She went out, and Roldan lay wondering if the breakfast were already
cooked. The door opened again. Roldan sat up. But it was Adan. He wore a
long nightgown and dug his knuckles into his eyes. His knees, too, were
shaky.

"Hist, Roldan," he whispered loudly. "Are you there, or do I dream?"

"Come into my bed and have breakfast--breakfast, Adan!"

Adan gathered his remaining energies, bolted across the room, and
climbed into bed.

"Dios de mi alma, Roldan," he gasped. "Where are we, and why are we
sweltered like sick babies? This is a fine place. Ay! may I never see
snow nor a redwood again!"

Roldan told what he knew of the beginning of their new chapter, and soon
after he finished two Indian servants entered with trays, set them on
the bed, and retired.

"Ay! this looks like home," cried Adan, almost in tears. "Chocolate!
Tortillas! Chicken with yellow rice!" He crossed himself fervently and
attacked the fragrant meal.

It was not a large breakfast, for it was many hours since they had eaten
before; they left not a grain of rice nor a shred on a bone. But half-
satisfied, although very comfortable, they made up their minds to dress.
On the chair was a complete outfit, suitable for a young don. Roldan
concluded it had been thoughtfully placed at his disposal that he might
not appear in the sala of Casa Carillo garbed like a coyote. How he