, when at last Puerto
Frio showed across the purple water with a glow of brief sunset behind
the brown shoulder of San Francisco, she stood by the rail, almost
holding her breath in suspense, while the anchor chains ran out.

As soon as Steele had ensconced Mrs. Horton and Duska at the _Frances
y Ingles_, he hurried to the American Legation for news of Saxon. When
he left Duska in the hotel _patio_, he knew, from the anxious little
smile she threw after him, that for her the jury deciding the supreme
question was going out, leaving her as a defendant is left when the
panel files into the room where they ballot on his fate. He rushed
over to the legation with sickening fear that, when he came back, it
might have to be like the juryman whose verdict is adverse.

As it happened, he caught Mr. Pendleton without delay, and before he
had finished his question the envoy was looking about for his Panama
hat. Mr. Pendleton wanted to do several things at once. He wanted to
tell the story of Saxon's coming and going, and he wanted to go in
person, and have the party moved over to the legation, where they must
be his guests while they remained in Puerto Frio. It would be several
days before another steamer sailed north. They had missed by a day the
vessel on which Saxon had gone. Meanwhile, there were sights in the
town that might beguile the intervening time. Saxon had interested the
envoy, and Saxon's friends were welcome. Hospitality is simplified in
places where faces from God's country are things to greet with the
fervor of delight.

At dinner that evening, sitting at the right of the minister, Duska
heard the full narrative of Saxon's brief stay and return home. Mr.
Pendleton was at his best. There was no diplomatic formality, and the
girl, under the reaction and relief of her dispelled anxiety, though
still disappointed at the hapless coincidence of missing Saxon, was as
gay and childlike as though she had not just emerged from an
overshadowing uncertainty.

"I'm sorry that he couldn't accept my hospitality here at the
legation," said the minister at the end of his story, with much mock
solemnity, "but etiquette in diplomatic circles is quite rigid, and he
had an appointment to sleep at the palace."

"So, they jugged him!" chuckled Steele, with a grin that threatened
his ears. "I always suspected he'd wind up in the Bastile."

"He was," corrected the girl, her chin high, though her eyes sparkled,
"a guest of the Presi