Towards sunset the sea-breeze dropped and the mist gathered thicker about the hills. Faint puffs of hot wind began to blow off the land, which faded suddenly as darkness rolled down. A thin haze drifted out across the water and the speed slackened as the vessel closed with the shore. Then dim lights blinked out ahead, the engines stopped, and a detonating rocket burst high up in the sky. Soon afterwards a steam launch came off, and the purser stopped near Dick on his way to his room.

"We are going in, but will have to wait until the agent gets formal permission from the guardship's commander, who must see our papers first," he said. "As this may take some time, perhaps you had better dine on board."

When the bell rang Dick and his companions went to the saloon. There were not many passengers, and the room was nearly empty, but as they entered Dick saw Kenwardine at the bottom of a table. He glanced up as he heard their footsteps, and with an abrupt movement turned his revolving chair partly round. Next moment, however, he looked at Dick coolly, and after a nod of recognition went on with his dinner. Don Sebastian indicated a table between Kenwardine and the door, and they sat down.

Jake played with his food, and Dick had not much appetite, although he partook of the dishes set before him, because he wanted an excuse for occupying the table until Kenwardine had finished. The latter showed no anxiety to get away and now and then kept the steward waiting while he studied the menu. Dick, who envied his coolness, thought it indicated one of two things: Kenwardine knew he was beaten and was philosophically resigned, or had some plan by which he hoped to baffle his pursuers. Now and then Dick looked at Don Sebastian inquiringly, but the Spaniard answered with an enigmatic smile.

In the meantime, the passengers went away to pack or get ready for a run ashore, and at last the saloon was empty except for Dick's party and Kenwardine. Then Don Sebastian crossed the floor and bowed to the latter.

"It would be a favor if you will take a glass of wine with us," he said.

"Certainly," said Kenwardine, getting up, and Don Sebastian, who gave an order to a steward, led the way to a corner table where they would not be disturbed.

"You were, perhaps, surprised to see us, senor," he resumed, when the others joined them.

"I was," Kenwardine admitted. "Still, I suppose I ought to have been prepared for something of the kind."

Don Sebastian bowed. "One may understand that as a compliment?"

"Perhaps it is, in a sense. But I certainly did not expect to meet Mr. Fuller. We are told that his people mean to preserve a strict neutrality."

Jake colored. "I'd have stood out if you had kept your dago friends off my partner. That's what brought me in; but I'm still trying to be as neutral as I can."

"Senor Fuller has informed us that he means to see you get fair play," Don Sebastian interposed.

"Well, he has my thanks for that, and my sympathy, which I think he needs," Kenwardine rejoined with a twinkle. "There's no doubt that he owes Mr. Brandon something, and I flatter myself that he rather liked me. It must have been embarrassing to find that he couldn't be friends with both. However, you had better tell me what you want. My clothes are not packed, and I must land as soon as possible, because I have some business to transact to-night."

"I am afraid you will be unable to do so," Don Sebastian said politely.

"Why?"

"The explanation is rather long, but, to begin with, you no doubt know I was ordered to watch you."

"I must admit that I suspected something very like it."

"The President imagined you might become dangerous to the neutrality of the State, and I learned enough to show that he was right."

"What did you learn?"

Don Sebastian smiled. "I will be frank and put down my cards. I would not do so, senor, if I thought you could beat them."

He began a concise account of the discoveries he had made; showing Kenwardine's association with the German, Richter, and giving particulars about the purchase of the Adexe coaling wharf. Jake leaned forward with his elbows on the table, listening eagerly, while Dick sat motionless. Part of what he heard was new to him, but the Spaniard's statements could not be doubted, and he envied Kenwardine's nerve. The latter's face was, for the most part, inscrutable, but now and then he made a sign of languid agreement, as if to admit that his antagonist had scored a point.

"Well," he said when the other finished, "it is a story that might do me harm, and there are parts I cannot deny; but it is not complete. One finds awkward breaks in it. For example, you do not show how the raider got coal and information from the Adexe Company."

"I think Senor Brandon can do so," said Don Sebastian, who turned to Dick.

Taking his cue from the Spaniard, Dick related what he had noted at the coaling wharf and learned about the movements of the tug when the auxiliary cruiser was in the neighborhood. His account to some extent filled the gaps that Don Sebastian's narrative had left, but now he came to put the different points together and consider them as a whole, their significance seemed less. He began to see how a hostile critic would look at the thing. Much of his evidence was based upon conjecture that might be denied. Yet, while it was not convincing, it carried weight.

There was a pause when he finished, and Jake was conscious of a strong revulsion of feeling as he studied his companions. In a way, the thin, dark-faced Spaniard and tranquil Englishman were alike. Both wore the stamp of breeding and were generally marked by an easy good humor and polished wit that won men's confidence and made them pleasant companions. But this was on the surface; beneath lay a character as hard and cold as a diamond. They were cunning, unscrupulous intriguers, who would stick at nothing that promised to serve their ends. Jake knew Kenwardine now, and felt angry as he remembered the infatuation that had prevented his understanding the man.

