It was late when Walthew led Blanca's mule through the rebel camp to the table under a tree where Don Martin sat writing. There was a half moon in the sky, and as they passed between the rows of motionless, dark figures stretched on the ground, here and there an upturned face caught the light and shone a livid white. In places a sentry's form was silhouetted, vague and black, against the sky, but except for this all was wrapped in puzzling shadow, and silence brooded over the camp.

One of Don Martin's staff sat beside the table, smoking a cigarette, another lay asleep near by, but a small lamp burned steadily near the leader's hand, lighting up his grave face against the gloom. He put down his pen and waited when Walthew stopped the mule and helped the girl to dismount.

"I have had the honor of escorting the seÑorita from Rio Frio, where with her help I got my partner out of the carcel," he said.

"Yes," Don Martin returned in a quiet voice, "I have heard something of this. I am told that you met my daughter at the hacienda Perez. Was it by accident?"

Walthew, remembering Grahame's remarks on the subject, felt embarrassed, for the steadiness of Don Martin's glance was significant.

"Certainly!" he answered. "I had never heard of the hacienda before I reached it. For all that, I would not have kept away if I had known the seÑorita was there."

"One must acknowledge your frankness," Don Martin remarked. "Well, what happened afterward?"

Walthew looked at Blanca, but she seemed to be smiling as she unfolded her fan, and he began a brief account of their adventures.

"And your comrade is with you?" asked Don Martin. "I was told of his escape, but you have been some time on the way. Our friends who lost you in Rio Frio arrived this morning."

Blanca laughed.

"I cannot walk like a peon," she explained.

"But you came on a mule!"

"We had gone some distance when Carson, the trader, lent it to us."

Walthew had not mentioned their meeting with the President's messenger, and Don Martin looked surprised.

"Carson!" he exclaimed. "If I did not believe Mr. Grahame was a man of honor, I should not know what to think."

"Mr. Walthew also is a man of honor," Blanca retorted in a meaning tone. "But I have news which you must hear at once."

Don Martin turned to Walthew.

"You will give me a few minutes; then I will see you again."

Taking this as a dismissal, Walthew went back to where Grahame was waiting and smoked a cigarette with him. Soon after he had finished it, a drowsy soldier beckoned him and he returned to Sarmiento. When he reached the table Blanca had gone.

"SeÑor," he said, "I have a favor to ask; but the accident that I was thrown into Miss Sarmiento's company at the hacienda and Rio Frio has nothing to do with it. You must understand that. I want your consent to my marriage to your daughter."

"Ah!" said Don Martin. "You have learned that she is willing?"

Walthew felt half guilty when he thought of the kiss beneath the window-sill, but he looked at Don Martin steadily.

"I thought it better to follow your customs," he explained. "Blanca does not know I meant to ask you. But I want to say that my mind has been made up for some time. It was for her sake that I determined to stay on the coast and give you all the help I could."

There was a gleam of amusement in Don Martin's eyes.

"Then my daughter gained us a useful ally. But, so far, you have spoken for yourself. What about your parents? Blanca Sarmiento is not an American."

Walthew hesitated for a moment.

"They may feel some surprise, but I believe it will vanish when they have seen her; and I choose my wife to please myself. I think I have means enough to make my way without any help, though I haven't a great deal."

"How much?"

Sarmiento nodded when Walthew told him.

"It is enough; you would be thought a rich man in this country. Still, I would prefer to have your father's consent. It is our custom that a marriage should be arranged with the approval of both families."

"But you are a progressive and don't count much on customs. I understand that you mean to cut out all those that stop your people from going ahead."

"It is true to some extent," Don Martin admitted with a smile. "For all that, one may believe in progress in the abstract, and yet hesitate about making risky experiments that touch one's own family. However, if Blanca is willing, I can trust her to you."

"I'll try to deserve your confidence," Walthew answered, and added with a naÏvely thoughtful air: "My people will come round; the only thing they'll insist on is that I enter the family business, and that's going to be easier than I thought."

