Whilst he was speaking, a whole crowd of bare-footed riflemen and _machetos_ went silently past, going back towards San Fernando, the officers, haggard and dirty, stopping to salute Gerald and ask for orders before disappearing after them. It was the noiselessness of them all that was getting on my nerves, and the feeling of hopelessness at not being able to speak to any one except Gerald. All this time, too, I kept looking out for that ex-policeman, expecting him to spring out at any moment. Every one who came along I half expected to be he, and little José, I think, did so too, standing close to Gerald, just like a cat, with a _machete_ in his hand. Gerald saw it once, and made him throw it away, but he picked it up again when Gerald wasn’t looking. The ’Gnome’ appeared from somewhere, and I saw that my brother was very glad to see him—he came across to me, and we bowed, and I squeezed his hand. He was sent away along that stream with some men he’d brought. ’Come and finish our game of billiards, Billums,’ Gerald sang out. Honestly I don’t know whether he was showing off, or was nervous, or whether he did really want to finish it, but we heard a heavy carriage splashing through that stream, and the new President—de Costa himself—appeared. They both went into the Casino and, I was thankful to see, into an upstairs room, where they couldn’t be shot at. I went with them and sat down in a chair—their voices seemed to be floating away somewhere—and the next I know was that little José was pulling at my sleeve, it was just getting light, very heavy firing was going on close by, yells and shrieks were coming from the forest, and men were running noisily along the road beneath the window. Gerald wasn’t there. I sprang up and followed José. The Casino was empty, and, as I dashed out, a window, above me, broke and fell in little pieces at my feet. I heard bullets flying everywhere. I looked down towards the stream, and people were lying on the road, beyond the ford, firing in our direction. José pulled me back behind the Casino, and we ran along the shore, waded through the stream as it flowed over the sands, and got behind our people. Gerald wasn’t there either, only the ’Gnome,’ in his big hat, waddling backwards and forwards. [Illustration: William Wilson and the Gnome] ’Geraldio? Don Geraldio?’ I asked, and he stopped a moment to point away up stream. He was trying to stop the shooting, because there was nobody in sight, although bullets were flying past all the time, and very heavy firing was going on further inland. He managed to stop it presently, and then I had time to look round.