So Roderic made all his preparations and transformed himself into a dark visaged Spaniard.
Cleo looked him over carefully, and tried her best to appear satisfied, though there was a haunting gleam of dread in her blue eyes, and her lips trembled, despite all attempts to show a resolute front.
She knew what risks he was taking for his country.
The same bold spirit that influenced Hobson and Blue and Wainwright in their desperate ventures grew rampant in Roderic Owen's breast—a strong desire to strike a blow for his beloved flag, to cripple the power of the proud Spaniard and hasten the day of his final departure from the Western Hemisphere.
Captain Beven had anchored his craft and now came to announce the boat in readiness that was to take him ashore.
Roderic took his cousin's hand in both his own.
"Your pure heart will pray for me I know. It is a greater satisfaction to me than words can tell. Remember what I promised of San Juan. We will, God willing, soon meet again. As your cousin, your brother, dear Cleo, allow me a brother's loving privilege."
He kissed her farewell.
Nor as he turned hastily to follow Beven to the waiting boat, did he see the glowing flush that instantly suffused her face, to as rapidly vanish, leaving her deathly pale and trembling like an aspen leaf.