It was a few days after the Palestrina had sailed when Dom Clemente once more sat behind the pillars in a basket chair looking thoughtfully at his unlighted cigar. He could when it appeared advisable move energetically and to some effect, but he was not fond of action, or conversation, for its own sake, and he seldom told anybody else what was in his mind. There are men who apparently find a pleasure in doing so, and in their case the task is as a rule a particularly easy one, but Dom Clemente had no sympathy with them. When the time was ripe he acted on his opinions, but otherwise he was placid, tolerantly courteous, and inscrutable. Still, there were men concerned in the government of his country who had confidence in him.

It happened that a little cargo steamer on her way north had crept in that morning with engines broken down, and her British skipper, who had certain favors to ask, had been sent to Dom Clemente. He had gone away contented a few minutes earlier, but he had incidentally supplied Dom Clemente with a piece of information which, although he was not altogether astonished at it, had made him thoughtful. At last he rose, and laying down his cigar strolled forward leisurely to where, looking down between the pillars, he could see his daughter in the patio below. She did not see him, for she was sitting with a book turned back upwards upon her knee and apparently gazing straight before her at a trellis draped with flowers. He would have greatly liked to know what she was thinking, but since he recognized that this was one of the wishes that must remain ungratified he turned away again with a little gesture which was chiefly expressive of resignation. He could deal with men, but he had already found that the charge of a motherless daughter was something of a responsibility. Then he called a negro whom he dispatched with a message, and leaned against one of the pillars until a man in uniform with a big sword belted to him came in.

"Sit down," he said, pointing to the table. "Write what I tell you."

The man did as he was bidden, and Dom Clemente nodded when he was shown the letter. "You will take it across to the Lieutenant Frequillo and tell him to send a few men direct to the Bahia if he considers it advisable," he said. "Then you will see the messenger Pacheco dispatched with it. The matter, as you will understand, is urgent. As you go down say that I should like a word with the SeÑorita Benicia if she is at liberty."

His companion went out with the letter of instructions which was directed to the officer in command of the handful of dusky soldiers who had been sent up to inquire for news of Ormsgill, and Dom Clemente who sat down again waited until his daughter came in. She stood looking at him expectantly until he turned and pointed to the little British steamer.

"The captain of that vessel has just been in," he said. "He told me with some resentment that a white steam yacht went by him two days ago, and took no notice of his signals. The captain, it seems, was very anxious to be towed in here."

"I do not think that concerns me," said Benicia.

"The yacht," said Dom Clemente, "had a single funnel, a long deck-house, and two masts, which, of course, is not unusual, but it is most unlikely that there are two yachts of that description anywhere near this coast. The point is that she was steaming very fast, and heading south, which is certainly not the way to Nigeria."

Benicia appeared to straighten herself a trifle, but save for the little movement she was very quiet, and she looked at her father with eyes that were almost as inscrutable as his own. Still, she recognized that she was at a disadvantage, since it was evident that the course he meant to take was clear to him, and she was in a state of anxious uncertainty.

"It is," he continued tranquilly, "a little astonishing how these Englishmen recognize the natural facilities of a country. There is down the coast a little bay which I have long had my eyes upon. Some day, perhaps, we will build a deep water pier there and make a railway across the littoral. No other place has so many advantages. It offers, among others, a natural road to the interior."

The girl could have faced a direct question better than this preamble, which Dom Clemente no doubt guessed.

"The SeÑor Desmond is not a commercialist," she said. "Why should this interest him?"

"Well," said Dom Clemente, "one could fancy that it does, for he is certainly going there." He stopped for a moment, and then his tone was sharp and incisive. "The question is, who sent him?"

Benicia saw the little glint in his dark eyes, but she met his gaze. She was clever enough to realize that there was only one course open to her.

"Ah," she said, "I almost think you know."

The man made a little gesture. "At least, I do not know how the affair concerns you."

Benicia sat down in the nearest chair, and a faint warmth crept into her face, for this was the last point she desired to make clear, and Dom Clemente's eyes were still fixed upon her. It was evident that he expected an answer, and it said a good deal for her courage that her voice was steady.

"You are aware that I have spoiled your plans?" she said.

"That," said Dom Clemente dryly, "is another matter. I am not sure that you have spoiled them. I would, however, like to hear your reasons for meddling with them."

It was the same question in a different guise, and she nerved herself to face it.

"The SeÑor Ormsgill is doing a very chivalrous thing," she said. "It is one in which he has my sympathy—one could almost fancy that he has yours, too."

