxious my temper is not so good as it generally is, and I am very anxious about my niece to-night. When Gilmourcame round, the infernal—yes, that's the adjective I meant—old scoundrel wasn't even sober. And you remember Dane? Well, he is hemmed in by hostile savages somewhere in Africa, and we can learn no news of him. My niece and he were very good friends, and when she grows light-headed she begs us to tell her what has happened to him. It is distressing because, of course, we cannot do so."
Rae winced visibly at the last few sentences, and found a corroboration of them in the recollection of the change in Miss Chatterton after hearing Johnstone's story. Still, he pulled out his watch.
"There is a clever doctor at Swiftsbridge."
"I believe so," said Chatterton, impatiently. "There are also a number in London and a few in New York, I've heard. I sent over for the Swiftsbridge man some time ago; but considering the snow and bad roads, I don't expect him before to-morrow—and to-morrow may be too late."
"It is scarcely twelve miles across the moor and moss," said Rae. "There's a train this way in two hours' time. If you could lend me a horse——"
"My man, who ought to know, declares that nobody could get through the ford to-night. I'm obliged to you, Rae, but what you suggest is out of the question. The one horse now in my stable has the fiend's own temper, and I cannot allow you, who cannot have had much experience in the saddle, to run risks that were too heavy for a very capable horseman."
"I used to ride a little, and haven't quite forgotten. If, as you suggest, I am responsible for Miss Chatterton's illness, I must make the only reparation possible. In fact, I intend to do so; and unless you will mount meI will borrow a horse at Culmeny. I will not, however promise to spare the beast."
"You can drown him if you bring the doctor through by the last train!" said Chatterton, ringing the bell. "The horse will be ready inside ten minutes; and I'm greatly obliged to you."
The time had not elapsed when Rae walked quietly toward the mettlesome beast, which, resenting the change from its warm stable into the stinging sleet, laid its ears back, and when Chatterton approached it bared its teeth.
"Stand clear of his head!" cautioned Rae, swinging himself to the saddle; and the horse, rearing half upright, sent the gravel flying. "No. Leave the gate shut! I'm going the nearest way."
"I shall not forget this kindness," called Chatterton. "Feel I ought to stop you, but dare not do it. Take care of yourself—and God bless you!"
"I hope He will prosper my journey," the younger man answered gravely.
There was a further scattering of gravel, a pounding of hoofs across a strip of lawn, and a crash of brittle branches as horse and rider smashed through a tall hedge into the sleet which whirled across the meadow beyond it.
Chatterton, shaking the white flakes from him, returned to his wife.
"I suppose you saw what has happened," he said. "There's another of them in the running now, and this one has mettle in him if he is a clergyman. He's going through Langside moss to-night, though I gave him the plainest hint I could that in respect to Lilian his chance is of the smallest. Maxwell, it seems, took his dismissalgracefully; but what Rae has done to-night will count heavily on his side. Why must that idiot Hilton go out and get himself cut off by niggers in Africa?"
Thanks to Rae's daring ride, a skilful doctor arrived at the junction by the last train, and remained at The Larches all the next day. He also made a number of other visits before he stated that his patient was making rapid progress on the way to recovery.
"You had, however, better take her south, say Egypt or the Canaries, to escape our genial spring," he said. "Not necessary, but distinctly advisable. Miss Chatterton might sail almost at any time."
"We will choose Teneriffe, and start at once," Chatterton informed his wife. "It is well on the mail route to West Africa, and I'm growing anxious about Hilton."
Mrs. Chatterton had no objections to Teneriffe, and so it came about that one evening she and her niece, who had almost recovered her usual health, sat upon a hotel balcony in Santa Cruz, looking down upon the quaint Spanish city. It had lain basking under fierce sunlight all day, but now the cool shadow of the giant Cañadas rested upon it, and its olive-faced inhabitants came forth to breathe the freshness from the Atlantic. Garrison officers and somberly clad merchants with their wives and daughters, strolled up and down the plaza beneath the balcony, while laughter and merry voices throbbed through the strains of an artillery band. Near by, the Atlantic swell pulsed whitely on the lava reefs, and high above the great black cordillera heaved aloft its jagged pinnacles against the sunset fires.
Lilian Chatterton, however, saw little of all this. She was looking out across the shimmering Atlantic toward the blue peaks of Grand Canary, beyond which stretched the coast of Africa. A little black-funneled steamer was creeping across the sea-plain between.
"That must be the African boat. The flag is going up above the agent's offices," she said. "She may bring us news. It is a pity that my uncle is away. He seems distressed about the uncertainty concerning Hilton."
Perhaps Lilian's tone was less indifferent than shewished, for Mrs. Chatterton watched her keenly before she answered.
"It is hardly surprising. Your uncle is a just man, and never forgets a benefit. As you must have heard, it was an invention of Hilton's father which first started them, when both were struggling men, on the way to success; but Dane died, and the widow, who was never cordial toward my husband, drew her share out of the business against his advice. She died comparatively poor when Hilton was young, while your uncle, who still considers he owes his dead partner a moral debt, tried several means of discharging it by benefiting his son. Hilton, of whom I am very fond, is not, however, a person one can readily confer favors upon."
"No," said Lilian, with a trace of coldness in her tone. "You never told me quite so much before. My uncle is not always quite judicious in the way he sets about accomplishing his benevolent intentions. But the boat will soon be in."
Mrs. Chatterton smiled a little.
"He will certainly blame us if we allow any opportunity for obtaining news to escape, and I must find somebody to take a note off to the purser. You are tired, Lily, and had better remain here while I go across to the agent's offices."
Lilian sat leaning back in a basket chair, shrouded from observation by two tall aloe plants, with her face still turned toward the cost of Africa. The silver shimmer faded from off the sea, the fires of sunset died out behind the cordillera, but Mrs. Chatterton did not return, and her niece waited with hands crossed idly in her lap. It was now some time since the steamer's anchor had rattled down. Presently, because the longwindows behind her were open, she started at a voice in the adjoining room. It seemed the voice of one risen from the dead.