"Why did you refuse in the beginning?"

"It's rather hard to explain. I wanted to get into touch with realities, to learn what I was good for and find my proper level."

Sarmiento made a sign of comprehension.

"And in searching for what you call realities, you have found yourself."

Walthew recognized the truth of this. It was not that in facing danger and hardship he had gained steadiness and self-control, because he had never lacked courage, but he had acquired a clearer conception of essential things. He would no longer be content to accept thoughtlessly the conventional view. His comrade had taught him much by his coolness in time of strain and his stubborn tenacity when things went wrong. It was not for nothing that Grahame had hawk-like eyes: he had the gift of seeing what must be done. But, after all, it was from hardship itself that Walthew had learned most, and in the light of that knowledge he determined to go home. The work he was best fitted for was waiting in the smoky, industrial town; it was not the task he had longed for, but it was his, and he would be content now.

Don Martin smiled.

"You may try to persuade Blanca to go with you to your country, if you wish. I want a talk with your comrade now. Will you send him to me?"

Walthew left him with a light heart, and shortly afterward Grahame joined Don Martin.

"SeÑor," said the leader, "you have kept your agreement with us faithfully, and I do not know that we have any further claim, but I understand that you do not mean to leave us yet."

"No," Grahame replied quietly; "I shall see you through."

"Good! Another body of our friends is gathering at a village to which I will send you with a guide. They are well armed and determined. I offer you command."

"Where is the seÑorita Cliffe?" Grahame wanted to know.

"At a hacienda two or three hours' ride back. She is in good hands, and at daybreak my daughter leaves to join her."

Grahame was sensible of keen disappointment.

"When do you wish me to start?" he asked.

"As soon as possible; but you'd better take an hour's rest."

"I'm ready now if you will give me my orders."When, a few minutes later, he rode away with the guide, Walthew and Blanca left the camp and followed a path that led through a field of rustling sugar-cane.

"We must not go far," Blanca protested. "This is quite against my people's idea of what is correct."

"It's a sign of the change you're going to make for me. You might have been something like a princess here, and you'll be the wife of a plain American citizen, instead."

"I never wanted to be a princess," she said; "and certainly not a conspirator. All I really hoped for was one faithful subject."

"You have one whose loyalty won't change. But you mustn't expect too much, because I'm giving up my adventurous career and turning business man. Men like Bolivar and the other fellow you wanted me to copy aren't born every day—and I'm not sure we'd appreciate them if they were."

Blanca laughed.

"You are a pessimist, but I will tell you a secret. It needs courage to be the wife of a great soldier and I am not brave enough." Her voice fell to a low, caressing note. "One's heart shrinks from sending the man one loves into danger."

Walthew stopped in the path and faced the girl. She was smiling. The half-moon, now high overhead, shed its beams down in a weird light that lay over everything like a mantle of blue silver. All about them the tall cane whispered in the wind.

Walthew opened his arms, and Blanca cuddled to him.

"It is so wonderful!" he breathed, after the first long kiss. "So wonderful that you are really going back to the States with me!"

"You are not going back the same," she smiled up at him; and he stooped and kissed the smile.

"——You have seen the vision," she finished; "romance has touched you."

"It was you who opened my eyes. Perhaps now they are dazzled; but we will never let the vision quite fade. Romance shall spread her bright wings above the home I'm going to build you on the river bluff——"

Again he found her mouth, and drank deep.

The silence was broken by a rattle of leather and a jingle of steel that startled them, and as they turned quickly and walked up the path a dark figure rose out of the gloom ahead and stood before them, sinister and threatening. When Walthew had answered the sentry's challenge, Blanca shivered.

"I had forgotten for a few minutes," she said. "Rio Frio is not taken yet, and you must fight for us."

"For two or three days, if all goes well. It can't be a long struggle. Rio Frio is bound to fall."

Blanca clung closer to him.

"I cannot keep you," she said; "but how I wish the days were over! There is nothing of the princess in me; I am only an anxious girl."