Dane fancied that he was the only one in the party who had guessed the girl's secret; and he might not have done so but that sympathy quickened his perceptions, for he also had loved Carsluith Maxwell. He felt that it might be well for Bonita Castro if she heard everything, and he roused himself to do his fallen comrade justice. Thus the dead man moved an heroic figure through all the kaleidoscopic happenings. The rest, black and brown, were lay figures, himself a puppet obeying the leader's will; and, when the narrative concluded, Dane felt that if others now knew his comrade as he had known him he was satisfied. Remembering what he had seen he could, he fancied, read by the light of it what was passing in Bonita Castro's mind. At times she listened with quivering lips, then a moisture gathered in her eyes, which nevertheless glittered with a curious pride, and he thought her superb when at last, with a glance only, she thanked the bringer of the news.
"He was all caballero, as you say, a very gallant gentleman. I will pray for the sound rest of him," she said.
Dom Pedro moved uneasily.
"He was a man without principle this Rideau. With excuses to the señor, I would my books examine, and try to figure of how much he rob me," he said, and hurried away.
Bonita followed, and Dane was left with her sleepy aunt who presently astonished him. The señora, it appeared, was a lady of much keener perceptions than he had imagined; and he understood why she told him what had happened during Rideau's last visit to the factory. It was evident that Dane owed his life in a measure to her niece. When she concluded, the lady lapsed into a somnolent silence, which, if assumed, was tactful, leaving the man, who was glad of a respite from conversational effort, to digest the information.
Dom Pedro had cargo for the steamer, and it was late when Dane said good-by to Bonita on the moonlit veranda. It may have been due to the silvery light, but she seemed to have changed, and Dane shrank a little from meeting her. Bonita, however, spoke very quietly.
"I have a confession to make," she said. "You have done much for my father, and it is right that I tell you."
"Please don't, señorita," Dane interposed; but the girl checked him.
"You lost the Señor Maxwell's map here, and I, who found it, sold it Rideau. It was the infamy, but the price was tempting—and I knew one of you would kill him. You will try to forget the injury?"
"I think I know why you did it, and I do not blame you," said Dane. "I shall most clearly remember that, when I was sick, you saved my life for me, as I think you did again when you helped my comrade to forestall Rideau."