Then he glanced at Dick, who sat waiting with a quietly resolute look. Dick was different from the others; he rang true. One could not doubt his rather naive honesty, but in spite of this there was something about him that made him a match for his scheming opponent. Kenwardine, of course, had courage, but Dick was armed with a stern tenacity that made him careless of the hurt he received. Now, though he had nothing to gain and much to lose, he would hold on because duty demanded it. The contrast between them threw a lurid light upon Kenwardine's treachery.

Then the latter said: "You have stated things clearly, Brandon, but, after all, what you offer is rather plausible argument than proof. In fact, you must see that your evidence isn't strong enough."

"It's enough to justify our handing you to the military officers in Kingston, who would, no doubt, detain you while they made inquiries."

"Which you don't want to do?"

"No," said Dick shortly. "But I may be forced."

"Very well. This brings us back to the point we started from," Kenwardine replied and turned to Don Sebastian. "What is it you want?"

"To know where Richter is, and who supplied him with the money he paid for the coaling business."

"Then I'm sorry I cannot tell you, and you certainly wouldn't get the information by having me locked up, but perhaps I can meet you in another way. Now it's obvious that you know enough to make it awkward for me to carry on the Adexe wharf, and my help is necessary for the part of the business you object to. If I retire from it altogether, you ought to be satisfied."

The Spaniard did not answer, and while he pondered, the beat of a launch's engine came in through the open ports. Kenwardine lighted a cigarette, spending some time over it, and as he finished the launch ran alongside. There were footsteps on deck, and a few moments later a steward entered the saloon.

"We are going in," he announced. "Will you have your luggage put on deck?"

"You can take ours up," said Don Sebastian, who indicated Kenwardine. "Leave this gentleman's for the present."

Kenwardine did not object, but Jake, who was watching him, thought he saw, for the first time, a hint of uneasiness in his look. Then Don Sebastian got up.

"I must think over Senor Kenwardine's suggestion, and you may want to talk to him," he said, and went out.

When he had gone, Kenwardine turned to Dick. "There's a matter I would like to clear up; I had nothing to do with the attempts that seem to have been made upon your life. In fact, I suspected nothing of the kind until you told me about the accident at the dam, but Fuller afterwards showed me that it was time to interfere."

"That's true," said Jake. "Anyhow, I gave him a plain hint, but as he didn't seem able to stop the accidents, I put Don Sebastian on the track."

"You can't with any fairness make me accountable for the actions of half-breeds who hold life very cheap and meant to keep a paying job," Kenwardine resumed, addressing Dick. "You knew what kind of men you had to deal with and took the risk."

"It's hard to see how a white man could make use of such poisonous colored trash," Jake remarked. "But I expect you don't want me, and I'll see what Don Sebastian is doing."

He left them, and there was silence for a few moments until the screw began to throb and they heard the wash of water along the steamer's side. Then Kenwardine said quietly, "Fuller has tact. There's a matter that concerns us both that has not been mentioned yet. I'll clear the ground by stating that although our Spanish friend has not decided what he means to do, I shall not go back to Santa Brigida. I imagine this will remove an obstacle from your way."

"Thanks for the lead," Dick answered. "I resolved, some time ago, to marry Clare if she would have me, though I saw that it would mean separating her from you."

"And yet you believed she stole your papers!"

"I thought she did," Dick answered doggedly. "Still, I didn't blame her."

"You blamed me? But you ought to be satisfied, in one respect, because Clare and I are separated, and I'll own that I'm anxious about her future. Had things gone well, I would have tried to keep her away from you; in fact, I did try, because I frankly think she might have made a better marriage. For all that, if you are determined and she is willing, you have my consent. You will probably never be very rich, but I could trust Clare to you."

"I am determined."

"Very well. I can tell you something you may be glad to hear. Clare did not rob you, nor did I."

Dick looked at him with keen relief. "Then who took the plans?"

"Your cousin. The pocket they were in was unbuttoned when he took hold of you and hurried you out of the house. He brought them to me afterwards, but I saw they were not valuable and destroyed them."

It was impossible to doubt the statement, and Dick flushed with shame and anger as he realized that his absurd and unjust suspicion of Clare had prevented his seeing who the real culprit was. Clare had accidentally torn his pocket loose, the bulky envelope must have been sticking out, and Lance had noticed it as he hustled him across the hall.

"Yes; Lance took the plans!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "But why?"

"It looks as if you hadn't heard from home. Your cousin has stepped into your place. I imagine he had always envied it, and didn't hesitate when he saw an opportunity of getting rid of you."

