“Well,” he said slowly, “we will talk to Maccario. Mr. Harding, I may ask you for a month’s leave when we have taken Santa Marta.” “You shall have it,” said Harding quietly. Just then, as it happened, Maccario strolled into the veranda, and Appleby, who stood up, laid his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I have the honor of presenting you another comrade,” he said. XXIX — TONY PERSISTS FOUR of the Sin Verguenza girt with bandoliers were waiting in the patio while Harding made hasty preparations for his journey when Appleby and Tony stood on the veranda. The night was a trifle clearer than any of them desired, though the half‐moon had dipped behind the flat roof which was projected sharply against the luminescent blueness of the sky. A stream of light shone out from the open window of Harding’s room, and Pancho’s voice rose suggestively now and then as he watched him dressing. Harding, who had affairs of importance with the banker, was going into Santa Marta, and since it appeared more than likely that Morales knew he had arrived at San Cristoval, it was essential that, in order to avoid observation, he should be attired correctly in Cuban fashion. Appleby, however, scarcely heard the major‐domo, for he was making another attempt to induce Tony to leave with Harding, who purposed to head for the coast in the hope of finding a steamer there when he had made what arrangements he could respecting his Cuban possessions. Tony listened with a quiet smile, and then resolutely shook his head. “We have been through it all before, and you are only wasting breath,” he said. “I am going home with you when you have taken Santa Marta, but until then I stay here.” Appleby lost his patience. “It’s a piece of purposeless folly. What have you to do with the fall of Santa Marta?” “It is also my last chance,” said Tony, with a curious little smile. “You could understand that if you wished to.” “No,” said Appleby doggedly. “I don’t think I could. Nor do I believe you would convince any reasonable man.” Tony smiled curiously. “One has objections to stripping himself, so to speak, before even a friend’s eyes. It really isn’t decent, but—since you are persistent—what I went through at Northrop was getting insupportable. The anxiety was crushing the life out of me, and it’s out of the question that I should go back there while you are carrying the load that should have been upon my shoulders here. I’m not claiming any virtue I don’t possess. Indeed, it’s selfishness and what is most likely superstitious cowardice that decides me to stay, but I feel that until I have made all right with you there can be no peace for me.” “I do not want to live in England, and you are taking too personal a view of the thing. Since there is Violet to consider your life is not your own to throw away, and I am not sure you know how much she would forgive you.” Tony’s face grew a trifle grim, and the light that streamed from the window showed the weariness in it.