“Then you think he had no other motive for leaving the ship?” said the priest slowly.

“Decidedly not.”  She stopped; a curious anxious look in the Padre’s persistent eyes both annoyed and frightened her.  “What other motive could he have?” she said coldly.

Father Esteban’s face lightened.

“I only ask because I think you would have known it.  Thank you for the assurance all the same, and in return I promise you I will use my best endeavors with the Comandante for your friend the Captain Bunker.  Adieu, my daughter.  Adieu, Madame Markham,” he said, as, taking the arm of Don Miguel, he turned with him and the doctor towards the guard-room.  The secretary lingered behind for a moment.

“Fear nothing,” he said, in whispered English to Miss Keene.  “I, Ruy Sanchez, shall make you free of Capitano Bunker’s cell,” and passed on.

“Well,” said Mrs. Markham, when the two women were alone again.  “I don’t pretend to fathom the befogged brains of Todos Santos; but as far as I can understand their grown-up child’s play, they are making believe this unfortunate Mr. Hurlstone, who may be dead for all we know, is in revolt against the United States Government, which is supposed to be represented by Senor Perkins and the Excelsior—­think of that!”

“But Perkins signed himself of the Quinquinambo navy!” said Miss Keene wonderingly.

“That is firmly believed by those idiots to be one of our States.  Remember they know nothing of what has happened anywhere in the last fifty years.  I dare say they never heard of filibusters like Perkins, and they couldn’t comprehend him if they had.  I’ve given up trying to enlighten them, and I think they’re grateful for it.  It makes their poor dear heads ache.”

“And it is turning mine!  But, for Heaven’s sake, tell me what part I am supposed to act in this farce!” said Miss Keene.

“You are the friend and colleague of Hurlstone, don’t you see?” said Mrs. Markham.  “You are two beautiful young patriots—­don’t blush, my dear!—­endeared to each other and a common cause, and ready to die for your country in opposition to Perkins, and the faint-heartedness of such neutrals as Mrs. Brimmer, Miss Chubb, the poor Captain, and all the men whom they have packed off to San Antonio.”

“Impossible!” said Miss Keene, yet with an uneasy feeling that it not only was possible, but that she herself had contributed something to the delusion.  “But how do they account for my friendship with you—­you, who are supposed to be a correspondent—­an accomplice of Perkins?”

“No, no,” returned Mrs. Markham, with a half serious smile, “I am not allowed that honor.  I am presumed to be only the disconsolate Dulcinea of Perkins, abandoned by him, pitied by you, and converted to the true faith—­at least, that is what I make out from the broken English of that little secretary of the Commander.”

Miss Keene winced.