Dick was silent for a few moments and his face was very hard. He heard the crew hurrying about the deck, and a winch rattle as the hatches were lifted. The vessel would soon be in port, and Kenwardine's fate must be decided before they went ashore; but the man looked very cool as he leaned back in his chair, languidly waiting.

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Dick asked sternly.

"I should have thought my object was plain enough," Kenwardine replied. "I didn't want Clare to marry a badly paid engineer. Things are different now and I admit that you have stood a rather severe test. I'll give you two letters; one to Clare, advising her to marry you, and the other stating how your cousin stole the plans, which you can use in any way you like. Before writing them, I'd like to see Fuller for a minute or two. You needn't hesitate about it, because I don't mean to victimize him in any way. In fact, I want to tell him something to his advantage."

Dick went out, and when he had sent Jake down, leaned upon the steamer's rail lost in thought. It had been a shock to learn of his cousin's treachery, but this was balanced by the relief of knowing that Clare was innocent. Indeed, he grew hot with shame as he wondered how he had suspected her. He felt angry with Kenwardine for keeping him in the dark so long, but his indignation was tempered by a touch of grim amusement. Since the fellow was ambitious for Clare, he must have regretted having destroyed the plans when he learned that Dick's father was rich, but after conniving at the theft he could not put matters right. Now, when his career was ended, he was willing, for his daughter's sake, to clear Dick's name and help him to regain the station he had lost. But Dick was not sure he wished to regain it just yet. He had been turned out of the army; his father, who had never shown much love for him, had been quick to believe the worst; and he was bound for a time to a man who had befriended him.

Presently he looked about. Lights were opening out in twinkling lines as the steamer moved shoreward, and a splash of oars came out of the gloom. Dick vacantly noted that several boats were approaching, and then a winch rattled and Don Sebastian, who had come up quietly, touched his arm. A chain sling swung past beneath a moving derrick, and as they crossed the deck to get out of the way he saw a steamer close by. Her windlass was clanking as she shortened her cable and he supposed she was the Spanish boat the mate had spoken of, but he followed his companion and listened to what he had to say. Then as the anchor was let go he thought Jake ought to have come back and went to look for him. He found the lad leaning against the deckhouse, smoking a cigarette.

"Where's Kenwardine?" he asked.

"I left him in the saloon. He gave me two letters for you and a useful hint about some debts of mine."

"Never mind that! How long is it since you left him?"

"Quite five minutes," Jake answered coolly.

Struck by something in his tone, Dick ran below and found no luggage in Kenwardine's room. None of the stewards whom he asked had seen him for some time, and a hasty search showed that he was not on deck. Dick went back to Jake.

"Do you know where the fellow is?" he asked sharply as Don Sebastian came up.

"If you insist, I imagine he's on board the Spanish boat," Jake answered with a chuckle. "As she seems to have her anchor up, I guess it's too late for us to interfere."

A sharp rattle of chain that had rung across the water suddenly stopped and Dick saw one of the steamer's colored side-lights slowly move. It was plain that she was going to sea.

"Since we had been passed by the doctor, there was nothing to prevent the shore boats coming alongside, and I believe one or two did so before we quite stopped," Jake resumed. "They were, no doubt, looking for a job, and the ladder was already lowered."

"Then you knew Kenwardine meant to steal away?"

"I didn't know, but thought it likely," Jake replied with some dryness. "On the whole, it was perhaps the best thing he could do. What's your opinion, Don Sebastian?"

The Spaniard smiled. "I think the President will be satisfied that it was the simplest way out of the difficulty."

"Well," said Jake, "here are your letters, Dick. Perhaps we had better see about getting ashore."

They moved towards the gangway, past the hatch where some heavy cases were being hoisted up, and Dick carefully put the letters in his pocket. This distracted his attention from what was going on, and when he heard a warning shout he stepped back a moment too late. A big case swung forward beneath a derrick-boom and struck his shoulder. Staggering with the blow, he lost his balance and plunged down the hatch. He was conscious of a heavy shock, a sudden, stinging pain, and then remembered nothing more.



CHAPTER XXXI

RICHTER'S MESSAGE

It was a hot evening and Clare sat at a table in the patio, trying to read. The light was bad, for buzzing insects hovered about the lamp, but the house had not cooled down yet and she wanted to distract her troubled thoughts. Footsteps and voices rose from the street outside, where the citizens were passing on their way to the plaza, but the sounds were faint and muffled by the high walls. The house had been built in times when women were jealously guarded and a dwelling was something of a fort. Now, with the iron gate in the narrow, arched entrance barred, the girl was securely cut off from the exotic life of the city.

