when the voluble rotiro had vanished round the end of the counting-house, silencio retired to his inner sanctum and closed and locked the door. the contrast between this room and the bare front office was marked. here cretonne draped the walls, its delicate white and green relieving the plain white of the woodwork. coming from the outer glare, the cool coloring was more than grateful to the senses. the large wicker chairs with which the room was furnished were painted white, their cushions being of the same pale green whose color pervaded the interior. the white tables, with their green silken cloths, the white desk, the mirrors with white enameled frames, the white porcelain lamps with green shades, all of the same exquisite tint, made the sanctum a symphony of delicate color, a bower of grateful shade. pull one of the hangings aside, ever so little, and a fortress stared you in the face—a fortress known of, at the most, to but two persons in the island.

it is true that the more curious of the peons had wondered somewhat why don gil had brought down from the es-states those large sheets of iron[pg 121] with clamps and screws; but the native is not inquisitive as a rule, and certainly not for long. all se?ors do strange things, things not to be accounted for by any known rule of life, and the se?or don gil was rich enough to do as he liked. what, then, was it to a hard-working peon, what a grand se?or like the don gil took into his mahogany house?

the man who had come down in the steamer with the sheets of iron had remained at palmacristi for a month or more. he had brought two workmen, and when he sailed for nueva yorka no one but the owner of the casa de caoba and the old guillermina knew that the inner counting-house had been completely sheathed with an iron lining, whose advent the peons had forgotten.

"this is my bank," said don gil to don juan smit'.

"it may become a fort some day, who knows?" answered the don juan smit', "if those rascally spaniards come over here and create another rumpus." strange to say, don gil did not resent this remark about the nation which had produced his ancestors. but, then, don gil was a revolutionist, and had fought side by side with the bravest generals of the ten years' cuban war.

"it is a very secure place to detain a willing captive," smiled don gil.

[pg 122]

"well, i guess!" assented the se?or don juan smit', with a very knowing wink of the eye, which proved that he had not understood his employer's meaning in the very slightest.

old guillermina, who had reared don gil's mother, was the only person allowed within the counting-house.

"a very fine place for the black spiders to hide," remarked guillermina, as she twitched aside the green and white hangings, and exposed the iron sheathing. "there is no place they would prefer to this."

when don gil had locked the door, he seated himself and took escobeda's note from his pocket. he examined the flap of the envelope; it was badly soiled and creased. he was morally certain that rotiro had possessed himself of the contents of the letter. he had told rotiro that peons should not think, but they would think, semi-occasionally, and more than that, they would talk. when a peon was found clever enough to carry a message, he also possessed the undesirable quality of wishing to excite curiosity in others, and to make them feel what a great man he was to be trusted with the secrets of the se?or. by evening the insolence of escobeda would be the common property of every man, woman, and child on the estate, and, what silencio could bear least of all, the insulting news[pg 123] as to the ultimate destination of raquel would be gossiped over in every palm hut and rancho far and near. all his working people would know before to-morrow the message which had been brought to him by rotiro, and it was his own rum that would loosen rotiro's tongue and aid materially in his undoing. his face grew red and dark. his brow knotted as he perused the vile letter for the fourth time. escobeda's handwriting was strong, his grammar weak, his spelling not always up to par. the letter was written in spanish, into which some native words had crept. the translation ran:

"to the se?or don gil silencio-y-estrada.

"se?or:—you are forbidden to set foot in my house. you are forbidden to try to see or speak to the se?orita raquel. i do not continue the farce of saying my niece; she is not more than a distant relative of mine. but in this case, might makes right. i control her and she is forever lost to you. you refused me the trocha farm for a fair price. see now, if it would not have been better to yield. the se?orita raquel starts for the port of entry this afternoon. she sails to-night for the government town. the governor desires her services. knowing the governor by repute, you may imagine what those services are."

silencio struck the senseless sheet with his clenched fist. his ring tore a jagged hole in the paper, so that he had difficulty in smoothing it for re-perusal.

"it pays me better to sell her to him than to give her to you."

[pg 124]

wild thoughts flew through the brain of silencio. he started up, and had almost ordered his horse. he was rich. he would offer all, everything that he possessed, to save raquel from such a fate, but he sadly resumed his seat after a moment of reflection. escobeda hated him, there had been a feud between the families since the old don gil had caused the arrest of the elder escobeda, a lawless character; and the son had made it the aim of his life to annoy and insult the family of silencio. here was a screw that he could turn round and round in the very heart of his enemy, and already the screwing process had begun. don gil took up the mutilated letter and read to the end:

"we start for the coast this afternoon. do not try to rescue her. i have a force of brave men who will protect me from any number that you may bring. we have colinos and escopetes in plenty. your case is hopeless. you dare not attack me on land; you cannot attack me on the water."

don gil dashed the paper on the floor and ground savagely beneath his heel the signature "rafael escobeda."

