red from my
pocket."

The lady stepped forward, and laid one hand upon the shoulder of
her hesitating companion. She pointed to the table. "Tell me the
truth--the truth," she said, in a low voice. "Whose money is that?"

The man did not answer. He gave a deep, long-drawn sigh, leaned and
kissed her on the forehead, stepped back into the other room and
closed the door.

Goodwin foresaw his purpose, and jumped for the door, but the report
of the pistol echoed as his hand touched the knob. A heavy fall
followed, and some one swept him aside and struggled into the room of
the fallen man.

A desolation, thought Goodwin, greater than that derived from
the loss of cavalier and gold must have been in the heart of the
enchantress to have wrung from her, in that moment, the cry of one
turning to the all-forgiving, all-comforting earthly consoler--to
have made her call out from that bloody and dishonoured room--"Oh,
mother, mother, mother!"

But there was an alarm outside. The barber, Esteban, at the sound
of the shot, had raised his voice; and the shot itself had aroused
half the town. A pattering of feet came up the street, and official
orders rang out on the still air. Goodwin had a duty to perform.
Circumstances had made him the custodian of his adopted country's
treasure. Swiftly cramming the money into the valise, he closed it,
leaned far out of the window and dropped it into a thick orange-tree
in the little inclosure below.

They will tell you in Coralio, as they delight in telling the
stranger, of the conclusion of that tragic flight. They will tell
you how the upholders of the law came apace when the alarm was
sounded--the _Comandante_ in red slippers and a jacket like a head
waiter's and girded sword, the soldiers with their interminable guns,
followed by outnumbering officers struggling into their gold lace and
epaulettes; the barefooted policemen (the only capables in the lot),
and ruffled citizens of every hue and description.

They say that the countenance of the dead man was marred sadly by the
effects of the shot; but he was identified as the fallen president
by both Goodwin and the barber Esteban. On the next morning messages
began to come over the mended telegraph wire; and the story of the
flight from the capital was given out to the public. In San Mateo the
revolutionary party had seized the sceptre of government, without
opposition, and the _vivas_ of the mercurial populace quickly effaced
the