Roderic had cast longing looks toward the trim steam yacht anchored there, from the stern of which whipped the Union Jack of England--he would have given much for an opportunity to interest Cleo in his daring scheme, and in Captain Beven he knew he could have had an able coadjutor, for the sailor liked nothing better than adventure. Still, Roderic had believed it was best not to seek an audience with his cousin--he did not wish to drag her into the risky game if he could help it. Perhaps--who can tell--some peculiar sense of honor held him back--perhaps he reasoned that as this desperate move on his part, this contemplated rescue of Leon from a Spanish dungeon and death at sunrise, was but a link in the chain of his suit for the love of Georgia, it would be adding insult to injury did he endeavor to enlist Cleo's services in behalf of the venture. One thing he had determined to do--it was really forced upon him as a _dernier ressort_, since there was no other means of getting Leon out of the country after his escape from prison had been effected, if he were so fortunate as to accomplish this. He had a note written to Cleo in his pocket and this he meant that Leon and his wife should deliver in person aboard the yacht. That Cleo would find means of hiding them on board until the Dreadnaught sailed for Jamaica he never once doubted. With some anxiety he studied the heavens and the conditions of the weather, for what this August night brought in its train was a matter of considerable importance to him. There would be a moon, very near the full, but clouds promised to shut it from view, at least the major portion of the time. Roderic counted this as an especial favor in his direction. He meant to take advantage of it. All minor matters had been positively arranged, even to the boat in which they were to be carried to the English yacht, and this was in itself a very important factor in the game, one that by any neglect in making up the programme might have proved a fatal error. He killed time in the early evening by loitering around the coffee houses and hearing the various opinions expressed by Spanish soldiers and San Juan citizens regarding the immediate future of the city, for it was generally known that Ponce had fallen into the hands of the aggressive Yankees, and that the "thin blue line" was advancing across the country in the direction of the north coast, capturing everything _en route_, even to the hearts of the people, who hailed the Americans as their deliverers. It was a distinct pleasure to Roderic to know that the army of occupation had landed on the soil of Spain's finest colony, for he realized that the glorious flag of liberty once planted would never be taken down again. San Juan did not worry.