"it is true," he said, shaking his head. "it is true; i am helpless!"

with a perplexed face and knitted brow he went into the outer room, closed the entrance door and took a flat bar of iron from its resting-place against the wall. this he fitted into the hasps[pg 125] at each side of the door, which were ready to receive it. then he returned to the inner room, and secured the iron-sheathed door with two similar bars. after this was done, he looked somewhat ruefully at his handiwork. "the cage is secure," he said, "if i but had the bird."

silencio opened the door which connected the office with the main part of the house. he closed and locked it behind him, and proceeded along a passage so dark that no light crept in except through the narrow slits beneath the eaves. when he had traversed this passage, he opened a further door and emerged at once into the main part of the house. here everything was open, attractive, and alluring. here spacious apartments gave upon broad verandas, whose flower boxes held blooms rare even in this garden spot of the world. here were beauty and colour and splendour and glowing life.

don gil threw himself down in a hammock which stretched across a shady corner. through the opening between the pilotijos, he could see the wooded heights in the distance, those heights beyond which troja lay, troja, which held his heart and soul. what to do? to-night she would set sail for the government town in the toils of escobeda, her self-confessed betrayer and barterer—set sail for that hateful place where her[pg 126] worse than slavery would begin. the person to whom she was to be sold—none the less sold because the price paid did not appear on paper—was possessed of power and that might of which escobeda had spoken in his letter—that might which makes right. he could give countenance to speculators and incorporators, he could grant concessions for an equivalent; into such keeping escobeda, with his devil's calculation, was planning to deliver her—his raquel, his little sweetheart. that she loved him he knew. a word and a glance are enough, and he had received many such. a note and a rose at the last festin, where she had been allowed to look on for a while under the eye of her old duenna! a pressure of her hand in the crowd, a trembling word of love under her breath in answer to his fierce and fiery ones!

the cause for love, its object does not know nor question. the fact is all that concerns him, and so far silencio was secure. and here was this last appeal from the helpless girl! they had started by this time perhaps. don gil looked at the ancient timepiece which had descended from old don oviedo. yes, they had started. it was now twenty minutes past six; they needed but two hours to ride to the port of entry. the steamer would not sail until between nine and ten o'clock. very shortly escobeda's party would cross the[pg 127] trocha, which at that point was a public highway. it ran through the palmacristi estate, and neared the casa on the south. could he not rescue her when they were so near? there were not three men within the home enclosure. the others had gone direct to their huts and ranchos from their work in the fields. he could not collect them now, and if he could, of what use a skirmish in the road? escobeda was sure to ride with a large force, and a stray shot might do injury to raquel herself. no, no! some other way must be thought of.

silencio arose, passed quickly through the casa and entered the patio. he ran up the stairs which ascended from the veranda to the flat roof above. he stood upon the roof, shading his eyes with his hand, and straining his vision to catch the first sight of escobeda and his party of cut-throats. he was none too early. a cloud of dust on the near side of the cacao grove told him this, and then he heard the jingling of spurs and the sound of voices. a group of some thirty horsemen swept round the curve and came riding into full view. in their center rode a woman. she was so surrounded that by no effort of hers could she break through the determined-looking throng. one glance at those cruel faces, and silencio's heart sank like lead.

the woman was gazing with appealing eyes at the casa de caoba. silencio was not near enough[pg 128] to distinguish her features, but her attitude was hopeless and appealing, and he knew that it was raquel the moment that he discovered her.

suddenly she drew a handkerchief from her bosom and waved it above her head. there was something despairing and pitiable in her action. silencio whirled his handkerchief wildly in the air. he was beside himself! escobeda turned and struck the girl, who dropped her signal hand and drooped her head upon her breast.

silencio put his hands to his mouth and shouted: "do not fear; i will save you!" he shook his clenched hand at escobeda. "you shall pay for that! by god in heaven! you shall pay for that!"

yes, pay for it, but how? how? oh, god! how? he was so helpless. no one to aid him, no one to succour.

at this defiance of silencio's there came an order to halt. the men faced the casa de caoba, escobeda placed his rifle to his shoulder, but as he fired, raquel quickly reached out her hand and dashed the muzzle downward. a crash of glass below stairs told silencio where the shot had found entrance.

"and for that shot, also, you shall pay. aye, for twenty thousand good glass windows." glass windows are a luxury in the island.

a burst of derisive laughter and a scattering[pg 129] flight of bullets were thrown back at him by the motley crew. they reined their horses to the right, turned a corner, and were lost in their own dust.

silencio descended the stairs, how he never knew. he ran through the patio and the main rooms, and out on to the veranda, from which the path led toward the gate of the enclosure. he was beside himself. he seized his gun from the rack; he cocked it as he ran.

