Preceding Minister Throgmorton’s visit to the palace, Virginia, in her desire to save the Camera Chap, had laid bare to her father the innermost secret of her heart. He had been amazed by the revelation. He had known all along, of course, of the friendship that existed between her and Hawley, but inasmuch as they had known each other only a few weeks, he had not suspected the full extent of her regard for the photographic adventurer. His daughter’s happiness being more to him than any other consideration, he had put aside his own prejudices and really had done his utmost to persuade his friend Portiforo to spare Hawley’s life. “There is just one concession that I was able to wring from the president,” the minister now announced. “It isn’t much, my poor girl, but it may give you a little comfort: He has consented to permit you to see the prisoner. Personally, my dear, I would advise against your availing yourself of this privilege. Such a meeting, I fear, would only add to your distress. However, I will permit you to follow your own wishes in the matter. If you desire to go to the prison, here is a pass which the president made out for you.” Virginia took the paper from him with pathetic eagerness, and less than five minutes later she was speeding on her way to the fortress. The meeting between her and the president’s photographic envoy took place under somewhat disadvantageous circumstances. Two of the prison officials insisted on being present during the interview, and Virginia was not allowed to enter the cell; she had to converse with the condemned man through the bars. She found the Camera Chap apparently resigned to his fate. His face was pale and haggard, but he bore himself with a cheerfulness that amazed her, great as was her estimate of his courage. “Brace up, little girl,” he said gently, putting out his hand to her through the bars. “You mustn’t take it like that, you know. Things haven’t turned out exactly as pleasant as we had hoped,” he continued, with a whimsical smile, “but I assure you that I am not a bit sorry I came to Baracoa. If I hadn’t, I should never have had the privilege of knowing you, and I assure you that blessed privilege is ample compensation for--whatever is coming my way later on.” Presently he inquired of the two prison officials whether he would be permitted to dispose of some of his personal effects as keepsakes, and they told him that there would be no objection to this proceeding, which was a privilege always granted to condemned prisoners.