not know his name, and the adventuress has not even the fear of his reappearance to disturb her present serenity.
But if the Don and his daughter are charmed by their guest, not so Don Carlos, and it is with difficulty that that gentle youth conceals his dislike. An instinctive distrust of the beautiful American takes possession of him, and to avoid exhibiting this distrust, which he admits to himself is unfounded, he spends most of his time in solitary walks about the vast pueblo or in long rides upon the back of his favorite pony.
Late in the afternoon of the 7th of April, two days after the arrival of Mrs. Harding at the quinta, that lady, her elderly host and his daughter are seated on the veranda, enjoying the light breeze from the gulf which renders life in Cuba endurable and even attractive for a few hours.
An interruption to the conversation comes in the person of a courier, who rides up to the quinta, delivers to Quesada a small packet of papers, and, after a glass of wine, departs as hastily as he came.
The Don excuses himself and retires to his study. A few moments later he reappears and calls to Carlos, who is coming up the lawn. Young Navarro bows to Mrs. Harding and follows the Don into the study.
"I have just received important news," says the latter. "Capt. Guerra sends word that a big supply train was dispatched by the captain-general from Havana for Santiago this morning or last night. Is it not to-day or to-*morrow that Navarro was to be at or near Jibana?"
Carlos nods. "He should certainly be there now."
Quesada paces the room, his brow knitted in thought. "If word could be got to him at once," he says, "Dios! The train might be captured. But how to send him word—there is the obstacle."
"How far is Jibana from Santiago?" asks Carlos, into whose mind has come a sudden thought that causes his cheeks to alternately flush and pale.
"A full day's journey by rail. No; I fear word could not be sent him in time."