"It is impossible!" she thought.
"I have no baggage," the voice rose again. "Going on with the Southampton boat, due to-morrow. Send across to the offices and book a berth for me."
Lilian, rising, stood in the open window, and the speaker stared at her in astonishment.
"I could hardly believe my eyes, Mr. Maxwell," she exclaimed.
Maxwell strode out into the balcony, but his surprise, which vanished quickly, was surpassed by the girl's. His face was worn and hollow, and in the failing light he looked strangely frail. A great sense of pity came upon her.
"You are ill, and I must not keep you standing! Please sit down, because there is so much I—we all—wish to know," she said, striving to suppress her eagerness.
"I have been in the African forest," Maxwell replied simply, as though that were sufficient explanation. "Thank you, but I would rather lean against the railing here."
As he spoke, he drew out the basket chair, and bent his head with a gesture of invitation, while the girl, noticing the languidness of his movements, showed her compassion in her eyes. Maxwell saw the pity, and smiled wistfully; then as Lilian's gaze met his own, she glanced aside a moment with a sudden trace of color. She remembered their last meeting, and there was an awkward silence which Maxwell broke.
"We can at least return to our former status as goodfriends, can we not?" he said. "I see you are anxious for my news, and it may be a painful story; but first I must ask you a question. What fortunate accident brought you here?"
"I was unwell and ordered south to escape the spring." Seeing the anxiety in the man's face, Lilian added quickly, "I have recovered now. My aunt will be here in a few minutes, but Mr. Chatterton has gone across the island. An Englishman he met invested some money in a sugar-mill the Spaniards are reconstructing, and he could not resist the temptation of joining him. My uncle has a weakness for showing other people how to manage machinery. It is your turn now, but first, where is your partner?"
In spite of Lilian's intention the last question was put with a sharpness which surprised the listener.
"He is alive and well, I hope," he answered gravely. "My story will be longer, but I will try to tell it to you clearly."
The waltz the band played in the plaza below formed a curious accompaniment to such a tale. After the first few sentences neither of them, however, heard the music, and Lilian leaned forward with the color changing in her intent face as she listened. Maxwell suppressed the most gruesome details, but the narrative would have been startling to any one of the girl's upbringing. The thunder of the sunset gun brought it to an abrupt conclusion, and as the long reverberations rolled among the hills, Lilian rose suddenly and turned upon the speaker. There was scorn, as well as horror, in her eyes.
"And you left him in that pestilence-stricken camp to be murdered by the tribesmen—you coward!"
They were equally off their guard, and, for there are occasions when human nature mocks at all conventional restraint, both had dropped the mask. When once before they spoke openly it was Maxwell who had laid bare his heart, and now, though he made a valiant effort, he could not conceal his astonishment.
"And I never guessed," he said under his breath.
So for a few seconds they stood, with inmost thoughts laid open, face to face. Maxwell, having revealed the less, first recovered himself.
"I am afraid I have told my story badly, Miss Chatterton," he said. "You see there was gold enough to excite most men's cupidity lying within our sight, and that was why we drew lots to determine which should go out and seek help to secure it. Dane was, for a reason he did not mention, not only willing, but anxious, to stake his life on the chance of turning that gold into currency, and the lot fell to me. Being unable to raise the necessary funds by cable, I am now on my way to England, to sell my last possessions and pledge whatever in the future may be mine. Then, if I have to go alone, I am going back into the Leopards' country to bring my comrade help."
It is possible that few men under the circumstances would have framed their answer as Maxwell did; but he was in all things loyal, as his listener recognized. She was once more mistress of herself, but she did not look at the man as she answered him.
"You must forgive me. What you had to tell must have dissipated my poor senses. It is even more startling than anything I had imagined," she said.
"I can hardly forgive myself for telling it so badly," Maxwell answered gravely. "You had already, Igather, received some news that we were not exactly prospering. How did it reach you?"
Lilian mentioned the newspaper paragraph, and Maxwell's face grew dark.
"It was evidently the work of our enemy, and done to divert suspicion from himself in case the tribesmen overwhelmed us, as he hoped. It is another reason for haste, and if you will excuse me I will go on to the steamship office to make sure of my berth."
An inspiration dawned upon Lilian.
"I want you to promise that you will not sail without seeing me again," she said quickly.
"It is a conditional promise. While I would do anything to please you, Miss Chatterton, so much depends on my speed that whatever happens I must catch the steamer. She will land me in England three days before the West Coast boat, and is expected early to-morrow."
He moved away, and Lilian was left alone, plunged in a whirl of thoughts, with her eyes still turned toward Africa. But as she sat there one purpose grew into definite shape, and at last she rose sharply, and set out in search of Mrs. Chatterton, with determination stamped upon her face. Lilian was shrewd; she saw that Maxwell might well arrive too late unless she could hasten the starting of the relief expedition. She found Mrs. Chatterton presently in the bustling plaza, and the elder lady turned aside from her English companions after a glance at her niece. The girl came straight toward her with swift, resolute steps.
"Mr. Maxwell was on board the steamer," she said, with a calmness that puzzled her aunt. "He has told me all about the expedition, and left Hilton in deadlyperil. Money is needed to extricate him, and Maxwell is going home to-morrow to obtain it; but I think my uncle would find it hard to forgive us if we did not let him know immediately. No—we have no time to waste with these people now. Turn back with me."
The girl passed the friends who advanced to greet her as though she did not see them, and by the time they reached the door of the hotel Mrs. Chatterton realized the need for haste.
"My husband must certainly know at once, but it is twenty odd miles to Oratava alone, and several more from there to the sugar-mill," she said. "The telegraph office is closed, and you say the mailboat should sail early to-morrow. It is very unfortunate, but what can we do?"
"There is only one thing possible," declared Lilian. "No one could trust a Canario with so urgent a message. We must start at once ourselves. We need not go all the way round by Oratava. There is a bridle-path across the hills."
