Mr. Cuddlehead did not go far afield during the day following his glimpse of the officers' dinner-table. Instead, he kept to his room until evening, or at most took a furtive turn or two on the cobbles before the inn door. After his lonely and not very palatable dinner was over, he set out cautiously for the President's villa. He wanted to have a talk with Miss Tetson alone. She, no doubt, could explain matters to him, so that he might be able to decide on a course of action. He walked slowly, keeping always a vigilant look-out for the trim, dauntless figure of Herbert Hemming. At the great gateway the brown boy on sentry-go saluted, and let him pass without question. In return he treated the fellow to his blandest smile and a _milreis_ note. He did not keep long to the drive, but turned off into a narrow path as soon as he felt that the soldier had ceased watching him. He took his time, traversing winding paths between low tropical shrubs and yellow-stemmed bamboo, but always drawing nearer to the quiet mansion. Presently his ear caught a welcome sound,--the soft, frivolous strumming of a banjo. He was aware that Hemming was not musical; in fact, he remembered that his rendering of "Father O'Flynn" had once been mistaken for the national anthem. Cuddlehead found Miss Tetson on a stone seat, near her favourite fountain. At sight of him, she stopped her idle playing, and answered his salutation with the coldest of bows. Her lover's kisses still burned on her lips, and words of his impulsive wooing still rang sweetly in her ears. Even the little brown crane, that stood there watching the sparkling water with eyes like yellow jewels, reminded her of a certain evening when she had been unkind to Valentine Hicks. The hour was not for Cuddlehead. Undisturbed by the coolness of his reception, Mr. Cuddlehead seated himself at the far end of the bench, and began to talk. He described his journey from Pernambuco to Pernamba, and with so fine a wit that Marion smiled. He told little anecdotes of his past, very clever, and very vague as to dates and scenes. The girl almost forgot the sinister aspect of his face in the charm of his conversation, and when he mentioned Hemming, in terms of warmest respect, she confided to him something of his trouble with the army. "Perhaps I can be of some use; one Englishman should be good for ten of those niggers," he said. He lifted the banjo from the seat, and made it dance and sing through the newest Southern melody. His touch was both dainty and brilliant. He replaced the instrument on the seat between them. He saw that the girl was more favourably impressed with him than she had been. For a little while they kept silence, and her thoughts returned to Valentine Hicks. Suddenly they heard Hemming's voice, pitched low and sharp, in anger. He was hidden from them by shrubs of tangled growth. "I have given my orders," he said. "Do you understand?"