She shook her head. “No, I have not heard,” she said wearily. “It is scarcely to be supposed that they would proclaim their crime to the whole world. Assassins are not in the habit of advertising their deeds, señor.” Her reply relieved him of a great fear which her previous utterances had created in his mind. “Let us hope that your anxiety is groundless,” he said soothingly. “I suppose, señora, you have heard the good news from the hospital. It was announced to-day that the condition of the minister of war is much improved. He surprised the surgeons by rallying when they thought there was no hope, and now they say that he is practically out of danger. And Replife’s life means President Felix’s life. Now that Portiforo knows that Replife is going to live, he will not dare resort to assassination.” The woman refused to be comforted by these arguments. “Who can tell how far that tyrant will dare to go, now that you have opened his eyes to the fact that the conspiracy is known?” she asked despairingly. Then she went below, and Hawley did not see her again for the rest of the voyage, for she kept to her stateroom, even having her meals served there. But the next morning her maid handed him a note, the pathetic contents of which afforded him much satisfaction: “Please forgive me for my unkindness of yesterday. The sight of that terrible building, so long the tomb of that poor, noble martyr, made me beside myself. In my calmer moments I realized that I might have done you an injustice. I believe that you are brave and generous, and that possibly what you did you may have thought was for the best. For the risks that you have run and the sacrifices that you have made I am not ungrateful; and if, as I cannot help fearing, terrible consequences to me and mine have been the result of your gallant if indiscreet attempt, you have my forgiveness, señor.” “Poor little woman,” said the Camera Chap to himself, as he finished reading this message of forgiveness. “If only----” His thought was interrupted by a hand laid on his shoulder. Turning hastily, he looked into Gale’s grinning countenance. “A love letter?” the reporter inquired banteringly, pointing to the note. “Not exactly,” Hawley replied with a laugh, hastily thrusting the missive into his pocket. “Seemed to me that it was a lady’s handwriting,” the _News_ man remarked. The Camera Chap frowned. “How do you know that?” he demanded indignantly. “Did you dare look----” Then he abruptly cut himself short, resolved not to quarrel with the man to whom, he believed, he partly owed his freedom, and possibly his life. “I couldn’t help noticing the handwriting as I accidentally glanced over your shoulder,” Gale explained. “You didn’t read the letter, did you?” Hawley inquired. His tone was anxious, for he had not heard the reporter step up behind him, and, consequently, had no way of knowing how long he had been there.