"But you are hardly strong enough for such a journey, and we might not get a carriage to take us there to-night."
"The carriage is entering the plaza now," said Lilian. "Can you not see that if Mr. Maxwell goes to England he may be too late."
Mrs. Chatterton looked hard at her niece. Lilian's face was very resolute, but she bore the scrutiny calmly, and the elder lady was not wholly astonished.
"I will be ready in five minutes," she said, and Lilian, moved by some impulse, kissed her swiftly.
The five minutes had hardly expired when, with the Canario driver shouting in warning, a two-horsecarriage rolled out of the plaza, and went rattling up the narrow street. Accustomed as they were to the eccentricities of British visitors, the sleepy citizens stared at its occupants, when, with unusual agility, they had leaped out of its way, for the driver stood upright, lashing his horses until they broke into a headlong gallop, and the crazy vehicle lurched and bounced over the uneven stones.
Night had closed in now, and a vault of velvety indigo spangled with many stars, hung over the long rows of sun-baked walls, which rolled away behind. A full moon rose slowly over the Atlantic. In front wastes of scoriæ, maize fields, vineyards, rolled upward, ridge beyond ridge, toward the Titanic wall of lava, nine thousand feet above; but the climbing road was broad and good, and, if the string-patched harness held, they might bring Thomas Chatterton news in time.
Lilian retained but a blurred impression of that part of the journey. They swept past climbing mule teams, and, sometimes on two wheels only, swung round many curves. Blinding clouds of dust rolled up, and, driven forward by the breeze from the Atlantic, whirled about them. There were odd gleams of light, and a howling of dogs, as white-walled dwellings swept by, then only the clang of iron on lava, and creaking of the vehicle to break the silence of the desolate hillside, until the driver howled again as they clattered into old-world Laguna, just sinking into early sleep. The carriage lurched over the cobbles, sparks blazed up, white walls and glimmering lattices raced by, and Lilian glanced at her watch as, while the lathered team swung into swifter stride upon the level, Laguna receded into thenight. Branches of eucalyptus met above, the road was checkered with shadow, but it was straight and good, and the driver evidently meant to win the guerdon promised him.
It was cool on the higher levels. The fresh night wind stirred the passengers' blood, and while the stinging whip-cuts roused the horses to further effort, the eucalyptus gave place to sugar-cane, vineyards, cork-trees, and, looming black in the moonlight on the bare hill shoulders, gnarled pines.
"We have lost no time so far," said Lilian, bending her head over the moonlit dial of her tiny watch, and almost resenting the attention when her aunt drew the wrappings closer about her. "Still, it is passing fast."
The driver was certainly doing his utmost. He stood upright, for the most part, shouting as he lashed his horses, for the Castilian is not as a rule merciful to his beasts, and as the road had been lately mended in places with broken lava the carriage jolted painfully. Lilian, making no comment, only held fast the tighter, but once her aunt screamed, and it was fortunate that, startled by her cry, the man checked his horses. There was a steep grade before them, and when the beasts broke into a walk he stopped them altogether, and leaped down from his perch. He glanced at one of the wheels, then cast his hat into the road and kicked it several times, shook his fist at the surrounding country, and for nearly a minute poured forth a torrent of sonorous Castilian. It was well that neither of the listeners wholly understood him.
"What is the matter, and what can he be saying?" asked Mrs. Chatterton, almost appalled by the man's vehemence; and Lilian answered with a shudder.
"I am not quite certain, but I fancy that a wheel is coming off."
"Lo creo," interjected the Canario. "Mal rayo!I spik good Ynglez. This jimcraky wheel, which is made of a lost carpenter, she is come right off."
Putting his shoulder against the vehicle he hurled the wheel down crashing upon the lava, and then flung one arm aloft, with a tragic gesture.
"Stop him at once, Lily!" begged Mrs. Chatterton. "The wretched man is beginning again, and his language positively frightens me!"
"You mustn't!" said Lilian severely, as the Canario's tongue, which had apparently been dipped in brimstone unloosed itself again. "Stop immediately! Instead of all that nonsense, try to think of what you can do!"
"I do nothing. No man do nothing. On three wheel this coche she is not can go." The driver's gesture expressed despair. "We stop here for all night,puede serall to-morrow. We stop a here forever."
"That is absurd," said Lilian sharply. "Is there no blacksmith at Laguna? Blacksmiths—hombre de hierro, entiende? Take one of those horses out and go for him immediately!"
"No possible,señorita. The black-a-smeet he sleep at night," explained the Canario, hopelessly.
Lilian stamped one little foot.
"It isno possibleto waken him?Escucha Vd, and please try to comprehend. If I reach the sugar-mill too late you will be paid exactly what the Alcalde at Oratava says is your due. If I get there in time, and not otherwise, you will receive what I promised you. Now take out one of those horses, and I will help you."
The driver rubbed his forehead, and kicked his hatagain. Then he declaimed a little further; and finally, while Mrs. Chatterton protested against Lilian's helping him, he proceeded to act upon her suggestion. The girl struggled with rusty buckle and raw-hide patched with string, and at last tethered one horse to a branch, while the Canario clattered off toward Laguna on the other. He had neither saddle nor stirrups, but that did not matter much to a man of his race.
The two women were left standing in the middle of the lonely road.
"I wish we had never come," wailed Mrs. Chatterton. "Mind that horse does not bite you, Lily."
"Poor beast," said the girl, stroking the creature's scraggy neck. "He did his best, and a great deal still depends on him. If that wretched man does not return soon the waiting will drive me mad."
Mrs. Chatterton found a seat by the wayside. Lilian paced to and fro, halting only to listen and gaze down the long dusty road. An hour passed slowly. Still only the rustle of the sugar-cane and the sighing of dark branches broke the stillness. There was no light visible; and save for the horse, the two anxious Englishwomen seemed the only living things upon the mountain-side.
"Can you hear nothing, auntie?" the girl asked; but the elder lady heard only the drowsy gurgle of water in a distant barranco, and the moan of the breeze.
