mission medicine-chest, and had successfully treated cases of illness among the Apaches.  As a ‘great medicine-man,’ he too is a privileged person—­under the strong protection of their interest in their own health.  The lives of the prisoners are in no danger, provided they can endure the hardship of their wandering existence among the Indians.  Penrose spoke to me with the resignation of a true hero.  ‘I am in the hands of God,’ he said; ‘and if I die, I die in God’s service.’

“I was entirely unprovided with the means of ransoming the missionaries—­and nothing that I could say, or that I could promise, had the smallest effect on the savages.  But for severe and tedious illness, I should long since have been on my way back to Arizona with the necessary ransom.  As it is, I am barely strong enough to write this letter.  But I can head a subscription to pay expenses; and I can give instructions to any person who is willing to attempt the deliverance of the priests.”

So the letter ended.

Before I had read it, I was at a loss to know where to go, or what to do, when I leave St. Germain.  I am now at no loss.  I have found an object in life, and a means of making atonement to Stella for my own ungracious and unworthy words.  Already I have communicated by telegraph with Mr. Murthwaite and with my sailing-master.  The first is informed that I hope to be with him, in London, to-morrow morning.  The second is instructed to have the yacht fitted out immediately for a long voyage.  If I can save these men—­especially Penrose—­I shall not have lived in vain.

London, September 15.—­No.  I have resolution enough to go to Arizona, but I have no courage to record the parting scene when it was time to say good-by.

I had intended to keep the coming enterprise a secret, and only to make the disclosure in writing when the vessel was ready to sail.  But, after reading the letter to the Times, Stella saw something in my face (as I suppose) that betrayed me.  Well, it’s over now.  I do my best to keep myself from thinking of it—­and, for this reason, I abstain from dwelling on the subject here.

Mr. Murthwaite has not only given me valuable instructions—­he has provided me with letters of introduction to persons in office, and to the padres (or priests) in Mexico, which will be of incalculable use in such an expedition as mine.  In the present disturbed condition of the United States, he recommends me to sail for a port on the eastern coast of Mexico, and then to travel northward overland, and make my first inquiries in Arizona at the town of Tubac.  Time is of such importance, in his opinion, that he suggests making inquiries in London and Liverpool for a merchant vessel under immediate sailing orders for Vera Cruz or Tampico.  The fitting out of the yacht cannot be accomplished, I find, in less than a fortnight or three weeks.  I have therefore taken Mr. Murthwaite’s advice.