CHAPTER XXIII

SOME TALK

Hal acquainted Felice Pemberton with the facts of his acquaintance with the spies, Goncalves and Pizella. Then he launched onto the topic of his meeting with Rene Carmichael, and told her in detail all that had transpired up to the point where they had said farewell.

“That fits my brother,” said the girl worriedly. “It’s _got_ to be him, for who else is blond and gray-eyed with that name in this desolate region? And if he said he would get help to you, you may be certain he would have done so if it was humanly possible. But we haven’t seen him.”

“Then aren’t you worried about him?”

“Not yet,” the girl replied cheerfully. “You see he is something of an adventurer like yourself. Only he roams about Brazil picking up odd jobs here and there to support Grandfather and myself. We don’t hear from him for intervals. What worries me is that he didn’t get help for you.”

“Let that be the least of your troubles,” Hal assured her. “Perhaps he did. Anyway, I’m safe—and how!”

She smiled and got to her feet.

“Now to let Grandfather meet you,” she said quietly. “He’ll like you because of your liking for Rene, but I can’t say he’ll be terribly courteous. You see, he’s not outgrown the bitterness my great-grandfather brought down here from the war.”

“That’s right,” said Hal, following her along the narrow trail. “That was your great-grandfather, Marcellus Pemberton, huh? Well, he wasn’t to be blamed for feeling bitter. Pride. But your grandfather Marcellus; he shouldn’t....”

“All he knows about Yankees he learned from great-grandfather Marcellus,” Felice said whimsically, “and that wasn’t very complimentary from all accounts. So he’s not to be judged on his merits or demerits.” She laughed. “Rene and I are long enough out of that generation not to care what the Yankees did. So was my father. He was all for going back to the United States—to Virginia.”

“That’s right, you people originally hail from Virginia, huh? Well, it’s a lovely state. You wouldn’t go wrong in going back.”

“Wouldn’t we?” she asked wistfully and seemed to consider it. “What is the U. S. like, Mr. Hal?”

“The kind of a place that you criticize when at home, but miss it like the dickens when you go away. Anyway, she’s not so bad as countries go, Miss Felice. It’s fine for girls.”

“_Girls!_” she repeated softly. “It must be fine. Rio is nice, but no doubt Virginia is nicer.”

“And safer,” said Hal, looking about the lonely place.

“If you could only tell Grandfather that as convincingly as you’ve told me,” she sighed.

She glanced up at Hal and he noticed that, despite her tanned face, there was a pinched look about her that indicated uncertain health. And he wondered that she had any health at all for having lived all her young life in that jungle wilderness.

Felice Pemberton, Hal decided, was meant to live in the United States and nowhere else.