"No. There is no sign of any one coming yet; and I am afraid we should be almost too late if we started now," she said.
Twice again the girl paced up and down in a fever of impatience, then stood rigidly still, leaning forward a little, for a faint thudding sound came out of the shadows.
"He is coming at last!"
The man came up at a gallop, with a hammer and a bag of tools, and, talking volubly, remounted the wheel. Then he lashed his horses viciously, and they were off, pressing on at a gallop almost to the divide, where, partly bathed in silver light by the moon, and partly wrapped in black shadow by the mighty peak, the great horseshoe vale of Oratava sloped to the Atlantic. Here the driver turned.
"The brake of this coche is also broke. I have ten children, señoras, and all very small, and if we must go down at the full speed it will be one more ten shillings for the risk."
Mrs. Chatterton, glancing down toward the lights that twinkled apparently vertically beneath her, and the glimmering plain of the Atlantic very far below, somewhat naturally hesitated, and was about to speak, when Lilian thrust a gold coin into the man's brown palm.
"You shall have more when I come back from Tampena. Only lose no time!" she urged.
The driver, who had been deluded on various occasions by British emigrants bound for the Cape, first prudently bit the coin, then piously crossed himself, after which he lashed the horses, and the carriage began the long descent like a run-away locomotive or a thunderbolt, as Mrs. Chatterton afterward said. The road was good, but it dipped in zig-zags down the steep hillside, and they went round the bends madly with two wheels in the air; while twice the elder lady held her breath as a straggling mule team rushed past. She prayed spasmodically that the ancient harness might not break.
The walnuts gave place to fig-trees, the figs in turn to vines, and still the straining gear held fast, and the bouncing vehicle hung together behind the latheredbeasts. Then the terraced vines were replaced by maize, and when the broad leaves of bananas raced up, as it were, to meet them under the moon, the driver, shouting his loudest, reined his team in outside a little hill posada.
"Horses and a trusty guide for the sugar-mill!" he roared, beating on the door. "Here are two mad English señoras with a purse of gold!"
Though the English are not greatly loved in any possessions of Spain, their gold has the power of rousing even the contemplative Canario out of his usual lethargy, and when the driver shouted, drowsy men hurried about the posada. The host had two good mules, and a vine-grower would be glad to act as guide, but there was, he said, a difficulty. He had only one saddle fit for a lady and with the deepest respect for the señora, he feared she was too old to venture over the perilous bridle paths at that time of night; with which opinion Mrs. Chatterton quite concurred. Lilian glanced at her aunt, and then toward the bare-legged peasant, who, with a great blanket rolled about his shoulders, stood, hat in hand, before her. There was a rude dignity about this vine-dresser which pleased her, and moving forward she kissed her aunt.
"You must go on alone to the hotel at Oratava," she said.
Mrs. Chatterton had long grown accustomed to being ruled by her niece, and though she protested, she did so feebly. Even while she spoke the girl put her foot in the hand of the vine-dresser, who lifted her to the saddle, and then sprang into his own. He swept his battered hat to his knee with the grace of a courtier as he passed Mrs. Chatterton, and almost before the elder lady realized what had happened, the two mountedfigures had vanished among the maize. With a sigh and an inarticulate prayer, she bade the driver proceed to Oratava, as slowly as he liked.
Lilian never counted the risks she ran during that ride. The two strangely-assorted companions soon left the maize behind and rode over broken lava and scoriæ; dipped, sliding and stumbling, into a barranco filled with impenetrable shadow, out of which the guide had hard work to drag the horses on the opposite side; and then skirted the dizzy brink of another vast volcanic fissure in the black hillside. Lilian, looking down into the depths that yawned beneath her, guessed aright that a slip would mean destruction, while for once her heart failed her when the peasant pulled the mules up where the pathway seemed to break off at the brink. He pointed toward the lights far down in the hollow, saying in Castilian:
"That is the mill. The señorita rides well. If she will let the mule find its own way she may, with the blessing of heaven, come down safely."
Lilian, partly comprehending, shuddered for a moment as she glanced into the great volcanic pit, then, slacking the bridle, laid one hand on the high peak of the saddle, as with the cinders rattling away beneath them, they commenced the descent. No beast but a Canary pack-mule trained to carry wine kegs over the wild hill trails could have come down alive, and it seemed to be sliding with legs braced stiffly most of the time, and then picking its way foot by foot down the face of an almost precipitous descent. Fortunately the darkness hid the worst terrors; they came down safely, and swept through tall cane on the level toward a group of dusky buildings, which grew plainer ahead.
Then the guide shouted, there was a howling of dogs, and Lilian, dropping stiffly from the saddle, walked into the presence of her uncle in the Spanish sugar-grower's dwelling. Chatterton, who had been poring late over some machine drawings, rose abruptly at the sight of her.
"Good heavens, Lily! Have you flown here?" he cried. "What has happened girl? Is your aunt ill?"
"Don't ask questions! Sit still a minute, and listen! My aunt is well and should be safe in Oratava by now. Mr. Maxwell is in Santa Cruz, and brings serious news of Hilton."
Chatterton stiffened to attention as he listened. Then, because he was above all things a man of action and could let side issues wait, he asked no questions but patted his niece's shoulder.
"Well done, my girl. Well done!" he said. "God forbid that my dead partner's son should perish while I have the power to help him. If it's money Maxwell needs, he shall have it if there's sufficient in the Bank of Spain. It is lucky I opened credit to show these blunderers how to run their mill. You will stay here with the Señora Martin, and rejoin your aunt to-morrow. I shall start, but not by your road, as soon as these loafers can get horses ready."
"I am going with you," Lilian said, quietly. She was very tired; but with Dane's life at stake, she dare not take any chances. That her uncle would do his best to reach Maxwell in time, she knew; and yet, if something should happen on the way! If his horse should slip on those treacherous lava trails!
Chatterton saw the pale lips close tightly with a determination that he never attempted to resist.