This isolation was sometimes a comfort, but it sometimes jarred. Clare was young, and fond of cheerful society, and the iron gate had its counterpart in another barrier, invisible but strong, that shut her out from much she would have enjoyed. She often stood, so to speak, gazing wistfully between the bars at innocent pleasures in which she could not join. Kenwardine, in spite of his polished manners, was tactfully avoided by English and Americans of the better class, and their wives and daughters openly showed their disapproval.

At length Clare gave up the attempt to read. She felt lonely and depressed. Nobody had been to the house since Kenwardine left, and Dick and Jake were away. She did not see Dick often and he was, of course, nothing to her; for one thing, he was in some mysterious way her father's enemy. Still, she missed him; he was honest, and perhaps, if things had been different——

Then she turned her head sharply as she heard the click of a bolt. This was strange, because Lucille had locked the gate. She could not see it in the gloom of the arch, but it had certainly opened. Then as she waited with somewhat excited curiosity a dark figure appeared on the edge of the light, and she put down her book as Richter came forward. He made very little noise and stopped near the table.

"How did you get in?" she asked.

Richter smiled. "You have forgotten that Herr Kenwardine gave me a key."

"I didn't know he had," Clare answered. "But won't you sit down?"

He moved a chair to a spot where his white clothes were less conspicuous, though Clare noted that he did so carelessly and not as if he wished to hide himself. Then he put a small linen bag on the table.

"This is some money that belongs to Herr Kenwardine; you may find it useful. It is not good to be without money in a foreign town."

Clare looked at him with alarm. He was fat and generally placid, but his philosophical good humor was not so marked as usual.

"Then you have heard from my father?"

"Yes. I have a cablegram. It was sent in a roundabout way through other people's hands and took some time to reach me. Herr Kenwardine left Kingston last night."

"But there is no boat yet."

Richter nodded. "He is not coming to Santa Brigida. I do not think that he will come back at all."

For a moment or two Clare felt unnerved, but she pulled herself together. She realized now that she had long had a vague fear that something of this kind would happen.

"Then where has he gone? Why didn't he write to me?" she asked.

"He has gone to Brazil and will, no doubt, write when he arrives. In the meantime, you must wait and tell people he is away on business. This is important. You have some money, and the house is yours for a month or two."

"But why has he gone? Will you show me the cablegram?"

"You could not understand it, and it might be better that you should not know," Richter answered. Then he paused and his manner, which had been friendly and sympathetic, changed. His short hair seemed to bristle and his eyes sparkled under his shaggy brows as he resumed: "Herr Kenwardine was forced to go at the moment he was needed most. Your father, fraeulein, is a bold and clever man, but he was beaten by a blundering fool. We had confidence in him, but the luck was with his enemies."

"Who are his enemies?"

"The Englishman, Brandon, is the worst," Richter answered with keen bitterness. "We knew he was against us, but thought this something of a joke. Well, it seems we were mistaken. These English are obstinate; often without imagination or forethought, they blunder on, and chance, that favors simpletons, is sometimes with them. But remember, that if your father meets with misfortunes, you have Brandon to thank."

The color left Clare's face, but she tried to brace herself.

"What misfortunes has my father to fear?"

Richter hesitated, and then said deprecatingly: "I cannot be as frank as I wish. Herr Kenwardine's work was most important, but he failed in it. I know this was not his fault and would trust him again, but there are others, of higher rank, who may take a different view. Besides, it will be remembered that he is an Englishman. If he stays in Brazil, I think he will be left alone, but he will get no money and some he has earned will not be sent. Indeed, if it were known, fraeulein, I might be blamed for paying you this small sum, but I expect you will need it."

He got up, as if to go, but Clare stopped him.

"You will come back as soon as you know something more and tell me what to do."

Richter made an apologetic gesture. "That will be impossible. I ran some risk in coming now and leave Santa Brigida to-night in a fishing boat. You will stay in this house, as if you expect your father back, until you hear from him. He will send you instructions when he lands."

Then the kitchen door across the patio opened and a bucket clinked. Richter stepped back into the shadow and Clare looked round as an indistinct figure crossed the tiles. When she looked back Richter had gone and she heard the splash of water. She sat still until the servant went away and then sank down limply in her chair. She was left alone and unprotected except for old Lucille, in a foreign town where morals were lax and license was the rule. The few English and Americans whose help she might have asked regarded her with suspicion, and it looked as if her father would be unable to send for her.

This was daunting but it was not the worst. Richter had vaguely hinted at Kenwardine's business, which was obviously mysterious. She saw where his hints led, but she would not follow up the clue. Her father had been ruined by Brandon, and her heart was filled with anger, in which she found it some relief to indulge. Dick had long been their enemy and thought her a thief, while the possibility that he was justified in the line he had taken made matters worse. If she was the daughter of a man dishonored by some treason against his country, she could not marry Dick. She had already refused to do so, but she did not want to be logical. It was simpler to hate him as the cause of her father's downfall. The latter had always indulged her, and now she understood that he would land in Brazil penniless, or at least impoverished. Since he was accustomed to extravagance, it was painful to think of what he might suffer.