This was a bold venture, but she saw the man's faint smile. "I have a duty here, and that counts for most," he said. "Then it was sympathy with this man Ormsgill that influenced you?"

"Not altogether. I hate the Chefe at San Roque. You know why that is natural, and, after all, it was you who had him sent there. Apart from that, is it not clear that he and the trader Herrero and Domingo play into each other's hands up yonder? The traffic they are engaged in is authorized, but the way in which it is carried out is an iniquity."

There were, as it happened, men in that country who held similar views, but the other reason the girl had proffered seemed to Dom Clemente the most obvious one, though he fancied it did not go quite far enough. It was conceivable that she should hate Dom Erminio, who had been sent up into the bush after bringing discredit upon himself as well as certain friends of hers. Still, he realized that this was a matter on which she would never fully enlighten him, and he recognized his disabilities. It was, perhaps, one of his strong points that he usually did recognize them, and seldom attempted the impossible. As the result of this he generally carried out what he took in hand. Dom Clemente was first of all a soldier, and not one who shone in civilized society or cared to scheme for preferment by social influence, which was probably why he had been sent out to a secondary command in Africa. He had friends who said he might have gone further had he been less faithful to his dead wife's memory.

"Well," he said, "it was certainly my intention to arrest this man Ormsgill. I admit that I have a certain sympathy with him, and that is partly why I am a little anxious to keep him from involving himself in useless difficulties."

"Do you think a man of his kind would be grateful for that?"

Dom Clemente made a little gesture of indifference. "I do not know. It is, after all, not a point that very much concerns me, though he is doing a perilous thing by meddling with our affairs, especially in the bush yonder."

"Ah," said Benicia, "then is nobody to meddle, and is this iniquity to go on?"

Dom Clemente smiled dryly. "I almost think," he said, "that when the time is ripe there will, as usual, be a man ready to take the affair in hand. In the meanwhile it would be a very undesirable thing that any one should point to you as a friend of this rash Englishman."

He rose, and buckling on his sword went down the outer stairway, while Benicia sat still with her cheeks burning. She fancied Dom Clemente had meant a good deal more than he had said, but, after all, that did not greatly trouble her. She was not one who counted the cost, and it was not quite clear that she had failed, though she knew troops had been dispatched to head off Ormsgill from the coast. It was possible that he had slipped past them, and the Palestrina would be waiting at the Bahia Santiago, and then it flashed upon her that it would not be difficult for her father to send the man in command of the troops instructions to proceed direct to the Bahia by a fast messenger. While she considered the point it happened that the officer he had handed the instructions to came up the stairway.

"I wonder if you know where the messenger Pacheco is, SeÑorita?" he said. "I have an urgent errand for him."

Benicia saw that he had a packet in his hand, and a swift glance at the table showed her that the writing materials were not exactly as they had been laid out an hour or two earlier. Somebody, it seemed, had written a letter, and she could make a shrewd guess at its purport. For a moment she stood looking at the officer, and thinking hard. It was evident that her father had a certain liking for Ormsgill, but she felt that he would probably not allow it to influence him to any great extent. He was apparently working out some cleverly laid plan of his own, and it was evident that she would incur a heavy responsibility by meddling with it, but after all Ormsgill's safety stood first with her.

"I am not sure, but I think he is in the house," she said.

She left the officer waiting, and entering her own room hastily wrote a note. Then she went down the inner stairway with it in her hand, and crossing the patio glanced up for a moment at the balustrade above. Fortunately, the officer was not leaning over it, and did not see her slip into a store room where a big dusky man was talking to the negress cook, with whom, as it happened, he was a favorite. Western Africa is indifferently supplied with telegraphic and postal facilities and messages are still usually carried by native runners. There were none of them anywhere about that city as fast or trusty as Pacheco, and Benicia smiled as she looked at him. He was lean and hard and muscular, a man who had made famous journeys in the service of the Government, which was exactly why she did not wish him to be available for another one.

"I have a message for the SeÑora Blanco," she said. "I should like her to get it before she goes to sleep in the afternoon, and you will start now, but if it is very hot you need make no great haste in bringing me back the answer."

Pacheco rose with a grin. "It is only two leagues to the plantation," he said. "Though the road is rough, that is nothing to me."

Then the plump negro woman caught Benicia's eyes, and, though she said nothing, there was comprehension in her dusky face. The girl went out in the patio satisfied, and stood waiting behind a creeper-covered trellis. She felt she could leave the matter in the hands of the negress with confidence. The latter turned to the messenger with a compassionate smile.

