him she recognized
the type and was reassured. But that he was worthy of the secret she
wished to confide in him she had yet to determine. As she waited for
him to disclose himself she was to all outward appearances tranquilly
studying him. But inwardly her heart was trembling, and it was with
real relief that, when she told him her name, she saw his look of
admiration disappear, and in his eyes come pity and genuine feeling.

"Oh!" gasped Roddy unhappily, his voice filled with concern. "Oh, I am
sorry!"

The girl slightly inclined her head.

"I came to ask you," she began, speaking with abrupt directness, "what
you propose to do?"

It was a most disconcerting question. Not knowing what he proposed to
do, Roddy, to gain time, slipped to the ground and, hat in hand, moved
close to the pommel of her saddle. As he did not answer, the girl
spoke again, this time in a tone more kindly. "And to ask why you wish
to help us?"

As though carefully considering his reply, Roddy scowled, but made no
answer. In a flash it had at last come to him that what to Peter and
to himself had seemed a most fascinating game was to others a
struggle, grim and momentous. He recognized that until now General
Rojas had never been to him a flesh-and-blood person, that he had not
appreciated that his rescue meant actual life and happiness. He had
considered him rather as one of the pieces in a game of chess, which
Peter and himself were secretly playing against the Commandant of the
San Carlos prison. And now, here, confronting him, was a human being,
living, breathing, suffering, the daughter of this chessman, bone of
his bone, flesh of his flesh, demanding of the stranger by what right
he made himself her father's champion, by what right he pushed himself
into the tragedy of the Rojas family. In his embarrassment Roddy
decided desperately to begin at the very beginning, to tell the exact
truth, to omit nothing, and then to throw himself upon the mercy of
the court.

The gray mist of the morning had lifted. Under the first warm rays of
the sun, like objects developing on a photographer's plate, the cactus
points stood out sharp and clear, the branches of the orange trees
separated, assuming form and outline, the clusters of fruit took on a
faint touch of yellow. From the palace yard in distant Willemstad
there drifted toward them the boom of the morning gun.

With his reins over his arm, his sombrero crumpled in his hands, his
face lifted