He stopped short at a sharp exclamation from his companion. To his surprise he observed that, although his remark ought to have been of great interest to the latter, he was paying no attention to it. They were walking along the Avenida Bolivar, and the camera man’s gaze was directed toward a man on the opposite side of the wide street. This man wore the uniform of an officer of the Baracoan army, and he wore spectacles of dark-blue glass. “That’s mighty queer,” Ridder heard his companion mutter. “Are you referring to the glasses?” the sailor inquired. “It is rather odd to find a fellow in the service with such weak sight. In our own army they’d retire him for disability, but I suppose anything is good enough for Baracoa. Do you know who the fellow is? He seems to know you from the way he’s staring over here.” Hawley nodded. “Yes, I know him; his name is Reyes--Captain Ernesto Reyes, of the engineers. But what puzzles me is why he should be wearing those goggles. He didn’t wear any glasses at all a couple of days ago.” A little later the two men parted company, Ridder announcing that he had to go back to the ship. Much as he liked him, Hawley was not sorry to be rid of him just then. He was eager to make a call at the United States legation, and as the person he hoped to see there was not Minister Throgmorton, he preferred to go alone. When he arrived at the legation, a disappointment awaited him. The old colored servant informed him that Miss Virginia was not at home. The visitor was surprised and chagrined to hear this, as a glimpse he had caught of a pretty face at one of the upper windows apprised him that this announcement was not to be taken literally. His face lighted up, however, at some supplementary information which the servant imparted to him. “Miss Virginia is not at home now, sir,” the old darky repeated with a broad grin, “but,” he added in a mysterious whisper, “she’s gwine out horseback ridin’ this afternoon. She done tol’ me to be sure and tell you that.” That afternoon, Hawley hired a mount and met his fair ally at the old trysting place. The girl had dismounted and was standing in the middle of the road talking to her steed as though he were a human being, when the Camera Chap galloped up. She ran eagerly to meet him, both her hands outstretched and her eyes shining joyously. “This is almost too good to be true,” she cried, as he jumped from his horse. “When I heard what they did to poor Doctor Bonsal this morning, I was half crazy with fear on your account. You certainly have had a narrow escape, Mr. Hawley.” “Yes; and I understand that I owe it largely to you that I am now free,” he said, his voice trembling. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I----” “Nonsense,” she interrupted, a rosy tinge making itself visible beneath her fair skin. “Who told you that? It is to the President of the United States that you owe your freedom.” “The president!” the Camera Chap cried.