At the last moment, he so far modified his plans as to call upon Dom Pedro.

It was a fine afternoon when the cliff with the tall palms on the crest of it, and low whitewashed buildings nestling between them and the smoking beach, rose to view, and the purser, strolling past, halted near Maxwell.

"We have several boat-loads of cottons for this place, and as the surf is high it will take us until sunset to land them safely," he said.

"Then, as there are nasty reefs to thread through, the skipper will probably wait for moonlight before he heaves the anchor; so if you don't mind a spray bath you might have a few hours ash.o.r.e."

Maxwell, knowing that he would see quite sufficient of Africa before he sailed west again, felt no great desire to go ash.o.r.e; but as he gazed at the dazzling buildings through his gla.s.ses a figure came out upon the veranda, and an unaccountable impulse urged him to seek speech with Miss Castro. Why he should do so, and what he should say to her, he did not know, but he remembered that several times during his career some unconsidered action made on the spur of the moment proved as fruitful as his best laid plans. So, donning the mate's oil-skins, he dropped into a surf-boat and was whirled sh.o.r.eward on a big breaker's crest, landing without misadventure amidst a cloud of spray.

Dom Pedro, it appeared, was absent, but his daughter started at the sight of the stranger, and the warm olive coloring of her face was suffused with a deeper tinge. She was herself again the next moment, and came to meet him with only a slightly heightened l.u.s.ter in her black eyes; but for a man Maxwell was observant, and deduced a good deal from what he had seen. Nevertheless, he was mistaken when he attributed it to the loss of his map.

Miss Castro received him affably, and presented him to her aunt, who combined a lethargic disposition with the usual portliness of an Iberian lady who has exceeded the age of forty, and after a few drowsy compliments she betrayed no further interest in the visitor.

Nevertheless, the senora was not so sleepy as she appeared. Maxwell seated himself beside Bonita near the opposite end of the veranda, and was not wholly sorry he had come ash.o.r.e. The girl made a charming picture as she reclined in a deep chair near at hand, smiling at him with a trace of shyness that was not a.s.sumed, though an occasional nervous movement betokened a suppressed eagerness. Maxwell had pledged himself soul and body to the service of another woman with a chivalrous self-abnegation that only those who knew him well would have suspected him capable of; but he possessed artistic perceptions, and Bonita's dark beauty appealed to him.

"You have very much to tell me. How is it you come from the westward, and where is your companero?" she asked; and once more Maxwell was wholly misled.

He noticed the swift gleam in the dark eyes that fell beneath his own; and, knowing what he knew, he was troubled. There was a hidden gentleness under the man's sardonic exterior, but he never learned how blind he had been that afternoon.

"My comrade was well when I left him," he said gravely; and Bonita, flashing a swift glance at him, evinced less satisfaction than he had expected.

"We were the good friends, senor. You will tell me why you leave him and now come from the west. Also if you met Rideau, and what you did with him. You are a strong man, senor, but it may be a woman can help you?"

Maxwell was in his own way a chivalrous person, but he owed a duty to the comrade who remained in the forest, and he meant to discharge it. So he answered with incisive frankness.

"Can you not see why it might be better for both of us that I should not tell you, senorita?"

The girl laughed softly, then laid a little hand upon his own. It felt strangely hot, and again her eyes were luminous in a manner that puzzled him.

"It is the map, you mean? It is true I find it after the Senor Dane leave, and I sell it to _el perro_ Rideau. Senor, we women must use what weapons we can, and the price he pay me--I have no secrets from you--was my father's safety."

"I do not venture to blame you," said Maxwell. "I had partly guessed it, and your confidence is safe with me, but suppose _el perro_ had proved too strong for me? After this, can I believe that you would prove a good friend to me?"

Miss Castro positively blushed as she drew her hand away, but her laughter indicated a mingling of pride with scorn.

"You are modest, senor. It is not possible that the cur dog should prove too strong for--you. To Dom Pedro I say these Englishmen will kill this Rideau. So senor, because I hate him, you will tell me."

Maxwell did not speak for a while. Again an impulse which appeared wholly illogical in face of the girl's confession prompted him to tell her all; but very much lay at stake, and he did not usually act on impulse. Meanwhile his companion watched him from under the dark lashes which half covered her eyes; while, un.o.bserved, the sleepy aunt watched them both. Bonita Castro looked bewitchingly pretty in her filmy draperies, perhaps the more so because of her curiously heightened color; but though Maxwell knew that she was a woman who would do much when prompted by pa.s.sion, she did not look like a traitress.

"So you fear to trust me, senor?"

"On the contrary," Maxwell answered, "I have decided to trust you fully.

In doing so, I know that I place my life and my comrade's equally in your hands."

