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 216confused 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 217in 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 218acted 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 219whip, 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.

220“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 ............