"Walthew was patrolling the streets with a company of brigands when I last saw him; he promised to meet me here as soon as he was relieved. The others are busy forming a provisional government. Don Martin said he'd call on you soon."
"I owe him some thanks, but I mean to cut my connection with this country's affairs. No more political speculations; I've had enough."
Grahame laughed.
"I can imagine that. These people are an unstable lot, and it's not certain that Don Martin, who's much the best man they have, will be the next president.... But we were told to keep you quiet, and Evelyn is tired. She had to follow the rebels' march all night, but wouldn't rest until she was satisfied about you."
"How long have you called her Evelyn?" Cliffe demanded, looking hard at him.
"He will tell you about that to-morrow," Evelyn answered with a blush. "You must lie still and go to sleep again if you can, but if you give trouble, we'll leave the señora Rocas, who is deaf and very clumsy, to look after you."
When Cliffe fell asleep, Evelyn and Grahame went out on to the balcony and watched the moonlight creep across the town. There were lights in the cafés, and excited citizens gathered in the streets. Now and then a few angry cries broke out, but for the most part the scraps of news that spread among the crowd were received with exultant cheers.
The next day Cliffe was much better, and after breakfast Grahame found him sitting in the shady patio. He listened to the younger man quietly, and then held out his hand.
"I'm glad I can agree," he said. "I'll miss her, but I feel that she'll be safe with you."
Ten minutes later Grahame met Walthew, who looked disturbed and indignant.