The girl passed the friends who advanced to greet her as though she did not see them, and by the time they reached the door of the hotel Mrs. Chatterton realized the need for haste.
"My husband must certainly know at once, but it is twenty odd miles to Oratava alone, and several more from there to the sugar-mill," she said. "The telegraph office is closed, and you say the mailboat should sail early to-morrow. It is very unfortunate, but what can we do?"
"There is only one thing possible," declared Lilian. "No one could trust a Canario with so urgent a message. We must start at once ourselves. We need not go all the way round by Oratava. There is a bridle-path across the hills."
"But you are hardly strong enough for such a journey, and we might not get a carriage to take us there to-night."
"The carriage is entering the plaza now," said Lilian. "Can you not see that if Mr. Maxwell goes to England he may be too late."
Mrs. Chatterton looked hard at her niece. Lilian's face was very resolute, but she bore the scrutiny calmly, and the elder lady was not wholly astonished.
"I will be ready in five minutes," she said, and Lilian, moved by some impulse, kissed her swiftly.
The five minutes had hardly expired when, with the Canario driver shouting in warning, a two-horse carriage rolled out of the plaza, and went rattling up the narrow street. Accustomed as they were to the eccentricities of British visitors, the sleepy citizens stared at its occupants, when, with unusual agility, they had leaped out of its way, for the driver stood upright, lashing his horses until they broke into a headlong gallop, and the crazy vehicle lurched and bounced over the uneven stones.
Night had closed in now, and a vault of velvety indigo spangled with many stars, hung over the long rows of sun-baked walls, which rolled away behind. A full moon rose slowly over the Atlantic. In front wastes of scoriæ, maize fields, vineyards, rolled upward, ridge beyond ridge, toward the Titanic wall of lava, nine thousand feet above; but the climbing road was broad and good, and, if the string-patched harness held, they might bring Thomas Chatterton news in time.
Lilian retained but a blurred impression of that part of the journey. They swept past climbing mule teams, and, sometimes on two wheels only, swung round many curves. Blinding clouds of dust rolled up, and, driven forward by the breeze from the Atlantic, whirled about them. There were odd gleams of light, and a howling of dogs, as white-walled dwellings swept by, then only the clang of iron on lava, and creaking of the vehicle to break the silence of the desolate hillside, until the driver howled again as they clattered into old-world Laguna, just sinking into early sleep. The carriage lurched over the cobbles, sparks blazed up, white walls and glimmering lattices raced by, and Lilian glanced at her watch as, while the lathered team swung into swifter stride upon the level, Laguna receded into the night. Branches of eucalyptus met above, the road was checkered with shadow, but it was straight and good, and the driver evidently meant to win the guerdon promised him.