Don Gil Silencio and the SeÑora sat within the shady corner of the veranda. In front of the SeÑora stood a small wicker table. Upon the table was an old silver teapot, battered in the side, whose lid had difficulty in shutting. This relic of the past had been brought from England by the old SeÑora when she returned from the refuge she had obtained there, in one of her periodical escapes from old Don Oviedo. The old SeÑora had brought back with her the fashion of afternoon tea; also some of the leaves from which that decoction is made. The teapot, as well as the traditionary fashion of tea at five o'clock, had been left as legacies to her grandson, but of the good English tea there remained not the smallest grain of dust. The old SeÑora had been prodigal of her tea. She had on great occasions used more than a saltspoonful of the precious leaves at a drawing, and every one knows that at that rate even two pounds of tea will not last forever.

They had been married now for two weeks, the SeÑor Don Gil and the SeÑora, and for the first time in her young life the SeÑora was happy. Sad to have reached the age of seventeen and not to have passed one happy day, hardly a happy hour! Now the girl was like a bird let loose, but the SeÑor, for a bridegroom, seemed somewhat distrait and dejected. As he sipped his weak decoction he often raised his eyes to the wooded heights beyond which Troja lay.

"What is the matter, Gil? Is not the tea good?"

"As good as the hay from the old potrera, dear Heart. And cold? One would imagine that we possessed our own ice-machine."

The SeÑora looked at Don Gil questioningly. His face was serious. She smiled. These were virtues, then! The SeÑora did not know much about the English decoction.

"Be careful, Raquel. That aged lizard will fall into the teapot else; he might get a chill. Chills are fatal to lizards." Don Gil was smiling now.

Raquel closed the lid with a loud bang. The lizard scampered up the allemanda vine, where it hid behind one of the yellow velvet flowers.

"But you seem so absent in mind, Gil. What is it all about? You look so often up the broad camino. Do you expect any—any one—Gil?"

Don Gil dropped over his eyes those long and purling lashes which, since his adolescence, had been the pride and despair of every belle within the radius of twenty miles.

"You do expect some one, Gil; no welcome guest. That I can see. Oh! Gil. It is my un—it is Escobeda whom you expect."

Don Gil did not look up.

"I think it is quite likely that he will come," he said. "I may as well tell you, Raquel; the steamer arrived this morning. He must have waited there over a steamer." Had Silencio voiced his conviction, he would have added, "Escobeda's vengeance may be slow, but it is sure as well."

The SeÑora's face was colourless, her frightened eyes were raised anxiously to his. Her lips hardly formed the word that told him of her fear.

"When?" she asked.

"Any day now. But do not look so worried, dear Heart. I think that we need not fear Escobeda."

"But he will kill us, Gil. He will burn the casa."

"No. He might try to crush some poor and defenceless peon, but hardly the owner of Palmacristi. Still, all things are possible, all cruelties and barbarities, with a man like Escobeda. His followers are a lawless set of rascals."

"And he will dare to attack us here, in our home?"

The SeÑora's hands trembled as she moved the cups here and there upon the table.

"An Englishman says, 'My house is my castle.' If I cannot say that; I can say, 'My house is my fort.' I will try to show you that it is, when the time comes, but look up! Raquel. Smile! dear one. I know that my wife is not a coward."

With an assumption of carelessness, the SeÑora took a lump of sugar from the bowl and held it out to the penitent lizard. It came haltingly down the stem of the vine, stretching out its pointed nose to see what new and unaccustomed dainties were to be offered it.

"He has sent you a message, Gil?"

"Who, Escobeda? Yes, child. He sent me a letter under a flag of truce, as it were. The letter was written at the government town."

"And he sent it—"

"Back by the last steamer, Raquel. His people are not allowed to enter our home enclosure, as you know. I allowed one of the peons to take the letter. He brought it to the trocha. Any one can come there. It is public land."

Raquel dropped the sugar; it rolled away.

"Gil, Gil!" she said, "you terrify me. What shall we do?" She arose and went close to him and laid her hands upon his shoulders. "Escobeda! with his cruel ways, and more cruel followers—"

"He is Spanish."

"So are we, Gil, we are Spanish, too."

"Yes, child, with the leaven of the west intermingled in our veins, its customs, and its manners."

"Gil, dearest, I can never tell you what I suffered in that house. What fear! What overpowering dread! Whenever one of those lawless men so much as looked at me I trembled for the moment to come. And no one knows, Gil, what would have hap—happened unless he—had been reserving—me for—for a fate—worse than—" Her face was dyed with shame; she broke off, and threw herself upon her husband's breast. Her words became incoherent in a flood of tears.

Silencio held his young wife close to his heart, he pressed his lips upon her wet eyelids, upon her disordered hair. He soothed her as a brave man must, forgetting his own anxiety in her terror.

