"What is going on?" he said.

"They are carrying Morales to his burial," said Appleby. "Maccario has sent a half-company of the Sin Verguenza."

Tony smiled curiously. "That man has good taste. I liked him," he said.

"Well, there is one of the Sin Verguenza who will never march again. I wonder if you remember that two of our family once fought with the Legitimatists in Spain. Still, I think they would have looked down upon the Sin Verguenza."

Again Appleby, struggling with tense emotion, found words failed him, and sat silent until Tony laid his hand on his.

"It might have been better if I had never fallen in love with Violet,"

he said.

"Why?" said Appleby, who fancied that Tony was watching him curiously.

"She was in love with you."

"I think not," and Tony feebly shook his head. "It isn't necessary to discuss that again."

He stopped with a little shiver, and Appleby's fingers closed tightly on his hand.

"If I could only bring you back to her you would find out how mistaken you are."

"That is evidently out of the question. n.o.body could, and I think if a little longer life had been granted me I would have tried to give her up. I know now that she would never have been happy with me. Still, you will tell her, Bernard-what has happened to me."

Appleby only pressed his hand, and it was a minute or two later when Tony spoke again.

"There is one man who would please Violet-and I don't think I would mind," he said.

Again Appleby felt the blood in his forehead. "She never thought of me, and I have nothing to offer her," he said.

"No," said Tony with a visible effort. "Still, I think, Bernard-if you saw much of her she would. You have both done a good deal for me."

He stopped with a gasp, and seemed to sink into sleep or partial stupor, while Appleby sat very still listening to the voices in the street below while half an hour dragged by. Then Tony opened his eyes, and looked about him vacantly.

"I think I've been dreaming, and that song Hester was fond of is running in my head," he said. "The one about the gates-it got hold of my fancy-I think they were of precious stones. She and Violet were out on the lawn of Low Wood-where you look down into the valley, you know-and Nettie was trying to convince the vicar those gates could be stormed. There was something I couldn't quite understand about the marble knight in Northrop church."

Appleby saw that Tony's thoughts were wandering.

"Of course!" he said soothingly, though his voice was strained. "I wouldn't worry about it, Tony."

Tony looked at him as though he scarcely recognized him, and smiled.

"I think you're wrong, and perhaps it isn't necessary. That song is jingling in my head again. 'If you but touch with your finger tips those ivory gates and golden.' It sounds easy," he said.

His head sank back on the pillow, and for five long minutes there was silence in the room. Then Tony sighed, and his fingers closed feebly on Appleby's hand.

"It's very hot in the sun here, and it was yesterday when I had a meal,"

he said. "Still, I shall find Bernard. Now they're marching on Santa Marta in open fours. They're going in-nothing could stop the Sin Verguenza-but you can't open those gates with a volley. It isn't necessary."

He said nothing more, and when another half-hour had dragged by Appleby rose, and with gentle force drew his hand away. Then he went out, shivering a little and treading softly, for he knew that the soul of Tony Palliser, who had sinned and made such reparation as was permitted him, was knocking at the gates which are made of precious stones.

x.x.xII - APPLEBY LEAVES SANTA MARTA

THE sun was low, and the town lay in grateful shadow when Appleby walked slowly down the calle that leads out of Santa Marta. He was dressed plainly in white duck, and no longer carried a rifle, while he scarcely seemed to hear the observations of Harper, who walked at his side. His brown face was a trifle grave, and Maccario, who went with them, smiled dryly when he noticed that once or twice he sighed.

Stone pavements and white walls were hot still, but the dazzling glare had faded, and the street was thronged with citizens enjoying the faint coolness of the evening. Here and there one of them greeted the little group with signs of respect, but Appleby scarcely noticed them. Looking straight before him he saw the shattered lattices, and the scars and stains of smoke on the white walls which marked the scene of the last grim struggle with Morales. Morales lay at rest in the little campo santo, and in a few more minutes Appleby would in all probability have turned his back forever on Santa Marta. It was with confused feelings, through which there ran a keen regret, he remembered what had befallen him there.

Then, as they approached the strip of uneven pavement hastily flung down on the spot where the Sin Verguenza had only a few days ago swept over the barricade, he stopped a moment as brown-faced men with rifles, regardless of discipline-which was, however, seldom much in evidence among the Sin Verguenza-thronged about him. Amidst cries and gesticulations they thumped his shoulders and wrung his hands, while once more Appleby wondered whether he had decided wisely as he recognized the sincerity of the good will in their dark eyes. He had fought with them, faced imminent peril, borne with anxiety and short- comings, and feasted riotously, in their company, and now he found it harder to part from them than it would have been from more estimable men.

