He went forward and lighted more candles when the sailors put down the coffin, and the noise their boots made jarred Kit’s nerves as they came back.  The light spread, touching the bare walls and tawdry decorations about the shrines.  It was a poor little church, falling into ruin, and the beauty its pious builders had given it was vanishing.  Yet something redeemed it from being commonplace, and Kit felt a strange emotional stirring as his eyes rested on the dim ruby lamp and the rude black coffin.  He thought the light of love could not be quenched and knew the tender romance that had burned in the heart of the old Buccaneer.  It was with something of an effort he turned away, and followed Father Herman across the corral.

Two hours later, red torches flared in the dark as they laid Adam in his grave, and Kit, worn by anxiety and physical strain, listened dully to the solemn Latin office.  Then, when the old priest’s voice died away, he went back to the mission, where he fell asleep and slept twelve hours.

In the morning, he sat beneath a broken arch that had once formed part of a cloister.  Outside the patch of shadow, the sun beat upon dazzling sand, and a few vivid green palm-fronds hung over a ruined wall.  Beyond this the forest rose, dark and forbidding, against the glaring sky.  Although the rest had refreshed Kit, he felt as if he had got older in the last few days and now the strain had slackened he was lonely.  So far, he had obeyed orders and when doubtful looked to Adam for a lead, but Adam had gone and left him control.  All that belonged to his youth had vanished; he was a man, with a man’s responsibilities, and a man’s problems to solve.  Presently Father Herman came up and sat down opposite.  Although he looked feeble, his glance was clear and kind.

“This house is yours, senor, and I am your servant,” he said.  “Yet I cannot hope that you will remain long and the times are disturbed.  If I can help—­”

“Since the rebels know I am here, it would not be safe to stay, but I cannot reach Salinas Point before the steamer sails,” Kit replied.  “I must get to Havana as soon as possible.”

Father Herman thought for a few minutes and then resumed:  “A small schooner is loading at a beach not far off and I know the patron.  He would take you to Arenas, where the president has supporters and you might get a ship.  I think he sails to-night, but I will send a message.”

Kit thanked him and went on:  “You were my uncle’s friend, and now I have taken his place, you are mine.  As you let him send you things the mission needed, perhaps you will not refuse me.”

“I had not hoped for this,” Father Herman answered with a grateful look.  “The generous gifts meant much to us, for we are very poor.”

“Friendship has privileges.  Besides, it was my uncle’s wish, and will be something I can do for his sake.”

Father Herman’s worn face got very soft and he gave Kit an approving glance.  “You are his kinsman, senor; one cannot doubt that.  Like him, you are staunch and do not forget, but in some ways you are different.  I will take your gifts and pray that yours may be a less stormy life.”