"My peons are armed, Raquel. They are well instructed. They are, I think, faithful, as much so, at least, as good treatment can make them. Even must they be bribed, they shall be. I have more money than Escobeda, Raquel. Even were you his daughter, you are still my wife. He could not touch you. As it is, he has no claim upon you. I am not afraid of him. He may do his worst, I am secure."

"And I?"

"Child! Are not you the first with me? But for you I should go out single-handed and try to shoot the coward down. But should I fail—and he is as good a shot as the island boasts—Raquel, who would care for you? I have thought it all out, child. My bullets are as good as Escobeda's; they shoot as straight, but I hope I have a better way; I have been preparing for your coming a long time, dear Heart, and my grandfather before me."

Raquel looked up from her hiding-place on his breast.

"Your grandfather, Gil, for me?"

Silencio smiled down upon the upraised eyes.

"Yes, for you, Raquel, had he but known it. Come! child, come! Dry your tears! Rest easy! You are safe." As Silencio spoke he shivered. "Your tea has gone to my nerves."

He took the pretty pink teacup from the veranda rail, where he had placed it, and set it upon the table. He looked critically at the remains of the pale yellow decoction.

"Really, Raquel, if you continue to give me such strong drinks, I shall have to eschew tea altogether."

"I am so sorry. I put in very little, Gil."

Silencio had brought a smile to her face. There is bravery in success of this kind, bringing a smile to the face of a beloved and helpless creature when a man's heart is failing him for fear.

"Let us walk round to the counting-house," he said.

He laid his arm about her shoulder, and together they strolled slowly to the side veranda, traversed its lengths, and descended the steps. They walked along the narrow path which led to the counting-house, and turned in at the enclosure. At the door they halted. Silencio took a heavy key from his pocket. Contrary to custom, he had kept the outer door locked for the past fortnight.

"Our Don Gil is getting very grand with his lockings up, and his lockings up," grumbled Anicito Juan. "There were no lockings up, the good God knows, in the days of the old SeÑor."

"And the good God also knows there were no lazy peons in the days of the old SeÑor to pry and to talk and to forget what they owe the family. When did the peon see meat in the days of the old SeÑor? When, I ask? When did you see fowl in a pot, except for the SeÑores? And now the best of sugar, and bull for the san-coche twice a week. And peons of the most useless can complain of such a master! Oh! Ta-la!"

A storm of words from the family champion, Guillermina, fell as heavily upon the complainant as a volley of blows from a man. Anicito Juan ducked his head as if a hurricane were upon him, and rushed away to cover.

Silencio tapped with his key upon the trunk of the dead palm tree which arose grand and straight opposite its mate at the side of the doorway.

"Now watch, Raquel," he said.

The tall trunk had sent back an answering echo from its hollow tube. Then there was a strange stir within the tree. Raquel looked upward. Numberless black beaks and heads protruded from the holes which penetrated the sides of the tall stem from the bottom to the top, as if to say, "Here is an inquisitive stranger. Let us look out, and see if we wish to be at home."

Raquel laughed gleefully. She took the key from her husband's fingers, crossed the path, and tapped violently upon the barkless trunk of the second palm tree. As many more heads were thrust outward as in the first instance. Some of the birds left their nests in the dead tree, flew a little way off, and alighted upon living branches, to watch for further developments about the shell where they had made their homes. Others cried and chattered as they flew round and round the palm, fearing they knew not what. Raquel watched them until they were quiet, then tapped the tree again. As often as she knocked upon the trunk the birds repeated their manoeuvres. She laughed with delight at the result of each recurring invasion of the domestic quiet of the carpenter birds.

So engaged was Raquel that she did not perceive the entrance of a man into the small enclosure of the counting-house, nor did she see Silencio walk to the gate with the stranger. The two stood there talking hurriedly, the sound of their voices quite drowned by the cries of the birds.

As Raquel wearied of teasing the birds, she dropped her eyes to earth to seek some other amusement. A man was just disappearing round the corner of the paling. Silencio had turned and was coming back to her along the path which led from the gate to the door of the counting-house.

She met him with smiles, her lips parted, her face flushed.

"Who was that, Gil—that man? I did not see him come."

"You have seen him go, dear Heart. Is not that enough?"

Silencio spoke with an effort. His face was paler than it had been; Raquel's face grew serious. His anxiety was reflected in her face, as the sign of a storm in the sky is mirrored in the calm surface of a pool.

"Tell me the truth, Gil. You have had a message from Escobeda?"

"Not exactly a message, Raquel. That was one of my men. A spy, we should call him in warfare."

"And he brings you news?"

"Yes, he brings me news."

"What news, Gil? What news? I am horribly afraid. If he should take me, Gil! Oh! my God! Gil, dear Gil! do not let him take me!"

She threw herself against his breast, white and trembling. This was a horror too deep for tears.

