hopeless little hope that Doña Carlota might have forgotten the key, to close her window against the chill of night. Her own name came to her, pronounced in questioning accent of appeal, little louder than a sigh.
"Who calls?" she asked, her face close to the bars.
"It is I, Roberto."
"Oh, Roberto," she said, the strong leap of her heart falling low, the quick fire of a great new hope sinking again in despair. Roberto! Who but Roberto would be free to come, indeed!
"Come close, Helena; my words are for your ear alone."
"I am near, Roberto."
But she had drawn away at the sound of his name, unconsciously, perhaps, with the recession of her hope. Who was there but Roberto to come, indeed?
"Doña Carlota must not hear, Helena."
"She is asleep; the door is closed between us. Why do you come in this secret manner, Roberto? What do you want to tell me?"
She heard his breath near, and the soft exploration of his hands upon the bars. The great pepper tree was dark behind him, the moon was not yet up. She could see him dimly, head and shoulders above the window-sill.
"There, I am up," Roberto panted. "I am standing on Don Felipe's stool out of his office."
"And whose ambassador are you now?" she
