startled to recognize in him one of the
two gentlemen who had taken Mr. Marion off in the boat, but as he did
not appear to recognize her even after an awkward introduction by her
husband, she would have recovered her equanimity but for a singular
incident. As her husband turned momentarily away, the Secretary, with a
significant gesture, slipped a letter into her hand. She felt the blood
rush to her face as, with a smile, he moved away to follow her husband.
She came down to the little cabin and impatiently tore open the
envelope, which bore no address. A small folded note contained the
following lines:--

"I never intended to burden you with my confidence, but the discretion,
tact, and courage you displayed on our first meeting, and what I know
of your loyalty since, have prompted me to trust myself again to your
kindness, even though you are now aware whom you have helped, and the
risks you ran. My friends wish to communicate with me and to forward to
me, from time to time, certain papers of importance, which, owing to the
tyrannical espionage of the Government, would be discovered and stopped
in passing through the express or post-office. These papers will be left
at your house, but here I must trust entirely to your wit and judgment
as to the way in which they should be delivered to my agent at the
nearest Mexican port. To facilitate your action, your husband will
receive directions to pursue his course as far south as Todos Santos,
where a boat will be ready to take charge of them when he is sighted. I
know I am asking a great favor, but I have such confidence in you that I
do not even ask you to commit yourself to a reply to this. If it can
be done I know that you will do it; if it cannot, I will understand and
appreciate the reason why. I will only ask you that when you are ready
to receive the papers you will fly a small red pennant from the little
flagstaff among the rocks. Believe me, your friend and grateful debtor,

"W. M."

Mrs. Bunker cast a hasty glance around her, and pressed the letter
to her lips. It was a sudden consummation of her vaguest, half-formed
wishes, the realization of her wildest dreams! To be the confidante of
the gallant but melancholy hero in his lonely exile and persecution was
to satisfy all the unformulated romantic fancies of her girlish reading;
to be later, perhaps, the Flora Macdonald of a middle-aged Prince
Charlie did not, however, evoke any ludicrous associations in her