"he said that i could not reach him upon the water; i can reach him upon the land. piombo, my horse! do not wait to saddle him, bring him at once. no, i cannot reach him upon the water—"

a sound of footsteps. a head bound in a ragged cloth appeared above the flower boxes which edged the veranda, and pushed its way between the leaves. a body followed, and then a man ascended slowly to a level with don gil silencio. over his shoulder was slung a shotgun; in his leathern belt, an old one of his master's, was thrust a machete; from his hand swung a lantern with white glass slides. this man was stupid but kindly. he pattered across the veranda with bare and callous feet, and came to a halt within a few paces of don gil. there he stopped and leaned against the jamb of the open door.

at night andres hung a lantern upon the asta at the headland yonder, more as a star of cheer than[pg 130] as a warning. the red lantern on los santos, some miles further down the coast, was the beacon for and the warning to mariners. the ray from its one red sector illumined the channel until the morning sun came again to light the way. when the white pane changed the ray of red to one of white, the pilot shouted, "hard over." with a wide and foaming curve, the vessel swept round and out to sea, thus avoiding the sand spit of palmacristi.

silencio's eyes fell upon the lantern in the hand of andres, and in that moment the puzzle of the hour was solved. so suddenly does the bread of necessity demand the rising of the yeast of invention. the expression of don gil's face had changed in a moment from abject gloom to radiant exultation.

"bien venido, andres! bien venido!"

no dearest friend could have been greeted with a more joyous note of welcome. andres raised his eyes in astonishment to the face of the young se?or. he had expected to meet with guillermina's reproaches because he had forgotten to lower the lantern from the asta that morning, and had left it burning all the long day, so that now it must be refilled. here was a very different reception. he had been thinking over his excuses. he had intended to say at once how ill el rey had been all night, and how he had forgotten everything but[pg 131] the child; and here, instead of the scolding of the servant, he was greeted with the smiles of the master. truly, this was a strange world; one never knew what to expect.

"i come for oil for the lantern, don gil. it is a very good farol de se?ales, but it is a glutton! it is never satisfied! it eats, and eats!"

"like the rest of you." don gil laughed aloud. andres gazed at him with astonishment. "that blessed glutton! let us feed it, andres! give it plenty to eat to-night, of all nights. i will hoist it upon the headland myself to-night." at andres's still greater look of astonishment, "yes, yes, leave it to me. i will hoist the blessed lantern myself to-night upon my headland."

"the se?or must not trouble himself. it is a dull, dark night! the se?or will find the sendica rough and hard to climb."

"what! that little path? have not i played there as a child? raced over it as a boy? i could go there blindfold. how is the little king, andres?" andres's face fell.

"he is not so well, se?or. that is why i forgot the lantern. he was awake in the night talking to her. i have left him for barely an hour to fill the lantern and return it again to the asta. he talks to her at night. sometimes i think she has returned. he begged me to leave the door[pg 132] unlocked; he thinks she may come when i am gone." andres turned away his heavy face, and brushed his sleeve across his eyes.

"you shall go home early to-night, andres; as i said, i will hoist the lantern."

the dull face of andres lighted up with a tender smile, a smile which glorified its homely lineaments—that smile which had always been ready to appear at the bidding of el rey. poor little el rey, who had never ceased to call, in all his waking hours for roseta, roseta who had found the charms of dondy jeem, with his tight-rope and his red trunk-hose and his spangles and his delightful wandering life, much more to be desired than the palm-board hut down on the edge of the river, with el rey to care for all day, and andres to attend when he returned at night from the sucker planting or banana cutting.

"how is the sea, andres?"

"it is quiet, se?or, not a ripple."

"and we shall have no moon?"

"as the se?or says, not for some weeks past have we had a moon."

don gil laughed. he could laugh now, loud and long. his heart was almost light. what better tool and confidant could he procure than a peon who knew so little of times and seasons as andres?

"and it is low tide at ten o'clock to-night?"

[pg 133]

"as the se?or says."

had don gil asked, "is the sea ink?" andres would have replied, "as the se?or says."

"at about what time is the red lantern lighted on los santos?"

"at about six o'clock, se?or. i heard old gremo say that he lights it each evening at six o'clock."

"he does not live near it now?"

"as the se?or says. the old casa fell quite to pieces in the last hurricane, and now gremo lives at the romando cannuca."

"he must start early from the conuco?"

"as the se?or says. at half after five. it is a long way to carry a ladder—there and back. gremo is afraid of the ghosts who infest the mompoja patch. if one but thrusts his head at you, you are lost. marianna romando says that gremo is not much of a man, but far superior to garcito romando. the few pesos that he gets for lighting the lantern keep the game cock in food."

"and no one can tamper with the light, i suppose?"

"as the se?or says. the good god forbid! the cords by which it is lowered hang so high that no one can reach them—not even natalio, who, as all know, is a giant."