Then she began to speculate about Richter's visit. He had come at some risk and seemed sorry for her, but he had urged her to stay in the house, as if she expected her father to return. This could be of no advantage to the latter, and she wondered whether the man had meant to make use of her to divert suspicion from himself and his friends. It seemed uncharitable to think so, but she was very bitter and could trust nobody.

After a time she got calm, and remembering that she had her own situation to consider, counted the money in the bag. It was not a large sum, but with economy might last for a few weeks, after which she must make some plans. She was incapable of grappling with any fresh difficulty yet, but she must brace her courage and not break down, and getting up with a resolute movement she went into the house.

On the morning after his fall, Dick came to his senses in a shaded room. He heard a shutter rattle as the warm breeze flowed in, and noted a flickering patch of light on the wall, but found with some annoyance that he could not see it well. His head was throbbing and a bandage covered part of his face. His side was painful too, and he groaned when he tried to move.

"Where am I?" he asked a strange man, who appeared beside his bed, and added in an injured tone: "It looks as if I'd got into trouble again."

"You had a narrow escape," the other answered soothingly. "You cut your head badly and broke two of your ribs when you fell down the steamer's hold. Now you're in hospital, but you're not to talk."

"I'll get worse if you keep me quiet," Dick grumbled. "How can you find out things that bother you, unless you talk?"

"Don't bother about them," said the doctor. "Have a drink instead."

Dick looked at the glass with dull suspicion. "I don't know, though I'm thirsty. You see, I've been in a doctor's hands before. In fact, I seem to have a gift for getting hurt."

"It's cool and tastes nice," the other urged. "You didn't rest much last night and if you go to sleep now we'll try to satisfy your curiosity afterwards."

Dick hesitated, but took the glass and went to sleep soon after he drained it. When he awoke the light had vanished from the wall and the room was shadowy, but he saw Jake sitting by the bed. A nurse, who put a thermometer in his mouth and felt his pulse, nodded to the lad as if satisfied before she went away. Dick's head was clearer, and although the movement hurt him he resolutely fixed his uncovered eye on his companion.

"Now," he said, "don't tell me not to talk. Do you know why they've fixed this bandage so that it half blinds me?"

Jake looked embarrassed. "There's a pretty deep cut on your forehead."

"Do you suppose I can't feel it? But I want to know why they're not satisfied with tying my forehead up? You may as well tell me, because I'm not going to sleep again. It looks as if I'd slept all day."

"The cut runs through your eyelid and the doctor thinks it wiser to be careful."

"About my eye?"

"It's just a precaution," Jake declared. "There's really nothing the matter, but he thought it would be better to keep out the strong light."

"Ah!" said Dick, who was not deceived, and was silent for the next few moments. Then he resumed in a rather strained voice: "Well, let's talk about something else. Where's Don Sebastian?"

"I haven't seen him since lunch, but he spent the morning interviewing the British authorities."

"Do you think he told them to send after Kenwardine?"

"No," said Jake with a twinkle, "I rather think he's put them off the track, and although he had to give them a hint out of politeness, doesn't want them to know too much. Then there's only an old-fashioned cruiser here and I understand she has to stop for a guardship. In fact, Don Sebastian seems to imagine that Kenwardine is safe so long as he keeps off British soil. However, an official gentleman with a refined taste in clothes and charming manners called at our hotel and is coming to see you as soon as the doctor will let him."

Next morning Dick saw the gentleman, who stated his rank and then asked a number of questions, which Dick did not answer clearly. He was glad that his bandaged head gave him an excuse for seeming stupid. He had done his part, and now Kenwardine could do no further harm, it would be better for everybody if he got away. After a time, his visitor observed:

"Well, you seem to have rendered your country a service, and I expect you will find things made smooth for you at home after our report upon the matter has been received."

"Ah!" said Dick. "It looks as if you knew why I left."

The gentleman made a sign of assent. "Your Spanish friend was discreet, but he told us something. Besides, there are army lists and London Gazettes in Kingston."

Dick was silent for a few moments, and then said: "As a matter of fact, I am not anxious to go home just yet."

"Are you not?" the other asked with a hint of polite surprise. "I do not think there would be much difficulty about a new commission, and officers are wanted."

"They're not likely to want a man with one eye, and I expect it will come to that," Dick said grimly.

His visitor was sympathetic, but left soon afterwards, and Dick thought he was not much wiser about Kenwardine's escape than when he came. Two or three weeks later he was allowed to get up, although he was tightly strapped with bandages and made to wear a shade over his eyes. When he lay in the open air one morning, Jake joined him.