"Very well, Lily," he acquiesced; "but it will be a hard ride."
In an incredibly short time the horses were ready, and Chatterton and his niece followed their guide throughout the remaining hours of the long night. Few words were spoken by either of them as they urged their horses forward. At dawn they were still riding, Lilian feverishly anxious, Chatterton grimly determined.
A big gray-painted steamer lay rolling in the harbor of Santa Cruz, and Maxwell stood on the hotel steps impatiently glancing at his watch. He had given Miss Chatterton his conditional promise that he would await her return, but he dare not miss the steamer. A feathery column of vapor roaring aloft from her steam-pipe indicated that all was ready. He had less than ten minutes to spare, and there was still no sign of Miss Chatterton.
"Five more minutes. There's the first bell now!"
Three of the minutes passed, and Maxwell was hurrying toward the boat, when somebody shouted his name, and turning, he saw two white-flecked horses race into the plaza. One kept on to the hotel; almost before the other stopped, Thomas Chatterton leaped to the ground.
"You're not going in that boat!" he gasped. "Can't you understand me? You are going back to the Coast instead!"
"I'm afraid I can't, sir," Maxwell replied with a puzzled air. "I don't want to be uncivil, but I dare not waste a moment. I must catch the steamer."
"You shan't!" persisted Chatterton, his red face growing purple when Maxwell shook his hand off his arm. "Confound you! Stop and listen! I owed Hilton'sfather more than I can ever repay his son, and Lilian told me what has befallen him. Well, if it's money you are short of, I'm not a poor man, and you can have as much as they hold in the bank here if you want it to rescue your partner. Now, don't let any foolish pride lead you into manslaughter. I'm doing you no favor, but making a commercial investment. Call me sleeping partner or anything you like, but don't throw your comrade's life away."
Maxwell looked his relief.
"I am not quite a fool, sir, and dare not refuse. It only remains for me to express my gratitude."
"Gratitude be consumed!" said Chatterton, cheerily. "Call it business. Now we'll order the best breakfast they can serve us in this place, and you can tell me the whole thing again."
Two days later when Maxwell boarded a steamer bound for the West Coast, Chatterton and his niece went on board with him. Lilian was both relieved and sorry when the iron-master hurried away in search of the purser to make sure that several bags of silver currency were put in safe keeping. She had something to say to Maxwell, but the task was difficult.
"I shall always take shame upon myself for what I said on the balcony," she began. "You are a very loyal partner, and I wish you Godspeed."
The words were simple, but because, during the fateful moments when the two stood on the balcony, the veil which covered their inmost thoughts had been drawn aside, they cost Lilian an effort, and meant a good deal. They sent a curious thrill to the heart of Maxwell.
"I meant all that I said one other night, and I am readyto prove it," he said. "Whether I shall ever return or not, I say it solemnly, only Gods knows; but if I live to reach our camp, I think Hilton Dane will."
For a moment Lilian's eyes grew hazy, and she looked away from him. Then, though there was moisture on her lashes, she turned fully toward her companion, holding out her hand.
"Heaven send you both back safe! You are a good man, and very generous. I knew it the evening we passed the Hallows Brig—but——"
"Destiny arranges these things for us," Maxwell interrupted quietly. "I am glad that your good wishes follow me to Africa."
Thomas Chatterton came up panting as he spoke, the warning of the last bell broke through the rattle of the windlass, and Maxwell bent bareheaded over Lilian's hand. Then she and Chatterton went down the side together, a deep-toned whistle vibrated above the waters as the steamer slowly forged ahead, and Maxwell saw a white-gowned figure in the boat beneath her side turn with a farewell smile and wave a hand to him. Once more he raised his hat, and when the boat slid astern Lilian's eyes grew hazy as she gazed after the departing vessel.
"That man will go far," said Chatterton. "Once he makes up his mind the devil himself would hardly turn him. He is one of the steely, quiet kind who are never more in earnest than when they are silent, but I am anxious. He is bound for a very deadly country."
Cool breezes followed the steamer to the African coast, and Maxwell had recovered part of his vigor before the first palm-crowned bluff rose out of the sea. He had sufficient funds at his disposal, but arduous work to do,and he held himself apart from the few passengers, thinking earnestly. Among other things he decided to fit out the relief expedition at Redmond's factory at Little Mahu, because, though more difficult, the road from there was shorter and less likely to be watched; and he surmised that Rideau, who must hear of his presence on the coast sooner or later, would expect him to start from Castro's factory. Maxwell knew he had not seen the last of their treacherous partner.
At the last moment, he so far modified his plans as to call upon Dom Pedro.
It was a fine afternoon when the cliff with the tall palms on the crest of it, and low whitewashed buildings nestling between them and the smoking beach, rose to view, and the purser, strolling past, halted near Maxwell.
"We have several boat-loads of cottons for this place, and as the surf is high it will take us until sunset to land them safely," he said. "Then, as there are nasty reefs to thread through, the skipper will probably wait for moonlight before he heaves the anchor; so if you don't mind a spray bath you might have a few hours ashore."
Maxwell, knowing that he would see quite sufficient of Africa before he sailed west again, felt no great desire to go ashore; but as he gazed at the dazzling buildings through his glasses a figure came out upon the veranda, and an unaccountable impulse urged him to seek speech with Miss Castro. Why he should do so, and what he should say to her, he did not know, but he remembered that several times during his career some unconsidered action made on the spur of the moment proved as fruitful as his best laid plans. So, donning the mate's oil-skins, he dropped into a surf-boat and was whirledshoreward on a big breaker's crest, landing without misadventure amidst a cloud of spray.
Dom Pedro, it appeared, was absent, but his daughter started at the sight of the stranger, and the warm olive coloring of her face was suffused with a deeper tinge. She was herself again the next moment, and came to meet him with only a slightly heightened luster in her black eyes; but for a man Maxwell was observant, and deduced a good deal from what he had seen. Nevertheless, he was mistaken when he attributed it to the loss of his map.
