"I must go, señorita."
Bonita's eyes shone in the moonlight as, with the faintest of smiles, she held out her hand to him.
"It is a perilous journey, but I will pray always for your safety," she said softly.
Maxwell lifted the hat from his head as, stooping, he touched the olive-tinted fingers with his lips. They trembled a little in his grasp.
"I thank you, señorita. We are allies now."
Again the roar of the whistle throbbed across the surf, and Maxwell went swiftly down the stairway and across the sand. As the boat plunged out through the breakers he shook himself with an air of irritation which attracted the notice of the steamer's mate.
"Got bewildered trying to understand those folks?" he asked sympathetically.
"No," laughed Maxwell. "The fact is rather that I don't understand myself."
"I dare say that don't greatly matter," commented the mate. "Take a good stiff cocktail and give the puzzle up."
The steamer heaved her anchor, and rolled slowly eastward down the coast, while Miss Castro stood on the veranda following the tier of diminishing lights until they faded and finally dipped into the moonlit sea. Then she turned and walked very slowly into the factory without a word, leaving the sleepy aunt lost in speculation when the door of her room closed noisily.