t its criminals to be executed, but it shows no mercy to
rebels. Manoela, of course, believed that the Englishmen were helping
the imprisoned Dom Corria to regain power. She remembered how a mutiny
was once crushed on the island, and her eyes streamed.

Meanwhile, Luisa Gomez was touched by the good-looking soldier's
plight. Never, since she came to Fernando Noronha to rejoin her
convict husband, had she been addressed so politely by any member of
the military caste. The manners of the officers of the detachment at
Fort San Antonio were not to be compared with those of Captain San
Benavides. Her heart went out to him.

"We must try to help you, Senhor Capitano," she said. "If the others
are dead or taken, you may not be missed."

He threw out his hands in an eloquent gesture. Life or death was a
matter of complete indifference to him, it implied.

"We shall know in the morning," he said. "Have you any cigarettes? A
milrei[2] for a cigarette!"

"But listen, senhor. Why not take off your uniform and dress in my
clothes? You can cut off your mustaches, and wear a mantilha over your
face, and we will keep you here until there is a chance of reaching a
ship. Certainly that is better than being shot."

He glanced at Iris. Vanity being his first consideration, it is
probable that he would have refused to be made ridiculous in her eyes,
had not a knock on the door galvanized him into a fever of fright. He
sprang up and glared wildly around for some means of eluding the
threatened scrutiny of a search party. Luisa Gomez flung him a rough
skirt and a shawl. He huddled into a corner near the bed,--in such
wise that the figures of Iris and Manoela would cloak the rays of the
lamp,--placed his drawn sword across his knees, and draped the two
garments over his head and limbs.

Then, greatly agitated, but not daring to refuse admittance to the
dreaded soldiery, the woman unbarred the door. A man staggered in. He
was alone, and a swirl of wind and rain caused the lamp to flicker so
madly that no one could distinguish his features until the door was
closed again.

But Iris knew him. Though her eyes were dim with tears, though the
new-comer carried a broken gun in his hands, and his face was
blood-stained, she knew.

With a shriek that dismayed the other women--who could not guess that
joy is more boisterous than sorrow, she leaped up and threw her arms
around him.

"Oh, Philip, Philip!" she sobbed. "He t