behind
them. The Senora had gone to sleep, according to custom, and Brockford
and the merchant were smoking like volcanoes, and talking politics, at
the further end of the verandah.

When a young man, whose heart has once been shattered, is willing to
admit that he has admired another young woman, ever since he set eyes on
her, it is only natural to suppose that his heart is still capable of
feeling some emotion. Though Max was not in the least in love with the
pretty Senorita, he could not but confess that he entertained a sincere
regard for her. A great love, such as he had felt for the Princess
Ottilie, for instance, could never come to him again; but he asked
himself why, if it were true that he had decided never to return to his
old life, he should not choose a wife from the people with whom he had
thrown in his lot, and settle down to a quiet married life in his new
home? Moreover, he was quite aware that Montezma was anxious that his
daughters should marry, and he felt confident enough of the old man's
liking for himself to be sure that, in spite of the difference in
nationality, the union would be far from distasteful to him. On the
contrary, it was just possible that--but there he came to a sudden stop.
He had got on to dangerous ground, where it behoved him to walk warily.

At last it became time for Brockford and himself, if they wished to get
back to the island before midnight, to bid the family good-bye. They
accordingly entered the house to take a stirrup cup, and it was then
that an event occurred which was destined to cause Max more uneasiness
than anything that had happened since his arrival in Brazil, the fever
excepted. They were standing beside the table in the dining-room, when
Maraquinha, who, as I have already explained, had hitherto been occupied
at the piano in the drawing-room, made her appearance, carrying in her
hand an illustrated newspaper.

"Senor Mortimer," she cried, with a smile upon her face, "are you aware
that we are fortunate enough to possess a portrait of yourself?"

At first Max did not realise the importance of her words. She was of a
jocular disposition, and his first thought was that, following her
favourite pastime, she had made a caricature of himself.

"I am honoured indeed, Senorita," he said. "I trust the likeness is a
flattering one."

"You shall judge for yourself," she answered. "Here it is."

So saying, she opened the paper she had brought with her, and placed