He wavered, but with a shrug of his thin shoulders he turned back to stare out of the window again. After a pause he said somewhat irritably. “I’m not in the confessional box, Mr. Donnington. You’ve no right to question me. And after all, you can’t help me.” “If you think that, there’s an end of the thing, lieutenant.” “Now I’ve put your back up, I suppose?” and he laughed feebly. “Not in the least, I assure you. I know that you are in a devil of a mess----” “How do you know it? Has Miralda----” he broke in. “Don’t mention your sister’s name, please,” I interposed in my turn, speaking sharply. “Sampayo says you hate him on her account. And he hates you. There’s no mistake about that.” “Yet he sent you to borrow my yacht.” “That’s for another thing altogether--there I go. If I stop here you’ll have everything out of me.” “If you mean in regard to this wretched conspiracy, I probably know much more than you could tell me.” His jaw fell in his surprise. “You know and yet lend the _Stella_? Why, are you----” He paused and stared at me in gaping bewilderment. There could be only one reason for this. The _Stella_ was to be used for some purpose connected with the revolutionaries and he had jumped to the conclusion that I was in league with them. Before I could reply he saw his mistake. “What a mess I’m making of things,” he muttered to himself; and then to me weakly--“Don’t question me any more, Donnington.” “Very well. But I was not asking you about that at all, merely your personal affairs.” He stood glancing at me nervously and irresolutely. “I say, you won’t give me away, will you?” “You have my word on that.” “Not even to Miralda, I mean? I told her I wanted to talk to you, but she wouldn’t hear of it.” “When was that?” “A couple of days ago.” That was before our talk on the _Stella_ when she had been intent upon keeping me at a distance. “Why did you ask her?” “There you go again. You said you wouldn’t question me. I wish you wouldn’t,” he said peevishly, and then added with utter inconsequence; “she used to be always speaking of you when she came back from Paris. You were Miralda’s Englishman, you know. And when you turned up here----” “I’d rather you didn’t tell me.” “You are an odd mixture. One minute you want to know everything and the next you shut me up. She’s awfully white and it’s because it’s so hard on her that I feel such a brute. I----” he pulled up suddenly and seized his hat. “No, hang it, I can’t tell you now.” At that moment Bryant brought in a letter from Volheno asking me to go to him at once, and when we were alone again Vasco held out his hand. “May I come again? I--I _should_ like to tell you.” I told him to come any time, and having made me repeat my promise not to give him away, he wrung my hand and went off.