"We must get back to Santa Brigida as soon as we can," he said. "They're planning an extension of the irrigation scheme, and the old man and Ida are coming out. The doctor seems to think you might go by the next boat if we take care of you. But I'd better give you Kenwardine's letters. We took them out of your pocket the night you got hurt, and I've been wondering why you haven't asked for them."

"Thanks," Dick answered dully. "I don't know that I'll use them now. I'll be glad to get back and dare say I can do my work with one eye."

"You'll soon have both," Jake declared.

"It's doubtful," said Dick. "I don't think the doctor's very sanguine."

On the whole, he was relieved when Jake left, because he found it an effort to talk, but the thoughts he afterwards indulged in were gloomy. His broken ribs did not trouble him much, but there was some risk of his losing his eye. He had helped to expose and banish Kenwardine, and could not ask Clare to marry him after that, even if he were not half blind and disfigured. Besides, it was doubtful if he would be able to resume his profession or do any useful work again. The sight of the uninjured eye might go. As a matter of fact, the strain he had borne for some time had told upon his health and the shock of the accident had made things worse. He had sunk into a dejected, lethargic mood, from which he had not the vigor to rouse himself.

A week later he was helped on board a small French boat and sailed for Santa Brigida. He did not improve with the sea air, as Jake had hoped, and for the most part avoided the few passengers and sat alone in the darkest corner he could find. Now and then he moodily read Kenwardine's letters. He had at first expected much from them. They might have removed the stain upon his name and the greatest obstacle between himself and Clare; but he no longer cared much about the former and the letters were useless now. For all that, he put them carefully away in a leather case which he carried in an inside pocket.



CHAPTER XXXII

IDA INTERFERES

On his return to Santa Brigida, Dick went to see a Spanish oculist, who took a more hopeful view than the Kingston doctor, although he admitted that there was some danger of the injury proving permanent. Dick felt slightly comforted when he learned that the oculist was a clever man who had been well known in Barcelona until he was forced to leave the city after taking part in some revolutionary plot. He was, however, unable to resume his work, and while he brooded over his misfortunes a touch of the malaria he had already suffered from hindered his recovery. One of the effects of malaria is a feeling of black depression. He was feebly struggling against the weakness and despondence when Fuller arrived and soon afterwards came to see him. Dick, who was sitting in the darkest corner of the veranda, had got rid of his bandage; but an ugly, livid mark crossed his forehead to the shade above his eyes and his face looked worn. Fuller talked about the dam for a time, and then stopped and looked hard at his silent companion.

"I imagined all this would interest you, but you don't say much."

"No," said Dick. "You see, it's galling to listen to plans you can't take part in. In fact, I feel I ought to resign."

"Why?"

"It looks as if it may be a long time before I can get to work and I may never be of much use again."

"Well, I suppose it's natural that you should feel badly humped, but you don't know that you'll lose your eye, and if you did, you'd do your work all right with the other. However, since you started the subject, I've something to say about our contract. If the new scheme we're negotiating goes through, as I think it will, I'll have to increase my staff. Should I do so, you'll get a move up and, of course, better pay for a more important job."

Dick, who was touched by this mark of confidence, thanked him awkwardly, and although he felt bound to object that he might be unable to fill the new post, Fuller stopped him.

"All you have to do is to lie off and take it easy until you get well. I know a useful man when I see him and it won't pay me to let you go. When I've fixed things with the President I'll make you an offer. Now Stuyvesant's waiting for me and I understand my daughter is coming to see you."

He went away and soon afterwards Ida Fuller came in. Dick rather awkwardly got her a chair, for his shade, which was closely pulled down, embarrassed him, but she noticed this, and his clumsiness made a strong appeal. She liked Dick and had some ground for being grateful to him. For half an hour she talked in a cheerful strain and Dick did his best to respond, but she saw what the effort cost and went away in a thoughtful mood.

Ida Fuller had both sympathy and self-confidence, and when things went wrong with her friends seldom felt diffident about trying to put them right. In consequence, she took Jake away from the others, whom her father had asked to dinner that evening.

"What's the matter with Dick Brandon?" she asked.

"It's pretty obvious. His trouble began with broken ribs and may end with the loss of his eye; but if you want a list of his symptoms——"

"I don't," said Ida. "Does his trouble end with the injury to his eye?"

Jake gave her a sharp glance. "If you insist on knowing, I admit that I have my doubts. But you must remember that Dick has a touch of malaria, which makes one morbid."

"But this doesn't account for everything?"

"No," said Jake, who lighted a cigarette, "I don't think it does. In fact, as I know your capabilities and begin to see what you're getting after, there's not much use in my trying to put you off the track."

Ida sat down in a canvas chair and pondered for a minute or two.

"You know Miss Kenwardine; if I recollect, you were rather enthusiastic about her. What is she like?"

