curved lips writhing
in pain, those brown eyes dimmed, that smooth brow wrung with the grief
that knows no remedy.

A fierce joy leaped up in her when Verity spoke of an early departure.

"You see, Iris," he explained, "these Brazilian bucks may be months in
settlin' their differences. Dickey an' me, 'elped a lot by our Consul,
squeezed a pass out of the President--beg pardon, miss, but 'e is
President, in Pernambuco, at all events," he said in an apologetic
"aside" to Carmela--"an' the sooner we make tracks for ole England the
better it'll be for all of us. Wot do you say to an early start
to-morrow? We'd be off to-night, on'y I'm feared my rheumaticky bones
wouldn't stand the racket."

The color ebbed from Iris's face, but she said at once:

"I shall be ready, uncle dear. I promised Dom Corria to look after the
hospital appliances that are so much needed by the poor soldiers, but the
Senhora De Sylva will attend to that much more effectually than I."

"Good! Then that's settled."

David pursed out his thick lips with a sigh of relief. Though he had
watched the spoken record of the _Andromeda_ and her company for craftier
hints than was suspected by his fellow travelers, he was not deaf to
Coke's appreciation of Hozier. The silence of his niece on that same
topic was alarming, but the position could not be so bad if she was
willing to leave for the coast without seeing him again. No secret was
made of Philip's errand into the interior. The homeward-bound cavalcade
would be at Pesqueira ere he returned to the _finca_.

Carmela, of course, did not believe in a woman's complacency in such a
vital matter. She was ever prepared to spring, to strike, to wrench
their plans to suit her own ends; but, contrive as she might, she could
not succeed in leaving Iris alone with Bulmer. Full of device, she was
foiled at each turn. The day wore, the sun went down, the starlit sky
made beautiful a parched earth, but never a word in privacy did Iris
exchange with her husband-to-be. Carmela's malice was not hidden from
her, but she despised it. There was some ease for her tortured brain in
defeating it. If the Senhora De Sylva had only understood how thoroughly
the Englishwoman loathed her petty jealousy, it was possible that the few
remaining hours of their enforced intimacy might have been rendered less
irksome.

But, by this time, fate had gathered the slackened strings of their
destinies. Thenceforth they bec