"You have the sense of a trek-ox. It is in your legs," she said. "The SeÑorita does not wish you to distress yourself if the day is hot.""But," said Pacheco, "it is always hot, and no journey of that kind could weary me."

The woman made a little grimace. "The trek-ox is slow to understand and one teaches it with the stick. Sometimes the same thing is done with a man. It seems the SeÑorita does not wish to see how fast you could go."

At last Pacheco seemed to understand. "Ah," he said, "there are thorns in this country. Now and then one gets one in his foot."

"The SeÑorita would be sorry if you came home limping. Once or twice I have cut my hand with the chopper, and she was kind to me."

The man chuckled softly and went out, and Benicia standing in the shadow felt her heart beat as she watched him slip across the patio. There would probably be complications if the officer saw him from above. Nobody, however, appeared among the pillars, and the shadowy arch that led through the building was not far away. The negro's feet fell softly on the hot stones, and though the slight patter sounded horribly distinct to her nobody called out to stop him. He had almost reached the arch when a uniformed figure appeared between two of the pillars, and for a moment the girl held her breath. If the man moved another foot it was evident that he must see the messenger, but, as it happened, he stood where he was, and next moment Pacheco, who turned and looked back at her with a grin, slipped into the shadow of the arch. Then Benicia went back into the house a little quiver of relief running through her. It would, she knew, be possible to obtain other messengers, but none of them were so well acquainted with the native paths which traverse the littoral or so speedy as Pacheco, and she did not think he would be available until the evening.

In the meantime the officer waited above, until growing impatient, he summoned the major domo, who sent for the negress.

"Pacheco was certainly in the house because he talked to me, but he went out with a message, and I do not know when he will be back again," she said.

The officer asked her several questions without, however, eliciting much further information, and went away somewhat perplexed. He could not help a fancy that Benicia was somehow connected with the messenger's disappearance, but there was nothing to suggest what her object could have been. She was also a lady of influence, and he wisely decided to keep his thoughts to himself. As it happened, Pacheco did not arrive until late that night, and another messenger was dispatched in the meanwhile. He, however, became involved amidst a waste of tall grass which Pacheco would have skirted, and afterwards wasted a day or two endeavoring to carry out the directions certain villagers who bore the Government no great good-will had given him. As the result of this the handful of black soldiers had wandered a good deal further inland before he came up with them.

In the meantime it happened the morning after he set out that Dom Clemente sent for Pacheco who was just then sitting in the cook's store nursing an injured foot. They exchanged glances when the major-domo informed him that his presence would be required in a few minutes, and after the latter had gone out the negress handed Pacheco a sharp-pointed knife.

"It is wise to make certain when one has to answer a man like Dom Clemente, and the scratch the thorn made was not a very large one," she said.

Pacheco took the knife, and looked at it hesitatingly.

"The thing would be easier if it was some other person's foot. It will, no doubt, hurt," he said.

"It will hurt less than what Dom Clemente may order you," and the negress grinned. "A man is always afraid of bearing a little pain."

Pacheco decided that she was probably right, and set his thick lips as he laid the knife point against the ball of his big toe. Still, for it is probable that there are respects in which the negro's susceptibilities are less than those of the civilized white man, he steadily pressed the blade in. After that he wrapped up his foot again, and rose with a wry face.

"I was given a bottle of anisado and a small piece of silver yesterday," he said. "I almost think I deserve a little more for this."

Then he limped up the stairway leaving red marks behind him, and made a little deprecatory gesture when he appeared before Dom Clemente. The latter looked at him in a fashion which sent a thrill of dismay through him.

"I hear you have hurt your foot," he said. "Take that bandage off."

Pacheco, who dare not hesitate, sat down and unrolled the rag. Then with considerable misgivings he did as he was bidden and held up his foot.

"Ah," said Dom Clemente dryly, "a thorn did that. The wound a thorn makes seems to keep curiously fresh. Well, you can put on the rag again."

Pacheco did it as hastily as he could while he wondered with a growing uneasiness what the man who regarded him with a little sardonic smile would ask him next. Dom Clemente, however, made him a sign to get up.

"One would recommend you to be more careful," he said. "You will have reason to regret it if the next time I have an errand for you you have a—thorn—in your foot."

Pacheco limped away with sincere relief, and Dom Clemente who sat still contemplatively smoked a cigar. While he did it he once more decided that it is now and then advisable to content oneself with simply looking on, and it was characteristic of him that when he next met Benicia he asked her no questions.