Within half-an-hour the two travellers were shaved and clothed in European dress. "Would anyone know me?" asked Warriner. "My poor friend, I am afraid not," answered Fournier, and Warriner seemed very well pleased with the answer. "Then we will go and dine, really and properly dine, at a hotel on champagne wine," said he. They dined at a window which looked out across the Straits, and all through that dinner Warriner's face darkened and darkened and his gaze was sombrely fixed towards Gibraltar. "What are your plans?" asked Fournier. "The first thing I propose to do is to walk up to the cemetery and astonish my friend Hassan Akbar." "You will not find him. The Basha thought it wise to keep him safe in prison until you were found." "He has been there two years then?" said Warriner. "He had no friends. Then he is dead?" For the Moorish authorities do not feed the prisoners in the Kasbah. M. Fournier blushed. "No, he is not dead. He would have starved, but,--you will forgive it, my friend? After all he had no great reason to like you,--I sent him food myself every day,--not very much, but enough," stammered M. Fournier, anxiously. Warriner waved his hand. "It is a small thing; yes, I forgive you." "And he may go free?" "Why not? He will not catch me again." M. Fournier's face brightened with admiration. "Ah, but you are great, truly great," he exclaimed; "my friend, you are _magnanime!_ Now tell me what you will do." M. Fournier's magnanimous friend replied. "The boat crosses to Algeciras to-morrow. I shall go up to Ronda. And you?" he asked, turning to Charnock. "I shall go with you," said Charnock. "_Ce bon_ Charnock," said Warriner, with a smile. "He loves my wife." "But afterwards?" Fournier hurried to interpose. "Will you stay at Ronda?" "No." Warriner's eyes strained out across the water to where the topmost ridge of Gibraltar rose against the evening sky. Since his rescue two thoughts had divided and made a conflict in his mind; one was his jealousy of Charnock, his unreal hot-house affection for Miranda; the other had been represented by his vague questions and statements about Wilbraham. He was now to speak more clearly, for as he looked over to the Rock, Wilbraham was uppermost in his mind. "You did not know Wilbraham," he resumed. "Charnock did, _ce bon_ Charnock. I have a little account to settle with Wilbraham, a little account of some standing, and now there's a new item to the bill. The scullion! Imagine it, Fournier. He blackmailed my wife; blackmailed Miranda! Do you understand?" he cried feverishly. "Miranda! You know her, Charnock. Fournier, how often have I spoken of her to you? Miranda!" And words failed him, so inconceivable was the thought that any man should bring himself to do any wrong to his Miranda. M. Fournier stared. As he had once told Mrs. Warriner, Ralph had spoken to him of Miranda; but it had not been with the startling enthusiasm which at present he evinced.