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 mounted figures 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's father 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 ready to 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 whirled shoreward 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 was troubled. 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 to el perro Rideau. 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 suppose el perro had 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 forward comida.

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 so el perro hear 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.