eview, had remained at the stables. As he knew the roads to
Los Bocos, Clay ordered him up to the driver's seat, and MacWilliams
climbed into the place beside him after first storing three rifles
under the lap-robe.

Hope pulled open the leather curtains of the carriage and found Madame
Alvarez where the men had laid her upon the cushions, weak and
hysterical. The girl crept in beside her, and lifting her in her arms,
rested the older woman's head against her shoulder, and soothed and
comforted her with tenderness and sympathy.

Clay stopped with his foot in the stirrup and looked up anxiously at
Langham who was already in the saddle.

"Is there no possible way of getting Hope out of this and back to the
Palms?" he asked.

"No, it's too late. This is the only way now." Hope opened the
leather curtains and looking out shook her head impatiently at Clay.
"I wouldn't go now if there were another way," she said. "I couldn't
leave her like this."

"You're delaying the game, Clay," cried Langham, warningly, as he stuck
his spurs into his pony's side.

The people in the diligence lurched forward as the horses felt the lash
of the whip and strained against the harness, and then plunged ahead at
a gallop on their long race to the sea. As they sped through the
gardens, the stables and the trees hid them from the sight of those in
the palace, and the turf, upon which the driver had turned the horses
for greater safety, deadened the sound of their flight.

They found the gates of the botanical gardens already opened, and Clay,
in the street outside, beckoning them on. Without waiting for the
others the two outriders galloped ahead to the first cross street,
looked up and down its length, and then, in evident concern at what
they saw in the distance, motioned the driver to greater speed, and
crossing the street signalled him to follow them. At the next corner
Clay flung himself off his pony, and throwing the bridle to Langham,
ran ahead into the cross street on foot, and after a quick glance
pointed down its length away from the heart of the city to the
mountains.

The driver turned as Clay directed him, and when the man found that his
face was fairly set toward the goal he lashed his horses recklessly
through the narrow street, so that the murmur of the mob behind them
grew perceptibly fainter at each leap forward.

The noise of the galloping hoofs brought women and children to the
barred windows of the houses,