Miss Castro received him affably, and presented him to her aunt, who combined a lethargic disposition with the usual portliness of an Iberian lady who has exceeded the age of forty, and after a few drowsy compliments she betrayed no further interest in the visitor. Nevertheless, the señora was not so sleepy as she appeared. Maxwell seated himself beside Bonita near the opposite end of the veranda, and was not wholly sorry he had come ashore. The girl made a charming picture as she reclined in a deep chair near at hand, smiling at him with a trace of shyness that was not assumed, though an occasional nervous movement betokened a suppressed eagerness. Maxwell had pledged himself soul and body to the service of another woman with a chivalrous self-abnegation that only those who knew him well would have suspected him capable of; but he possessed artistic perceptions, and Bonita's dark beauty appealed to him.
"You have very much to tell me. How is it you come from the westward, and where is your compañero?" she asked; and once more Maxwell was wholly misled.
He noticed the swift gleam in the dark eyes that fell beneath his own; and, knowing what he knew, he wastroubled. There was a hidden gentleness under the man's sardonic exterior, but he never learned how blind he had been that afternoon.
"My comrade was well when I left him," he said gravely; and Bonita, flashing a swift glance at him, evinced less satisfaction than he had expected.
"We were the good friends, señor. You will tell me why you leave him and now come from the west. Also if you met Rideau, and what you did with him. You are a strong man, señor, but it may be a woman can help you?"
Maxwell was in his own way a chivalrous person, but he owed a duty to the comrade who remained in the forest, and he meant to discharge it. So he answered with incisive frankness.
"Can you not see why it might be better for both of us that I should not tell you, señorita?"
The girl laughed softly, then laid a little hand upon his own. It felt strangely hot, and again her eyes were luminous in a manner that puzzled him.
"It is the map, you mean? It is true I find it after the Señor Dane leave, and I sell it toel perroRideau. Señor, we women must use what weapons we can, and the price he pay me—I have no secrets from you—was my father's safety."
"I do not venture to blame you," said Maxwell. "I had partly guessed it, and your confidence is safe with me, but supposeel perrohad proved too strong for me? After this, can I believe that you would prove a good friend to me?"
Miss Castro positively blushed as she drew her hand away, but her laughter indicated a mingling of pride with scorn.
"You are modest, señor. It is not possible that the cur dog should prove too strong for—you. To Dom Pedro I say these Englishmen will kill this Rideau. So señor, because I hate him, you will tell me."
Maxwell did not speak for a while. Again an impulse which appeared wholly illogical in face of the girl's confession prompted him to tell her all; but very much lay at stake, and he did not usually act on impulse. Meanwhile his companion watched him from under the dark lashes which half covered her eyes; while, unobserved, the sleepy aunt watched them both. Bonita Castro looked bewitchingly pretty in her filmy draperies, perhaps the more so because of her curiously heightened color; but though Maxwell knew that she was a woman who would do much when prompted by passion, she did not look like a traitress.
"So you fear to trust me, señor?"
"On the contrary," Maxwell answered, "I have decided to trust you fully. In doing so, I know that I place my life and my comrade's equally in your hands."
"It is well; I would hold them safe if I risked salvation," said the girl. "So tell me everything. I shall be able to help you."
Maxwell did so, and Miss Castro asked him many questions which betokened a keenness of judgment that surprised the man. He spent some time in answering them, and Bonita appeared to find pleasure in listening to him. So while the palm-tufts tossed behind the factory and the spray whirled above the beach, the minutes slipped by, until, when the sun dipped, the señora woke up and ordered the black major-domo to hurry forwardcomida.
Bonita, reappearing attired in filmy robes of black,was more fascinating than ever during the drawn-out meal.
"That woman would turn any man's head," murmured Maxwell, inaudibly he thought, and added, with a smile, to the sleepy aunt, who glanced at him, "I was wondering, señora, if your distinguished family had a monopoly of all the wit and beauty in the Peninsula."
Maxwell was a little confused to notice that Bonita had overheard; for a second the long lashes dropped across her eyes, and again there was a flicker of damask in her cheek.
The moon hung over the ocean which stretched away before them, a broad sheet of silver, when the two stood once more on the veranda; and Miss Castro shivered slightly for no apparent cause when Maxwell announced that it was time for him to take his departure. The surf had gone down, and the roar of the breakers diminished to dull pulsations that fell drowsily on the ear, while the warm breeze brought down the fragrance of spices and lilies from the forest. Two of the pure white blossoms nestled among the laces beneath Miss Castro's neck, and their fragrance filled Maxwell's nostrils as he stood close beside her under the effulgent moonlight of the tropics. There was a thrill in the girl's voice which, but for one fact, might have awakened an answering vibration within him.
"So you have trusted me, señor, and I am glad. It is also good that you start from Little Mahu, for soel perrohear the less of you. There are many black people who fear him, and tell him things, but he come first to this factory—and I deal with him. You will leave Mahu, two, three, perhaps four weeks before him. It is true you have no longer any doubt of me?"
"I have no doubt at all. I have trusted you to the utmost."
Bonita's eyes dropped swiftly beneath his gaze, but there was in her attitude no sign of coquetry. She had, the man thought, changed with the night, and put on a quiet simplicity which became her wonderfully. Something impelled him to add:
"I feel that I have done wisely."
Once more the girl's voice thrilled him.
"It is a dangerous country, and who can tell what may happen; but, whatever it costs me, I will help you."
Maxwell felt strangely softened toward her, for it seemed that some influence born of the glamour of the night was at work upon his will. It hardly seemed to emanate from his companion, for Miss Castro was graver than he had ever seen her; but the strange mingling of tenderness and admiration grew stronger in him, and he was glad when the boom of the steamer's whistle rang through the monotone of the surf.
"I must go, señorita."
Bonita's eyes shone in the moonlight as, with the faintest of smiles, she held out her hand to him.
"It is a perilous journey, but I will pray always for your safety," she said softly.
