“Dear Mr. Forrester: My husband and I have not seen you for ages, and the children cry for ‘Uncle Roddy.’ Will you and Mr. De Peyster take tea with us day after to-morrow? The only other friend who is coming will give you this note.”
The Broughtons had been stationed at Porto Cabello for five years, and, as Roddy now saw, it was most natural that in the limited social life of Porto Cabello the two American girls should be friends. That he had not already thought of the possibility of this filled him with rage, and, at the same time, the promise held forth by the note thrilled him with pleasure. He leaped to his feet and danced jubilantly upon the gravel walk. Tearing the note into scraps he hurled them into the air.
“Mary Broughton!” he exclaimed ecstatically, “you’re a brick!”
Such was his feeling of gratitude to the lady, that he at once sought out a confectioner’s and sent her many pounds of the candied fruits that have made Venezuela famous, and that, on this occasion, for several days made the Broughton children extremely ill.
That night the attack on the barricade to the tunnel was made with a vigor no cement nor rusty iron could resist. Inspired by the thought that on the morrow he would see Inez, and that she herself wished to see him, and anxious to give her a good report of the work of rescue, Roddy toiled like a coal-passer. His energy moved McKildrick and Peter to endeavors equally strenuous, and by nine o’clock the great stone slabs were wedged apart, and on the warm-scented night air and upon the sweating bodies of the men there struck a cold, foul breath that told them one end of the tunnel lay open.
VII
Roddy was for at once dashing down the stone steps and exploring the tunnel, but McKildrick held him back.
“You couldn’t live for a moment,” he protested, “and it may be days before we can enter.” In proof of what he said, he lit one wax match after another, and as he passed each over the mouth of the tunnel Roddy saw the flame sicken and die.