sat down and wrote a note expressive of his warmest gratitude to
Filippo, and concluded: "_In other matters too I am deeply your debtor,
but this fortunately I can, as I told you, discharge far more easily than
I can my debt of gratitude. As soon as I reach England I will pay in the
amount to a house having connections in Spain, and order them to have it
placed to your account with some good firm there, with instructions to
write to you saying that they hold it payable to your order. My name will
not be mentioned, so that in case of any accident the money will not be
traceable to me. My other and greater debt must for ever remain unpaid,
but to the end of my life I shall remain the debtor of you and Donna Inez.
Wishing you both a long life and every happiness together, I remain always
your grateful friend._"

He folded the letter up and put it into his pocket, and then waited until
he heard the three knocks on the door. Stephen blew out the candle, went
along the passage to the front door, opened it, and went out. Without a
word the old woman turned and walked along the street. He followed at a
short distance, and was presently in a busy thoroughfare. Twenty minutes
walking took them beyond the town, and they presently stopped at a cottage
where a candle was burning in the window.

"This is the house, senor," she said, speaking for the first time.

She went up to the door and tapped at it. It was opened by a man in the
attire of a muleteer.

"This is the senor who will accompany you, Gomez," she said. "Now, senor,
my work is done." And she turned to go.

"Wait a moment," he said. "Gomez has a letter for me, and I want to read
it before I give you a note that I wish you to take back and to hand to
Donna Inez."

"Here is the letter, senor," the muleteer said.

Stephen took it to the light and opened it. It was a long one, but he
skipped the first part, which was full of directions and hints for the
journey. Running his eye down it fell upon some figures, and he read:
"_Gomez will hand you a bag containing eight hundred dollars. This, I have
no doubt, will be sufficient for your journey down the Amazon and to pay
your passage-money home. You are heartily welcome to it. Some day, if it
please you, you can pay me back; but if aught befalls you on your way down
do not let the thought of this paltry debt trouble you in any way. I know
not whether this will ever reach your hands, but pray that it may do so,
and that I ma