Jake's eyes twinkled. "You mean—is she good enough for Dick? He'll be a lucky man if he gets her, and I don't mind confessing that I thought of marrying her myself only she made it clear that she had no use for me. She was quite right; I'd have made a very poor match for a girl like that."

Ida was not deceived by his half-humorous manner, for she remarked something that it was meant to hide. Still, Jake had had numerous love affairs that seldom lasted long.

"Have you been to see her since you came back?" she asked.

"Yes," said Jake. "After helping to drive her father out of the country, I knew it would be an awkward meeting, but I felt I ought to go because she might be in difficulties, and I went twice. On the whole, it was a relief when I was told she was not at home."

"I wonder whether she would see me?"

"You're pretty smart, but I suspect this is too delicate a matter for you to meddle with."

"I'll be better able to judge if you tell me what you know about it."

Jake did so with some hesitation. He knew his sister's talents and that her object was good, but he shrank from betraying his comrade's secrets.

"I think I've put you wise, but I feel rather mean," he concluded.

"What you feel is not important. But you really think he hasn't sent her Kenwardine's letter?"

Jake made a sign of agreement and Ida resumed:

"The other letter stating that his cousin stole the plans is equally valuable and his making no use of it is significant. Your partner's a white man, Jake, but he's foolish and needs the help of a judicious friend. I want both letters."

"I've warned you that it's a dangerous game. You may muss up things."

"Then I'll be responsible. Can you get the letters?"

"I think so," Jake replied with an embarrassed grin. "In a way, it's a shabby trick, but if he will keep papers in his pocket after getting one lot stolen, he must take the consequences."

"Very well," said Ida calmly. "Now we had better go in before the others wonder why we left them."

Next morning Clare sat in the patio in very low spirits. No word had come from Kenwardine, and her money was nearly exhausted. She had heard of Dick's return, but not that he was injured, and he had kept away. This was not surprising and she did not want to meet him; but it was strange that he had not come to see her and make some excuse for what he had done. He could, of course, make none that would appease her, but he ought to have tried, and it looked as if he did not care what she thought of his treachery.

Then she glanced up as Ida came in. Clare had seen Ida in the street and knew who she was, but she studied her with keen curiosity as she advanced. Her dress was tasteful, she was pretty, and had a certain stamp of refinement and composure that Clare knew came from social training; but she felt antagonistic. For all that, she indicated a chair and waited until her visitor sat down. Then she asked with a level glance: "Why have you come to see me?"

"I expect you mean—why did I come without getting your servant to announce me?" Ida rejoined with a disarming smile. "Well, the gate was open, and I wanted to see you very much, but was half afraid you wouldn't let me in. I owe you some apology, but understand that my brother is a friend of yours."

"He was," Clare said coldly.

"Then he has lost your friendship by taking Dick Brandon's part?"

Clare colored, but her voice was firm as she answered:

"To some extent that is true. Mr. Brandon has cruelly injured us."

"He was forced. Dick Brandon is not the man to shirk his duty because it was painful and clashed with his wishes."

"Was it his duty to ruin my father?"

"He must have thought so; but we are getting on dangerous ground. I don't know much about the matter. Do you?"

Clare lowered her eyes. Since Richter's visit, she had had disturbing doubts about the nature of Kenwardine's business; but after a few moments she asked in a hard, suspicious voice: "How do you know so much about Mr. Brandon?"

"Well," said Ida calmly, "it's plain that I'm not in love with him, because if I were, I should not have tried to make his peace with you. As a matter of fact, I'm going to marry somebody else before very long. However, now I think I've cleared away a possible mistake, I'll own that I like Dick Brandon very much and am grateful to him for the care he has taken of my brother."

"He stopped Jake from coming here," Clare rejoined with a blush.

"That is so," Ida agreed. "He has done a number of other things that got him into difficulties, because he thought it right. That's the kind of man he is. Then I understand he was out of work and feeling desperate when my father engaged him, he got promotion in his employment, and I asked him to see that Jake came to no harm. I don't know if he kept his promise too conscientiously, and you can judge better than me. But I think you ought to read the letters your father gave him."

She first put down Kenwardine's statement about the theft of the plans, and Clare was conscious of overwhelming relief as she read it. Dick knew now that she was not the thief. Then Ida said: "If you will read the next, you will see that your father doesn't feel much of a grievance against Brandon."

The note was short, but Kenwardine stated clearly that if Clare wished to marry Brandon he would be satisfied and advised her to do so. The girl's face flushed as she read and her hands trembled. Kenwardine certainly seemed to bear Dick no ill will. But since the latter had his formal consent, why had he not used it?

"Did Mr. Brandon send you with these letters?" she asked as calmly as she could.

"No, I brought them without telling him, because it seemed the best thing to do."

"You knew what they said?"

"I did," Ida admitted. "They were open."

Clare noted her confession; but she must deal with matters of much greater importance.