"It is well; I would hold them safe if I risked salvation," said the girl. "So tell me everything. I shall be able to help you."

Maxwell did so, and Miss Castro asked him many questions which betokened a keenness of judgment that surprised the man. He spent some time in answering them, and Bonita appeared to find pleasure in listening to him. So while the palm-tufts tossed behind the factory and the spray whirled above the beach, the minutes slipped by, until, when the sun dipped, the senora woke up and ordered the black major-domo to hurry forward _comida_.

Bonita, reappearing attired in filmy robes of black, was more fascinating than ever during the drawn-out meal.

"That woman would turn any man's head," murmured Maxwell, inaudibly he thought, and added, with a smile, to the sleepy aunt, who glanced at him, "I was wondering, senora, if your distinguished family had a monopoly of all the wit and beauty in the Peninsula."

Maxwell was a little confused to notice that Bonita had overheard; for a second the long lashes dropped across her eyes, and again there was a flicker of damask in her cheek.

The moon hung over the ocean which stretched away before them, a broad sheet of silver, when the two stood once more on the veranda; and Miss Castro shivered slightly for no apparent cause when Maxwell announced that it was time for him to take his departure. The surf had gone down, and the roar of the breakers diminished to dull pulsations that fell drowsily on the ear, while the warm breeze brought down the fragrance of spices and lilies from the forest. Two of the pure white blossoms nestled among the laces beneath Miss Castro's neck, and their fragrance filled Maxwell's nostrils as he stood close beside her under the effulgent moonlight of the tropics. There was a thrill in the girl's voice which, but for one fact, might have awakened an answering vibration within him.

"So you have trusted me, senor, and I am glad. It is also good that you start from Little Mahu, for so _el perro_ hear the less of you. There are many black people who fear him, and tell him things, but he come first to this factory--and I deal with him. You will leave Mahu, two, three, perhaps four weeks before him. It is true you have no longer any doubt of me?"

"I have no doubt at all. I have trusted you to the utmost."

Bonita's eyes dropped swiftly beneath his gaze, but there was in her att.i.tude no sign of coquetry. She had, the man thought, changed with the night, and put on a quiet simplicity which became her wonderfully.

Something impelled him to add:

"I feel that I have done wisely."

Once more the girl's voice thrilled him.

"It is a dangerous country, and who can tell what may happen; but, whatever it costs me, I will help you."

Maxwell felt strangely softened toward her, for it seemed that some influence born of the glamour of the night was at work upon his will. It hardly seemed to emanate from his companion, for Miss Castro was graver than he had ever seen her; but the strange mingling of tenderness and admiration grew stronger in him, and he was glad when the boom of the steamer's whistle rang through the monotone of the surf.

"I must go, senorita."

Bonita's eyes shone in the moonlight as, with the faintest of smiles, she held out her hand to him.

"It is a perilous journey, but I will pray always for your safety," she said softly.

Maxwell lifted the hat from his head as, stooping, he touched the olive-tinted fingers with his lips. They trembled a little in his grasp.

"I thank you, senorita. We are allies now."

Again the roar of the whistle throbbed across the surf, and Maxwell went swiftly down the stairway and across the sand. As the boat plunged out through the breakers he shook himself with an air of irritation which attracted the notice of the steamer's mate.

"Got bewildered trying to understand those folks?" he asked sympathetically.

"No," laughed Maxwell. "The fact is rather that I don't understand myself."

"I dare say that don't greatly matter," commented the mate. "Take a good stiff c.o.c.ktail and give the puzzle up."

The steamer heaved her anchor, and rolled slowly eastward down the coast, while Miss Castro stood on the veranda following the tier of diminishing lights until they faded and finally dipped into the moonlit sea. Then she turned and walked very slowly into the factory without a word, leaving the sleepy aunt lost in speculation when the door of her room closed noisily.

CHAPTER XIX

THE DANGEROUS SEnORITA

Some days after Maxwell's departure Monsieur Victor Rideau, traveling in hot haste, arrived at Castro's factory. Dom Pedro was absent in the bush, but his daughter frowned when she saw the visitor coming. She was standing on the veranda where she had bidden Maxwell farewell; and this fact recalled the contrast between them, which was distinctly striking, and to Monsieur Rideau's disadvantage. Maxwell wore an indefinite air of refinement, which is the birthright of some favored Britons, and there was a good deal of finely-tempered steel in his composition; Rideau was by no means ill-favored, and as usual with gentlemen of his extraction, dressed himself almost too well; but his face was sensual, his black hair over-crisp, and, in spite of his very cunning eyes, there were other signs that his animal appet.i.tes might on occasion prove stronger than his judgment.