The woman interrupted him with a cry. “I tell you that must not be,” she exclaimed, almost fiercely. “Surely, Mr. Hawley, after what you have heard, you will not persist in going on with your impossible adventure? You must realize that our only hope of saving my husband’s life, now, lies in our ability to prevent anything from being done which would provoke that tyrant to take desperate measures.” “Señora Felix is right, sir,” Doctor Bonsal chimed in earnestly. “I sincerely trust that you will not refuse to be guided by her wishes in the matter. You must appreciate the logic of our contention. If Portiforo and his villainous associates have cause to suspect that their infamous secret is known, they will doubtless make short work of their victim. As the señora says, our only hope lies in our ability to continue to make them believe that nobody--not even she--is aware of the truth regarding our martyr president.” Hawley looked at him in surprise. “Do you mean to say that Portiforo doesn’t know, now, that the señora suspects the truth?” he demanded incredulously. “We have strong hopes that such is the case,” the venerable physician answered. “Señora Felix has been very clever. I believe, sir, that there are few women who could have conducted themselves with such rare tact and courage as she has displayed.” He bowed reverently to her. “When it becomes possible to let the truth be known, the story of what this brave little woman has done will thrill the whole world.” “For two years,” he continued, his fine old face glowing with enthusiasm, “she has submitted patiently to the badgerings of Portiforo’s spies, who have tried by every means their ingenuity could devise to ascertain whether she had any inkling of the monstrous conspiracy. For two years she has played her difficult part with consummate skill, listening with a silence that was truly sublime to the sneers and abuse that were heaped upon her husband, stifling the impulses of her tortured soul, which yearned to cry out to the whole world that Felix was a martyr, instead of a rascal. For two years she has hung her head in shame, pretending, for the edification of Portiforo’s spies, that she believed herself to be the deserted wife of an absconder--that the letters she received from him after his disappearance were genuine.” “The letters?” the Camera Chap exclaimed wonderingly. “I beg your pardon,” said Doctor Bonsal, somewhat confused; “perhaps I should not have spoken of them.” He turned inquiringly to the señora. “It is all right,” the latter reassured him. “Since Mr. Hawley has been told so much, he might as well know everything. I know that we can trust him absolutely. The letters which Doctor Bonsal refers to,” she herself explained, addressing the Camera Chap, “are the ones which I have received from my husband since that fatal night. You remember, perhaps, my telling you, on board the _Colombia_, that I had been in receipt of letters from him?”