Maxwell lifted the hat from his head as, stooping, he touched the olive-tinted fingers with his lips. They trembled a little in his grasp.
"I thank you, señorita. We are allies now."
Again the roar of the whistle throbbed across the surf, and Maxwell went swiftly down the stairway and across the sand. As the boat plunged out through the breakers he shook himself with an air of irritation which attracted the notice of the steamer's mate.
"Got bewildered trying to understand those folks?" he asked sympathetically.
"No," laughed Maxwell. "The fact is rather that I don't understand myself."
"I dare say that don't greatly matter," commented the mate. "Take a good stiff cocktail and give the puzzle up."
The steamer heaved her anchor, and rolled slowly eastward down the coast, while Miss Castro stood on the veranda following the tier of diminishing lights until they faded and finally dipped into the moonlit sea. Then she turned and walked very slowly into the factory without a word, leaving the sleepy aunt lost in speculation when the door of her room closed noisily.
Some days after Maxwell's departure Monsieur Victor Rideau, traveling in hot haste, arrived at Castro's factory. Dom Pedro was absent in the bush, but his daughter frowned when she saw the visitor coming. She was standing on the veranda where she had bidden Maxwell farewell; and this fact recalled the contrast between them, which was distinctly striking, and to Monsieur Rideau's disadvantage. Maxwell wore an indefinite air of refinement, which is the birthright of some favored Britons, and there was a good deal of finely-tempered steel in his composition; Rideau was by no means ill-favored, and as usual with gentlemen of his extraction, dressed himself almost too well; but his face was sensual, his black hair over-crisp, and, in spite of his very cunning eyes, there were other signs that his animal appetites might on occasion prove stronger than his judgment.
When he descended from his hammock, attired in spotless duck and American brown shoes, he was evidently well contented with himself.
"I compassionate you on your misfortune," said Miss Castro. "My father may not return until midnight, and you will have only myself and my aunt, who is always sleepy, for company."
"What better could any man desire?" There was a look of the African in Rideau's over-bold eyes, and thegirl regarded him frigidly. "I go east by the steamer which will call to-night," he continued, "and hurried for the pleasure of a few hours of your company. The English adventurer has called here, is it not so?"
That was sufficient warning, and Bonita Castro prepared for the fray. The weapons she chose in the first place were merely demure glances and opportune smiles; and though many of his speeches stung her pride to the quick, she fooled Monsieur Rideau cleverly, and extracted from him more information than he meant to impart. Still, when the black major-domo set out thecomidaand Miss Castro withdrew, the visitor might have lounged less complacently on the veranda had he seen her kneeling, with a face that was stamped with hatred, beside the factory medicine chest. She lifted a ribbed glass phial, and glanced at it earnestly, then let it fall back, took out another, and clutched at the chest, when she saw that the door had opened a little. Then, as the rustle of the palm-fronds suggested that the breeze was accountable for this, she slipped the bottle behind a vase on the window-sill, and went out softly. Hardly had she done so than the Señora Diaz entered silently, lifted the bottle, and read its label, and then, with a gesture which expressed both relief and perplexity, replaced it. The señora was much more observant than she seemed to be, and was by no means a friend of Victor Rideau.
It might have been better for Rideau had he reached the factory after dinner. He did not eat prettily, and Miss Castro had lived long enough in the Iberian peninsula to grow particular about small matters. Also, he drank freely, and while his voice grew louder his consonants lost their crispness. Rideau spoke several civilized languages, but that night he emphasized thevowels after the fashion of the negro. Though not excessively indulgent, Dom Pedro's old Madeira had awakened a side of his nature he usually kept in subjection, and perhaps it had slightly clouded his judgment. In any case, the Señora Diaz frowned at some of the compliments he paid her niece, and her ancient laces rustled as she stirred with indignation, for while compliments were common in her country, they were characterized by either a becoming deference or scintillating wit. Once or twice she glanced sharply at the girl, who was generally quite capable of resenting a liberty; but Bonita did not heed her. She was working for an end, and working skilfully. Perhaps she suffered during the process, but that was only part of the price of victory.
Thecomidawas cleared away at length, and when Bonita accompanied her guest to the moonlit veranda, she made it manifest that she did not desire her aunt's company. Nevertheless the Señora Diaz, who respected the customs of the Peninsula, seated herself beside an open window and saw all that passed. Rideau lounged in a cane chair with a cigar in his hand, while Bonita stood upright, dropping morsels of ice presented by a steamboat purser into the bowl which rested on the little table at his side. A Frenchman would not have shown such lack of manners. Rideau's very leer, which grew more pronounced, conveyed a hint that he knew he held the whip hand, and meant to use it; with any one of Miss Castro's disposition, that was very bad policy.
"It is charming, señorita. I have done much for you; you do a little now for me."
Miss Castro dropped the next lump of ice somewhat hastily, so that the liquid splashed over the table; butshe smiled with apparent good humor, and the man grew more bold.
"You will sit here while I tell you something, is it not so? This scene is so charming that after I make one more journey I have resolved to cultivate the domestic virtue."
"That is commendable," said the girl, smiling. "Might one compliment you on such a piece of self-denial?"
She did not forget that the African's greatest weakness is vanity, as Rideau answered her with a deprecatory smile:
"It is not my fault if many women love me. Perhaps they are foolish and trust to the eye. But, me, I aspire, and am only content with the great mind and virtue."
Miss Castro, instead of meeting his glance, appeared to be looking out to sea, and Rideau continued, still far too complacently:
"Now I see all that I desire—the peace, the tranquillity, the night that speaks of love, and the company of the peerless Bonita."
The girl laughed as she turned upon him; but her sleepy aunt, who sat by the window, knew that the passion which called the color to her forehead and set a sparkle in her eyes was by no means love.
"Is that another empty compliment, monsieur?" she asked lightly.
"It is the ambition of my life," he declared in a deeper tone; "and a long time I dream of it. Now when I make one more journey I ask you to gratify it."
"You must be more explicit. And is it the custom of France—or Africa—to make such speeches—so?"