Silencio smiled, though the arm which surrounded her trembled.

"He shall never take you from me, never! I am not afraid of that. But your fears unman me! Try to believe what I say, child. He shall never take you from me. Come! let us go in."

He took the key from her hand, and unlocked and opened the outer door of the counting-house. He pushed her gently into the room, and followed her, closing and locking the door behind him. Then he opened the door of the second room, and ushered her into this safe retreat. While he was fastening the door of this room, Raquel was gazing about her with astonishment. Her colour had returned; Silencio's positive words had entirely reassured her. "I never knew of this pretty room, Gil. Why did you never tell me of it?"

"I have hardly become accustomed to your being here, Raquel. There is much yet to learn about Palmacristi. Wait until I show you—"

Silencio broke off with a gay laugh.

"What! What will you show me, Gil? Ah! that delicate shade of green against this fresh, pure white! A little boudoir for me! How good you are to me! You have kept it as a surprise?"

Silencio laughed again as she ran hither and thither examining this cool retreat. He wondered if she would discover the real nature of those walls. But the delicacy of Raquel prevented her from touching the hangings, or examining the articles in the room except with her eyes.

"I spoke to you of my fortress, dear Heart."

"Oh! Are you going to show me your fortress? Come! come! Let us go!"

She took him by the arm and urged him to the further door.

"We need not go to seek it, child; it is here."

Silencio drew back the innocent-looking hangings and disclosed the steel plates which the SeÑor Don Juan Smit' had brought down from the es-States and had set in place. Silencio tapped the wall with his finger.

"It is bullet-proof," he said.

At the sight of this formidable-looking wall Raquel's colour vanished, as if it were a menace and not a protection, but not for long. Her cheek flushed again. She laughed aloud, her eyes sparkled. She was like a little child with a new toy, as she ran about and examined into the secrets of this innocent-looking fortress.

"Gil! Gil!" she cried, "what a charming prison! How delightful it will be to hear Escobeda's bullets rattling on the outside while we sit calmly here drinking our tea."

"Perhaps we can find something even more attractive in the way of refreshment." Silencio had not forgotten the cup which had neither inebriated nor cheered.

"I see now that you have no windows. At first I wondered. How long should we be safe here? Could he break in the door?"

Silencio bit his lip.

"Not the outer door. And the door leading into the house—well, even Escobeda would hardly—I may as well tell you the truth, Raquel. Sit down there, child, and listen."

The young wife perched herself upon the tall stool that stood before the white desk, her lips parted in a delicious smile. The rose behind her ear fell forward. She took it in her fingers, kissed it, and leaping lightly from her seat, ran to Silencio and thrust it through the buttonhole of his coat. Then she ran back and perched herself again upon her stool.

"Go on," she said, "I am ready." And then, womanlike, not waiting for him to speak, she asked the question, "Is he coming to-night, Gil?"

"I only wish that he would, for the darkness is our best friend. Escobeda expects an ambush, and my men are ready for it, but he will be here bright and early to-morrow. But be tranquil, I have sent for Beltran, Raquel. He will surely come. He never deserted a friend yet."

"How many men can he muster, Gil?" anxiously asked Raquel.

"Ten or twelve, perhaps. The fact that we are the attacked party, the men to hold the fortress, is in our favour. I still hope that the Coco will arrive in time. I hardly think that Escobeda will dare to use absolute violence—certainly not when he sees the force that I can gather at Palmacristi, and recognises the moral force of Beltran's being on my side."

"Oh, Gil! Why did you not send for the yacht before this?" Raquel descended from her perch and crossed the floor to where Silencio stood.

"Child! I had sent her away to Lambroso to prepare for just such a moment as this. It was the very day that your note came. She should be repaired by now. I cannot think what keeps her. I am sure that the repairs were not so very formidable."

"Do you think that Escobeda could have stopped the Coco, delayed her—?"

"No, hardly, though he may have seen the yacht over there. But after all, Raquel, we may as well go to the root of the matter now as later. It may be as well that the yacht is not here. If we should run away, we might have the fight to make all over again. However, we must act for the best when the time comes. Have no fear, Raquel, have no fear."

But as Don Gil looked down at the little creature at his side, a horrible fear surged up within his own heart, and rose to his throat and nearly choked him. She still raised her eyes anxiously to his.

"And your friend, your relative, that Don Beltran. You are sure that we may trust him, Gil?"

"Beltran?" Silencio laughed. "I wish that I were as sure of Heaven as of Beltran's faithfulness. He will be here, never fear. He never deserted a friend yet. If you awake in the night at the sound of horses' hoofs, that will be Beltran coming over the hill; do not think of Escobeda. Go to sleep, and rest in perfect security. If you must think at all, let your thoughts be of my perfect faith in my friend, who will arrive before it is light. I wish that I were as sure of Heaven."

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