Mrs. Steele and Mrs. Baldwin are waiting for us in the star-lit _patio_. My friend is evidently displeased at my having gone out without consulting her. I feel with sharp self-condemnation that in agreeing to go I was not only rash, but seemed even worse; it looked as if I had courted a _tete-a-tete_ alone at night with the Baron. Ah, why can't we see things in the present as we shall be obliged to see them when the time is past and the mistake beyond recall! "Well, I suppose you've ordered an album full of views," says Mrs. Baldwin, pleasantly trying to cover up the awkwardness of our return. "No," I answer, taken unawares, for by this time I have quite forgotten the object of my errand. "We found the gallery farther away than I expected, and----" "Vhen ve get dthere it vas close," says the Baron in a calm, well-controlled voice. The carriage is announced, and we bid Mrs. Baldwin good-bye. The drive home is very quiet, and we say good-night to the Baron in the vestibule. Mrs. Steele oddly enough asks me no questions, and I know her disapproval must be strong. I think little about that, however--I am going over and over that sharp conflict in the dim, deserted street. Did it really happen or did I dream it! This is the nineteenth century and I am a plain American girl to whom nothing remarkable ever happened before, and yet it _was_ true! How was I to blame for it--what will the Baron do--how long will he remember? My last waking sensation is a weary surprise to find my pillow wet with tears. Mrs. Steele rouses me the next morning, holding an open letter in her hand: "Blanche! Blanche! Wake up! We've overslept and lost our train. Here's a note the Baron's just sent up. The servant has neglected to call him as well, and he thinks we could not by any exertion catch the train we intended. He has ascertained that a 'special' leaving Guatemala two hours after regular train time will reach San Jose an hour at least before the steamer can possibly sail. He has engaged this 'special' and will see us safely on board at ten o'clock. He begs I will excuse his absence at breakfast, as he has already been served, and remains with assurances of his profound regard, my obedient servant, Federico Guillermo de Bach! So there's no time to be lost!" My friend returns to her room to dress; I sit bolt upright in bed staring straight before me at the great shaft of yellow sunlight that lies across the floor. "You and I go not back to _San Miguel_ unless you air my vife." Was it a curious dream or had he said those words? "Are you hurrying, Blanche?" calls Mrs. Steele. "It won't do to miss our last train unless you've decided you would like to stay in Guatemala."