Astonishment rendered me speechless, and at first I could do no more than bow with an embarrassed air to the cloaked figure before me. Lesba’s fair face, peering from beneath her mantilla, was grave but set, and her brilliant eyes bore a questioning and half-contemptuous look that was hard to meet.

“That is my name, senhor,” she repeated, “and you will oblige me by explaining why you are sending it to Captain Mazanovitch.”

“Was it your carriage in which I escaped?” I inquired.

“Yes; and my man now lies wounded by the roadside. Why did you take me by surprise, Senhor Harcliffe? And why—why are you telegraphing my name to Mazanovitch?”

Although my thoughts were somewhat confused I remembered that Lesba had accompanied her brother to Rio; that her brother had turned traitor, and she herself had ridden in the Emperor’s carriage, with the spy Valcour. And I wondered how it was that her carriage should have been standing this very evening at a retired spot, evidently awaiting some one, when I chanced upon it in my extremity.

It is well to take time to consider, when events are of a confusing nature. In that way thoughts are sometimes untangled. Now, in a flash, the truth came to me. Valcour was still at the mansion—Valcour, her accomplice; perhaps her lover.

To realize this evident fact of her intrigue with my brilliant foe sent a shiver through me—a shiver of despair and utter weariness. Still keeping my gaze upon the floor, and noting, half-consciously, the click-click of the telegraph instrument, I said:

“Pardon me, donzella, for using your carriage to effect my escape. You see, I have not made an alliance with the royalists, as yet, and my condition is somewhat dangerous. As for the use of your name in my telegram, I have no objection to telling you—now that the message has been sent—that it was a cypher word warning my republican friends of treachery.”

“Do you suspect me of treachery, Senhor Harcliffe?” she asked in cold, scornful tones.

I looked up, but dropped my eyes again as I confronted the blaze of indignation that flashed from her own.

“I make no accusations, donzella. What is it to me if you Brazilians fight among yourselves for freedom or the Emperor, as it may suit your fancy? I came here to oblige a friend of my father’s—the one true man I have found in all your intrigue-ridden country. But he, alas! is dead, and I am powerless to assist farther the cause he loved. So my mission here is ended, and I will go back to America.”

Again I looked up; but this time her eyes were lowered and her expression was set and impenetrable.

“Do not let us part in anger,” I resumed, a tremor creeping into my voice in spite of me—for this girl had been very dear to my heart. “Let us say we have both acted according to the dictates of conscience, and cherish only memories of the happy days we have passed together, to comfort us in future years.”

She started, with upraised hand and eager face half turned toward the door. Far away in the distance I heard the tramp of many hoofs.

“They are coming, senhor!” called the man who stood beside the horses—one of our patriots. “It’s the troop of Uruguayans, I am sure.”

Pedro, the station-master, ran from his little office and extinguished the one dim lamp that swung from the ceiling of the room in which we stood.

In the darkness that enveloped us Lesba grasped my arm and whispered “Come!” dragging me toward the door. A moment later we were beside the carriage.

“Mount!” she cried, in a commanding voice. “I will ride inside. Take the road to San Tarem. Quick, senhor, as you value both our lives!”

I gathered up the reins as Pedro slammed tight the carriage door. A crack of the whip, a shout of encouragement from the two patriots, and we had dashed away upon the dim road leading to the wild, unsettled plains of the North Plateau.

They were good horses. It surprised me to note their mettle and speed, and I guessed they had been carefully chosen for the night’s work—an adventure of which this dÉnouement was scarcely expected. I could see the road but dimly, but I gave the horses slack rein and they sped along at no uncertain pace.

I could no longer hear the hoof-beats of the guards, and judged that either we had outdistanced them or the shrewd Pedro had sent them on a false scent.

Presently the sky brightened, and as the moon shone clear above us I found that we were passing through a rough country that was but sparsely settled. I remembered to have ridden once in this direction with Lesba, but not so far; and the surroundings were therefore strange to me.

For an hour I drove steadily on, and then the girl spoke to me through the open trap in the roof of the carriage.

“A mile or so further will bring us to a fork in the road. Keep to the right,” said she.

I returned no answer, although I was burning to question her of many things. But time enough for that, I thought, when we were safely at our journey’s end. Indeed, Lesba’s mysterious actions—her quick return from Rio in the wake of the Emperor and Valcour, her secret rendezvous in the lane, which I had so suddenly surprised and interrupted, and her evident desire to save me from arrest—all this was not only contradictory to the frank nature of the girl, but to the suspicions I had formed of her betrayal of the conspiracy in co-operation with her treacherous brother.

