"I told you," said Saxon in a dull voice, "that I had no designs on you. I meant it! I told you I had forgotten. I meant it!" As he spoke, Saxon's head dropped forward on his chest, and he stood breathing heavily. The moonlight, falling full on his face, showed such heart-broken misery as might have belonged to the visage of some unresting ghost in an Inferno. His eyes were the eyes of utter despair, and the hand that held the pistol hung limp at his side, the weapon lying loose in its palm. Rodman stood wide-eyed before him. Had he already been killed and returned to life, he could hardly have been more astonished, and, when Saxon at last raised his face and spoke again, the astonishment was greater than ever. "Take your gun," said the painter, raising his hand slowly, and presenting the weapon stock first. "If you want to kill me--go ahead." Rodman, for an instant, suspected some subterfuge; then, looking into the eyes before him, he realized that they were too surcharged with sadness to harbor either vengeance or treachery. He could not fathom the meaning, but he realized that from this man he had nothing to fear. He slowly reached out his hand, and, when he had taken the pistol, he put it away in his pocket. Saxon laughed bitterly. "So, that's the answer!" he muttered. Without a word, the painter turned, and walked toward the front of the cathedral; without a word, Rodman fell in by his side, and walked with him. When they had gone a square, Saxon was again himself except for a stonily set face. Rodman was wondering how to apologize. Carter had never been a liar. If Carter said he had no thought of vengeance, it was true, and Rodman had insulted him with the surmise. Finally, the thin man inquired in a different and much softer voice: "What are you doing in Puerto Frio?" "It has nothing to do with revenge or punishment," replied Saxon, "and I don't want to hear intrigues." A quarter of an hour later, they reached the main plaza, Rodman still mystified and Saxon walking on aimlessly at his side. He had no definite destination. Nothing mattered. After a long silence, Rodman demanded: "Aren't you taking a chance--risking it in Puerto Frio?" "I don't know." There was another pause, broken at last by Rodman: "Take this from me. Get at once in touch with the American legation, and keep in touch! Stand on your good behavior. You may get away with it." He interrupted himself abruptly with the question: "Have you been keeping posted on South American affairs of late?" "I don't know who is President," replied Saxon.