Maccario, it seemed, understood what he was thinking, for his face was sympathetic as he glanced at his companion.

"One would fancy that they were sorry to let you go," he said. "It is a good life, a man's life, the one you are leaving. Will you find better comrades in your smoky cities?"

Appleby smiled a trifle wistfully, and did not answer for a moment. The vivid, untrammelled life appealed to him, and for a time he had found delight in it, but he was wise, and knew that once peace was established there would be no room in Cuba for the Sin Verguenza. They must once more become toilers, or descend to intrigue and conspiracy, and he knew the Castilian jealousy of the alien, and that past services are lightly remembered in the day of prosperity. He and his comrades had borne the stress and the strain, and it seemed wiser to leave them now before the distrust and dissension came.

"None better to face peril or adversity with, but a change is coming, and one cannot always wear the bandolier," he said. "If I go now they will only think well of me."

A little gleam of comprehension came into Maccario's dark eyes. "Still,"

he said slowly, "the Sin Verguenza will be remembered, and you with them."

Then a man leading two mules on which their baggage was strapped came up, and Maccario held out his hand.

"Good-bye," said Appleby simply. "I shall hope for your prosperity."

He laid his foot in the stirrup, and Maccario swept off his hat.

"While there is one of the Sin Verguenza left you will never be without a friend in Cuba," he said.

Appleby swung himself to the saddle, Harper mounted clumsily, and there was a beat of hoofs; but in a minute or two Appleby drew bridle, and twisted himself round in his saddle. With the two church towers rising high above it against the paling sky Santa Marta lay, still gleaming faintly white, upon the dusky plain behind him, and he fancied he could see Maccario standing motionless in the gap between the houses where the last fight had been. A cheerful hum of voices and a tinkle of guitars drifted out with a hot and musky smell from the close-packed town, and he turned his eyes away and glanced at the tall black cross on a rise outside the walls. Anthony Palliser of Northrop slept beneath it among the Sin Verguenza.

Then the crash of the sunset gun rose from the cuartel, and there was a roll of drums, the drums of the cazadores beaten by insurgent hands, and with a little sigh Appleby shook his bridle. He could picture his comrades laughing over their wine in the cafes, or mingling with the light-hearted crowd in the plaza, but he would never meet their badinage or see them sweeping through the smoke and dust again.

"It was pleasant while it lasted, and who knows what is in front of us now?" he said.

Harper, lurching in his saddle, laughed a little. "Well," he said, "one gets accustomed to changes in this country, and I can hear the sea."

"Then you have good ears. We may have trouble before we reach it," said Appleby dryly.

They pushed on through the coolness of the night until the stars were growing dim in the eastern sky, and then rested in a little aldea until dusk came round again. The Sin Verguenza were masters of the country round Santa Marta, but sympathies were as yet divided in the region between it and the sea, and Appleby decided that it was advisable to travel circ.u.mspectly. Events proved him right, for two days later they narrowly avoided an encounter with a company of loyalist troops, and spent the next week lying close by day, and plodding by bypaths through the cane at night, while it became evident to both of them that they would never have reached the coast without the credentials with which Maccario had supplied them.

They found it was watched by gunboats when at last they reached a lagoon among the mangrove swamps, and were a.s.sured that it would be perilous to attempt to get on board a steamer in any of the ports. A small vessel with arms was expected, but when Appleby heard that she might not arrive for a month, and perhaps land her freight somewhere else, he decided to buy a fishing barquillo and put to sea at once. Harper concurred in this, and said there was little doubt that they would intercept one of the steamers from Havana.

The night was clearer than they cared about when with the big latine set they slipped out of the lagoon, but the land breeze which was blowing fresh, drove steamy vapors across the moon and it was almost dark when they reeled into the white surf on the bar. They went through it shipping water at every plunge, Harper sitting high on the boat's quarter with his hand on the tiller and the sheet of the latine round his other wrist, while Appleby crouched among the ballast and bailed.

Then the sea grew smooth again, save for the little white ripples made by the hot breeze, and Appleby, standing up ankle-deep in water, looked about him.

The mangroves lay behind him, a dusky blur streaked with a thick white steam which trailed out in long wisps across the sea that heaved blackly beneath the boat. Then the trees were blotted out as she ran into a denser belt of mist that was heavy with a hot, sour smell, and there was nothing to be seen but a strip of shining water shut in by sliding haze when she came out again. Appleby glanced at the froth that swirled past the gunwale, and turned to Harper.