The key to the mystery was not mine, and I could only wait until Lesba chose to speak and explain her actions.

I came to the fork in the road and turned to the right. The trail—for it had become little more than that—now skirted a heavy growth of underbrush that merged into groves of scattered, stunted trees; and these in time gradually became more compact and stalwart until a great Brazilian forest threw its black shadow over us. Noiselessly the carriage rolled over the beds of moss, which were so thick now that I could scarcely hear a sound of the horses’ hoofs, and then I discerned a short distance ahead the outlines of an old, weatherbeaten house.

Lesba had her head through the trap and spoke close to my ear.

“Stop at this place,” said she; “for here our journey ends.”

I pulled up the horses opposite the dwelling and regarded it somewhat doubtfully. It had been built a hundred yards or so from the edge of the dense forest and seemed utterly deserted. It was a large house, with walls of baked clay and a thatched roof, and its neglected appearance and dreary surroundings gave it a fearsome look as it stood lifeless and weather-stained under the rays of the moon.

“Is the place inhabited?” I asked.

“It must be,” she replied. “Go to the door, and knock upon it loudly.”

“But the horses—who will mind them, donzella?”

Instantly she scrambled through the trap to the seat beside me and took the reins in her small hands.

“I will look after the horses,” said she.

So I climbed down and approached the door. It was sheltered by a rude porch, and flanked upon either side by well-worn benches such as are frequent at wayside inns.

I pounded upon the door and then paused to listen. The sounds drew a hollow reverberation from within, but aroused no other reply.

“Knock again!” called Lesba.

I obeyed, but with no better success. The place seemed uncanny, and I returned abruptly to the carriage, standing beside the wheel and gazing up through the moonlight into the beautiful face the girl bent over me.

“Lesba,” said I, pleadingly, “what does all this mean? Why have you brought me to this strange place?”

“To save your life,” she answered in a grave voice.

“But how came you to be waiting in the lane? And who were you waiting for?” I persisted.

“By what right do you question me, Senhor Harcliffe?” she asked, drawing back so that I could no longer look into her eyes.

“By no right at all, Lesba. Neither do I care especially whether you are attached to the Empire or the Republic, or how much you indulge in political intrigue, since that appears to be the chief amusement of your countrymen. But I love you. You know it well, although you have never permitted me tell you so. And loving you as I do, with all my heart, I am anxious to untangle this bewildering maze and understand something of your actions since that terrible morning when I parted with you at Dom Miguel’s mansion.”

She laughed, and the laugh was one of those quaint flashes of merriment peculiar to the girl, leaving one in doubt whether to attribute it to amusement or nervous agitation. Indeed, where another woman might weep Lesba would laugh; so that it frequently puzzled me to comprehend her. Now, however, she surprised me by leaning over me and saying gently:

“I will answer your question, Robert. My brother is at the mansion, and in danger of his life. I was waiting with the carriage to assist him to escape.”

“But how do you know he is in danger?”

“He sent me word by a carrier-pigeon.”

“To be sure. Yet there is one more thing that troubles me: why were you in Rio, riding in the Emperor’s carriage with the spy Valcour?”

“It is simple, senhor. I went to Rio to assist in persuading Dom Pedro to visit the vault.”

“Knowing it was empty?”

“Knowing it was empty, and believing that the Emperor’s absence would enable Fonseca to strike a blow for freedom.”

“Then Fonseca is still faithful to the Cause?”

“I know of no traitor in our ranks, Robert, although it seems you have suspected nearly all of us, at times. But it grows late and my brother is still in peril. Will you again rap upon the door?”

“It is useless, Lesba.”

“Try the back door; they may hear you from there,” she suggested.

So I made my way, stumbling over tangled vines and protruding roots, to the rear of the house, where the shadows lay even thicker than in front. I found the door, and hammered upon it with all my strength. The noise might have raised the dead, but as I listened intently there came not the least footfall to reward me. For a time I hesitated what to do. From the grim forest behind me I heard a half-audible snarl and the bark of a wolf; in the house an impressive silence reigned supreme.

I drew back, convinced that the place was uninhabited, and returned around the corner of the house.

“There is no one here, donzella,” I began, but stopped short in amazement.

The carriage was gone.