HELENA, watching at her window as day grew faint on the hills, saw a small cavalcade arrive at the turn of the road beyond the olive lane, bringing Gabriel Henderson a prisoner to the ranch. One rider came before him, one on either hand, and Roberto himself, with pistols in his belt, closed the road behind. Henderson's hands were bound at his back.
Helena had only a brief sight of the prisoner as the dusty riders came sweeping at a lively trot down the road and turned into the lane. She knew the torture of the long ride with hands bound behind him must have been a great trial on the sailor's endurance, but he seemed fresh and strong, and sat as erect in his saddle as Roberto himself. She knew well that his unbroken spirit still looked bravely out of his laughing eyes.
"The servant will bring our supper to these rooms; that is the direction of Don Abrahan," Doña Carlota opened the door to announce.
"You may have my share of Don Abrahan's bounty, Aunt Carlota," Helena said, her white face close to the window bars, the sash open to admit the cool, scented evening wind.
"You must eat, my child. How long? Why,