"Then do you know why he kept the letters back?"

Ida hesitated. If Clare were not the girl she thought, she might, by appealing to her compassion, supply her with a reason for giving Dick up, but if this happened, it would be to his advantage in the end. Still she did not think she was mistaken and she must take the risk.

"Yes," she said. "I feel that you ought to understand his reasons; that is really why I came. It looks as if you had not heard that shortly after he met your father Dick fell down the steamer's hold."

Clare made an abrupt movement and her face got anxious. "Was he hurt?"

"Very badly. He broke two ribs and the fever he got soon afterwards stopped his getting better; but that is not the worst. One of his eyes was injured, and there is some danger that he may lose his sight."

It was plain that Clare had got a shock, for she sat in a tense attitude and the color left her face; but Ida saw that she had read her character right and taken the proper course. Indeed, she wondered whether she had not unnecessarily harrowed the girl's feelings.

"Now," she resumed, "you understand why Dick Brandon kept back the letters. It is obvious that he loves you, but he is disfigured and may have to give up his profession——"

She stopped, for Clare's face changed and her eyes shone with a gentle light.

"But what does that matter?" she exclaimed. "He can't think it would daunt me."

Ida rose, for she saw that she had said enough. "Then perhaps you had better show him that you are not afraid. If you will dine with us this evening at the dam, you will see him. Jake will come for you and bring you back."

When she left a few minutes later she had arranged for the visit, and Clare sat still, overwhelmed with compassionate gentleness and relief. Her father did not blame Dick and there was no reason she should harden her heart against him. He knew that she was innocent, but he was tied by honorable scruples. Well, since he would not come to her, she must go to him, but she would do so with pride and not false shame. It was clear that he loved her unselfishly. By and by, however, she roused herself. As she was going to him, there were matters to think about, and entering the house she spent some time studying her wardrobe and wondering what she would wear.

That evening Dick sat on the veranda of his shack, with a shaded lamp, which he had turned low, on the table close by. His comrades were dining at Fuller's tent and he had been asked, but had made excuses although he was well enough to go. For one thing, it hurt him to sit in a strong light, though the oculist, whom he had seen in the morning, spoke encouragingly about his eye. Indeed, Dick had begun to think that there was now no real danger of its having received a permanent injury. For all that, he was listless and depressed, because he had not got rid of the fever and malaria is generally worse at night. He had been cautioned not to read and his cigarette had a bitter taste. There was nothing to do but wait until Jake came home. Now he thought of it, Jake had accepted his excuses rather easily.

By and by, he heard the lad's voice and footsteps on the path. Jake was returning early and there was somebody with him, but Dick wished they had left him alone. He rose, however, as Ida came up the steps and into the light, which did not carry far. Dick imagined there was another person as well as Jake in the shadow behind.

"Jake brought me over to see his last sketches and I'm going in to criticize them," she said. "As you couldn't come to us, I've brought you a visitor, whom you know."

Dick felt his heart beat as he saw Clare. She was dressed in white, and the silver clasp gleamed against a lavender band at her waist. It was significant that she wore it, but he could not see her face clearly. Then Ida beckoned Jake.

"Come along; I want to look at the drawings."

They went into the house, and Dick made an effort to preserve his self-control. Clare moved into the light and he saw her color rise, though her eyes were very soft.

"Why didn't you tell me you were ill?" she asked with gentle reproach.

He hesitated, trying to strengthen his resolution, which he knew was breaking down, and Clare resumed:

"Besides, I don't think you should have kept that letter back."

Dick instinctively pulled out the leather case, and started as he saw there was nothing inside.

"It's gone. You have seen it?" he stammered.

"I've seen them both," Clare answered with a smile. "Doesn't this remind you of something? I'm afraid you're careless, Dick."

The color rushed into his face. "If you have seen those letters, you know what a suspicious fool I've been."

"That doesn't matter. You're convinced at last?" Clare rejoined with a hint of pride.

"In a sense, I always was convinced. If I'd seen you take the wretched plans, I wouldn't have held you accountable. Because you took them, it couldn't have been wrong."

Clare blushed, but looked at him with shining eyes. "I wanted to hear you say it again. But it wasn't that letter—I mean the one about the plans—that brought me."

Then the last of Dick's self-control vanished and with a half conscious movement he held out his hands. Clare came forward and next moment she was in his arms.

Some time later he felt he must be practical and said in a deprecatory tone: "But you must try to understand what you are doing, dear, and the sacrifices you must make. Things aren't quite as bad as they looked, but I can't go home just yet and may always be a poor engineer." He indicated the galvanized-iron shack. "You will have to live in a place like this, and though I think my eye will get better, there's the scar on my face——"

Clare gave him a quiet smiling glance. "That doesn't matter, Dick, and I never really had a home." She paused and added gently: "But I shall have one now."

THE END