His quick mind guessed her doubt. “I tried to save him,” he said; “but I was too late, though I was wounded in taking a shortcut there.”
She saw his bandaged arm, and looked at him with love. “Do you despise me very much?” she asked.
“No,” he replied; “I would not marry a goddess.”
“Nor I,” she said, “a philosopher.”
Then they kissed each other, and thenceforward their relationship was simple.
But in spite of the labours of the day Savrola had no time for rest. There was much to do, and, like all men who have to work at a terrible pressure for a short period, he fell back on the resources of medicine. He went to a little cabinet in the corner of the room and poured himself out a potent drug, something that would dispense with sleep and give him fresh energy and endurance. Then he sat down and began to write orders and instructions and to sign the pile of papers he had brought with him from the Mayoralty. Lucile, seeing him thus employed, betook herself to her room.
It was about one o’clock in the morning when there came a ringing at the bell. Savrola, mindful of the old nurse, ran down and opened the door himself. Tiro, in plain clothes, entered. “I have come to warn you,” he said.
“Of what?”
“Someone has informed the Council that you have released the prisoners. They have summoned an urgency meeting. Do you think you can hold them?”
“The devil!” said Savrola pensively. Then after a pause he added, “I will go and join them.”
“There are stages laid by road to the frontier,” said the Subaltern. “The President made me arrange them in case he should wish to send Her Excellency away. If you decide to give up the game you can escape by these; they will hold them to my warrant.”
“No,” said Savrola. “It is good of you to think of it; but I have saved this people from tyranny and must now try to save them from themselves.”
“You have saved the lives of my brother-officers,” said the boy; “you can count on me.”
Savrola looked at him and an idea struck him. “These relays were ordered to convey Her Excellency to neutral territory; they had better be so used. Will you conduct her?”
“Is she in this house?” inquired the Subaltern.
“Yes,” said Savrola bluntly.
Tiro laughed; he was not in the least scandalised. “I am beginning to learn more politics every day,” he said.
“You wrong me,” said Savrola; “but will you do as I ask?”
“Certainly, when shall I start?”
“When can you?”
“I will bring the travelling-coach round in half-an-hour.”
“Do,” said Savrola. “I am grateful to you. We have been through several experiences together.”
They shook hands warmly, and the Subaltern departed to get the carriage.
Savrola went upstairs and, knocking at Lucile’s door, informed her of the plan. She implored him to come with her.
“Indeed I wish I could,” he said; “I am sick of this; but I owe it to them to see it out. Power has little more attraction for me. I will come as soon as things are settled, and we can then be married and live happily ever afterwards.”
But neither his cynical chaff nor arguments prevailed. She threw her arms round his neck and begged him not to desert her. It was a sore trial. At last with an aching heart he tore himself away, put on his hat and coat, and started for the Mayoralty.
The distance was about three quarters of a mile. He had accomplished about half of this when he met a patrol of the rebel forces under an officer. They called on him to halt. He pulled his hat down over his eyes, not wishing for the moment to be recognised. The officer stepped forward. It was the wounded man to whom Savrola had entrusted the escorting of the prisoners after the surrender of the palace.
“How far are we away from the Plaza San Marco?” he asked in a loud voice.
“It is there,” said Savrola pointing. “Twenty-third Street is the number.”
The rebel knew him at once. “March on,” he said to his men, and the patrol moved off. “Sir,” he added to Savrola, in the low, quick voice of a man in moments of resolve, “I have a warrant from the Council for your arrest. They will deliver you to the Admiral. Fly, while there is time. I will take my men by a roundabout way, which will give you twenty minutes. Fly; it may cost me dear, but we are comrades; you said so.” He touched Savrola’s wounded arm. Then louder to the patrol: “Turn down that street to the right: we had better get out of the main thoroughfare; he may sneak off by some lane or other.” Then again to Savrola: “There are others coming, do not delay;” and with that he hurried after his men. Savrola paused for a moment. To go on was imprisonment, perhaps death; to return, meant safety and Lucile. Had it been the preceding day, he would have seen the matter out; but his nerves had been strained for many hours—and nothing stood between them now. He turned and hurried back to his house.
The travelling-coach stood at the door. The Subaltern had helped Lucile, weeping, into it. Savrola called to him. “I have decided to go,” he said.
“Capital!” replied Tiro. “Leave these pigs to cut each other’s throats; they will come to their senses presently.”
So they started, and as they toiled up the long ascent of the hills behind the city, it became daylight.
“Miguel denounced you,” said the Subaltern; “I heard it at the Mayoralty. I told you he would let you in. You must try and get quits with him some day.”
“I never waste revenge on such creatures,” replied Savrola; “they are their own damnation.”
At the top of the hill the carriage stopped, to let the panting horses get their wind. Savrola opened the door and stepped out. Four miles off, and it seemed far below
