“I am well,” he said, “thanks to you.”

And even if his wounds were not completely healed, there was no doubt that they were no longer troubling him unduly.

He had said goodbye to Skye in front of the others and, although she had sought for some personal message in his expression, she had to be content with the brief remark,

“I will see you tomorrow.”

She could hardly believe that he had gone, as she watched him leave the quay, scorning the car that Juan had brought in case he should not feel equal to riding a horse.

He had gone and she must content herself with five barren words,

“I will see you tomorrow.”

This morning El Diablo had been sworn in as President and he had arranged for the Ceremony to take place in the courtyard of the Palace so that everyone who wished could be present.

Skye had heard the cheers echoing and re-echoing in the distance, but when she had wanted to go and watch the Ceremony, Jimmy had prevented her.

“It would be better not,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.

“We are foreigners. This is something that concerns Mariposa and Mariposans. Let his people have him to themselves.”

“But I want to go,” Skye retorted obstinately.

Jimmy watched her face as she stood on deck looking up at the town with its mixed architecture of old and new.

She had altered tremendously, he thought, but was wise enough not to say so. He had no idea of those words that were trembling on her lips, that she was considering, as already she had considered a thousand times before, telling him that she was El Diablo’s wife.

She was no stranger, she wanted to assure Jimmy and it was her right to be at the side of the new President.

Yet even as she formulated the words her lips refused to say them because El Diablo himself had said nothing.

He had never referred to their marriage since he had been aboard the yacht.

Suppose, Skye tortured herself, he never did mention it again?

Suppose he denied that the marriage had ever taken place?

Because of her doubts and inward questioning she had done as Jimmy wished and stayed on the yacht, but her thoughts had been with El Diablo, vowing service to his people in the great open courtyard.

“He will make a good President,” she said reflectively.

“I am sure of it,” Jimmy replied. “He is just what these people want. A buccaneer with ideals.”

“Why do you call him that?” Skye enquired.

“All the great pioneers have been the same,” Jimmy answered. “Raleigh, Clive, Rhodes. They all had their heads in the clouds, but their feet firmly planted on the earth. If anyone can make a success of Mariposa, it will be our friend, Guido Tremayna.”

‘Yes, El Diablo would make a success of it,’ Skye told herself, as when dinner was over they drove towards the Palace.