Rideau frowned, and for a moment it appeared that he would have preferred the African custom of choosing his bride; but remembering what he claimed to be, he stood upright, a full-fleshed, crisp-haired figure, with his sensual lips showing too prominently.
"I have the honor to offer you my name and devotion, señorita."
"That is very much better," laughed Miss Castro. "But are you quite sure you would not find domestic happiness grow monotonous? I, at least, have been my own mistress so long that it might not content me. What else have you to offer?"
"An affection that will not weary," was the answer, and the man dramatically laid his hand where he supposed his heart to be.
"And if even that were not enough?"
"All the good things that money can buy, and women love. I shall be a rich man presently."
"You have not won those riches yet; and white men have lost their lives already in the Leopards' country. You should understand me."
Rideau blundered when he resolved to use the strong hand at last.
"There is still something—the safety of your father. It is, as I have once said, forbidden with the heaviest penalty to sell the black man the modern rifle, and Dom Pedro has sold more than this."
It is possible that Miss Castro had expected a similar answer, but the speaker's tone and the glitter of his eyes would have inspired most women with misgivings under the circumstances.
"You are forgetful," she said slowly. "I have bought that from you already."
Rideau laughed.
"You are mistaken. You sold me the English madman's map for the Emir's agreement, but you did not buy my lieutenant or the black headman who hired your father his people, and is a good friend of me. Señorita, you quite fail to comprehend me. To those who love me I give everything, but with those who bargain it is different. You are too young and pretty to drive a hard one with me."
The girl turned from him, and walked slowly across the veranda with her back toward her suitor and her face toward the sea, so that he could not see how one hand slipped without a rustle beneath a fold of her dress. He had left her but one way out of the difficulty, and it was dangerous; but gauging the quality of her antagonist she was content to take the risks. The sleepy aunt saw, however, and smiled grimly to herself.
Then Miss Castro turned, and smiled.
"It is a long journey to the Leopards' country, and many things may happen on the way. You would be wise to wait for my answer, monsieur. What you offer appears insufficient now, but few women are sure of their own minds, so some wise men say; and, who knows, when you come back I may think differently. I have duties to attend to, and may not see you before you sail, but I want your promise to keep silence in the meantime. Pledge it in Vermouth."
Before the man could answer, she had passed into the house and returned with a small flask and two fresh glasses. One was brimming, and she filled the other before she held it out to him.
"A swift journey to the land of the Leopard!" she said.
Miss Castro's voice was steady, though she waitedalmost breathlessly while the man stood undecided, holding up the cup. It was evident that he was averse to delay, and yet afraid to lose by undue precipitancy.
"So, I give the promise. To your bright eyes, señorita. It is a journey I make for you."
Rideau laid the glass down empty, and with a swift salutation that was half-ironical, and a swish of light draperies, Miss Castro had vanished before he quite realized that she had left him. When he did, he gnawed the end off a cigar, and lay thoughtfully back in his chair. It struck him that perhaps he might find Bonita Castro much less amenable to his wishes and more difficult to live with than a deeper-tinted helpmate.
In the meantime, a group of chattering Krooboys were lighting a fire on the crest of the bluff, their figures outlined against the increasing glare. It was a signal to the east-bound steamer due to pass shortly that cargo or passengers were awaiting her. Rideau watched the blaze until it flared high aloft in token that the fire had good hold, then he walked slowly to the rail of the veranda and leaned over it, as though expecting an answering light from the moonlit sea. There was none, and presently he walked back, still more slowly, and sank into his chair with a sigh. Then his shoulders sank lower until his head drooped forward and there was silence in the veranda except for the sound of his uneven breathing. This had scarcely continued five minutes when a slender black-robed figure flitted out of a shadowy door, and the profile of a woman's face was silhouetted against the moonlight as it bent over the sleeper.
"Sleep soundly, and awake too late!" a voice said, and the figure vanished again.
Presently, perhaps because there was nobody to watch them, or they had been regaled too freely with factory gin, the Krooboys left to tend the fire curled themselves up beside it, and when an hour had passed, only a thin column of vapor rose up from the bluff. The stokers slumbered peacefully, as did the comrades they should have awakened, when the twinkle of a masthead light crept nearer from out at sea. It rose until the black patch beneath it lengthened into a line of wallowing hull; but the fresh land breeze and the clamor of the surf between them rendered the hoot of the steamer's whistle but faintly audible at the factory. Still, the Señora Diaz awakened, and sitting upright on her couch near an open window, looked out on to the veranda. Her niece stood in a doorway, with the moonlight on her face, which showed white and anxious as she watched the sleeping figure.
The girl set her lips tight when again the whistle's summons, ringing louder this time, was flung back by the bluff behind the factory; but Rideau lay motionless in his chair; and Bonita quivered all through when, finding his signal unanswered, the steamboat skipper burned a crimson flare. She could see the wall of hull and slanting spars sharp and clear in the blood-red glare, with the figure of a man leaning out from the slanted bridge projected against it, but there was still no answer from either bluff or factory, and with a last blast of the whistle the steamer moved on. No other boat would call for a fortnight, and this one would have saved Rideau a protracted and risky surf-boat voyage, or a weary march through the jungles overland.
It was past midnight when Dom Pedro's hammock came lurching into the compound, and, alighting stiffly, the trader climbed the veranda steps. He started on reaching the veranda, for there was nobody to meet him, only a man whose visits he had learned to dread, asleep in a chair. The trader bent over him; and by the way his eyes glistened and his fingers twitched as he saw that the duck jacket had fallen open, leaving the dusky throat bare, an observer might have concluded that he would not have been sorry had some accident prevented the sleeper from ever awakening. Still, Dom Pedro was only a man of lax principles; he shrugged his shoulders as he quoted a Castilian proverb, and then he shook his guest by the arm. Rideau sat upright, grasping the arms of his chair. He stared at the table, possibly seeking the glass he had drunk from, but it was not there, and rising shakily, he staggered toward the balustrade.