"and you could not get that ladder, andres?"

"as the se?or says, when gremo carries it a mile[pg 134] away, and puts it inside the enclosure. he is a good shot, though so old. there is only one better in all the district. besides, there are ghosts between the asta and the cannuca."

don gil stood for a moment lost in thought.

"i suppose el rey needs you at home, andres. i should not keep—"

"that is quite true; i do, very much, se?or."

the thin little voice came from behind the giant ceiba round which the circular end of the veranda had been built.

"you here, el rey?"

a slight, childish figure emerged slowly from behind the giant trunk and leaned against its corrugated bark.

"el rey becomes weary staying down there in the palm hut, se?or. there is nothing to do but watch the pajara bobo, and the parrots, and listen to river, going, going, going! always going! has roseta been here, se?or?"

don gil shook his head. he gazed sadly at the child.

"when do you think she will come, se?or?"

"i know not, little one; perhaps to-morrow."

the boy raised his hand and smoothed down his thin hair. the hand trembled like that of an old man. his cheek was sunken, his lips colourless. he lifted his large eyes to don gil's face.

[pg 135]

"they always tell me that. ma?ana, ma?ana; always ma?ana!"

he sighed patiently, looking at the se?or, as if the great gentleman could help him in his trouble.

andres turned away his head. he gazed across the valley toward the hills beyond which lay troja. that was where they had gone to see dondy jeem, he and his pretty roseta—roseta, who had tossed her head and shaken the gold hoops in her ears when dondy jeem had kissed his hand to the spectators. he had turned always to the seats where roseta and andres, stupid andres—he knew that now—sat. then roseta had given el rey to the ever-willing arms of andres, and fixed her eyes on dondy jeem and watched his graceful poise, the white satin shoes descending so easily and securely upon the swaying rope, the long pole held so lightly in the strong hands. it had been before those days that roseta used to call the child her king. poor el rey! he looked a sorry enough little king to-day, a dethroned little king, with his pinched face and trembling fingers and wistful eyes, searching the world in vain for the kingdom which had been wrested from him.

"how did you get out of the rancho, el rey?"

"that se?orita from el cuco, she let me out."

"you should be in bed, muchachito."

"but it is lonely, se?or, in that bed. that is[pg 136] roseta's bed. i turn that way and this way. it is hot. i look for roseta. she is not there. a man look in at the door once; he frighten me. to-day a hairy beast came. he push back the shutter. when he was gone, i ran. i stumble, i fell over bajucos. i caught my foot in a root. that would not matter if i could find roseta. i would rather be here with the se?or than at the river."

el rey pushed a confiding little hand into don gil's palm. don gil sat down and took the child between his knees.

"andres, do you shoot as well as of old?"

"i shoot fairly well, se?or."

the se?or laughed. he had seen andres at only the last fair, less than a year ago, shoot, at eighty yards, a mexican dollar from between the fingers of dondy jeem. the scene recurred to andres. "had it been but his heart!" he muttered, dully. and then, with a look at don gil, "there are few who cannot do one thing well, se?or."

"you are far too modest, andres."

don gil glanced again at the lantern which andres had set down upon the veranda rail. when he had first caught sight of that lantern in andres's hand his difficulty had vanished like the morning mist. with a flash of thought, rather of many thoughts in one train, he had seen the proceedings[pg 137] of the evening to come mapped out like a plan of campaign.

"will you do something for me, andres?"

"the good god knows; anything that i can, se?or. but what i should prefer would be a night when the moon shines. he could not then see me behind the old ironwood, and i could distinguish him better when there is a little light. is it the se?or e'cobeda, se?or?"

don gil laughed again. he put el rey gently from him, and arose. he walked to the corner of the veranda and back again. andres took el rey tenderly up in his arms, the child laid his hot head on andres's shoulder.

"when will roseta come?" he whispered. with the unreason and trustful selfishness of childhood, he did not see that if his heart was breaking, the heart of andres had already broken.

"no, andres; it is not escobeda. i do not hire assassins, even for such a villain as he. but i need a servant as faithful and as dumb as if that were my custom. i want something done at once, andres, and i truly believe that you are the only one upon all the colo?ia whom i can trust. come in here with me. no! set the child down; he will listen and repeat."

"el rey will not listen at nothing, se?or," said the child. he clung tightly to andres's neck.

[pg 138]

"come in, then, both of you."

andres, with el rey in his arms, followed don gil across the large living-room. don gil turned as he unlocked the door at the end of the passage.

"i have something to say to you," he said, "which must not be overheard."

andres, the pioneer of his race, followed the se?or into the spring-like privacy of the sanctum.

"now don't worry your brain, andres. listen to what i shall ask of you, and go and do it. you know it has always been my theory that a peon should not try to think, and why? simply because he has no brain, andres."

"as the se?or says," assented andres.