Chase had been up nearly all of the night, fearful lest the islanders should seize the opportunity to scale the walls under cover of the tempest. All through the night he had been possessed of a spirit of wild bravado, a glorious exaltation: he was keeping watch over her, standing between her and peril, guarding her while she slept. He thought of that mass of Henner hair--he loved to think of her as a creation of the fanciful Henner--he thought of her asleep and dreaming in blissful security while he, with all the loyalty of an imaginative boy, was standing guard just as he had pictured himself in those heroic days when he substituted himself for the story-book knight who stood beneath the battlements and defied the covetous ogre. His thoughts, however, did not contemplate the Princess fair in a state of wretched insomnia, with himself as the disturbing element. He looked for her at breakfast time. They usually had their rolls and coffee together. When she did not appear, he made more than one pretext to lengthen his own stay in the breakfast-room. "She's trying to forget yesterday," he reflected. "What was it she said about always regretting? Oh, well, it's the way of women. I'll wait," he concluded with the utmost confidence in the powers of patience. Selim came to him in the midst of his reflections, bearing a thick, rain-soaked envelope. "It was found, excellency, inside the southern gate, and it is meant for you," said Selim. Chase gingerly slashed open the envelope with his fruit knife. He laughed ruefully as he read the simple but laborious message from Jacob von Blitz. "_Where are your warships all this time? They are not coming to you ever. Good-bye. You got to die yet, too. Your friend, Jacob von Blitz. And my wives, too._" Chase stuffed the blurred, sticky letter into his pocket and arose to stretch himself. "There's something coming to you, Jacob," he said, much to the wonder of Selim. "Selim, unless I miss my guess pretty badly, we'll be having a message--not from Garcia--but from Rasula before long. You've never heard of Garcia? Well, come along. I'll tell you something about him as we take our morning stroll. How are my cigarettes holding out?" "They run low, sahib. Neenah has given all of hers to me for you, excellency, and I have demanded those of the wives of Von Blitz." "Selim, you must not forget that you are a gentleman. That was most ungallant. But I suppose you got them?" "No, sahib. They refused to give them up. They are saving them for Mr. Britt," said Selim dejectedly. "Ah, the ficklety of women!" he sighed. "There's a new word for you, Selim--ficklety. I like it better than fickleness, don't you? Sounds like frailty, too. Was there any shooting after I went to bed?" His manner changed suddenly from the frivolous to the serious. "No, sahib." "I don't understand their game," he mused, a perplexed frown on his brow. "They've quit popping away at us."