Uncle Adan had been taken ill. He was suffering from the exhalations of the swamp land through which he must travel to clear the river field. He had that and the cacao patch both on his mind. There was a general air of carelessness about the plantation of San Isidro which had never obtained before since Agueda's memory of the place. The peons and workmen lounged about the outhouses and stables, lazily doing the work that was absolutely needed, but there was no one to give orders, and there was no one who seemed to long for them. It appeared to be a general holiday.

Uncle Adan lay and groaned in his bed at the further end of the veranda, and wondered if the cacao seed had spoiled, or if it would hold good for another day. When Agueda begged him to get some sleep, or to take his quinine in preparation for the chill that must come, he only turned his face to the wall and groaned that the place was going to rack and ruin since those northerners had come down to the island. "I have seen the SeÑor plant the cacao," said Agueda. "He had the Palandrez and the Troncha and the Garcia-Garcito with him. He ordered, and they worked. I went with them sometimes." Agueda sighed as she remembered those happy days.

Uncle Adan turned his aching bones over, so that he could raise his weary eyes to Agueda's.

"That is all true," he said. "The SeÑor can plant, no Colono better. But one cannot plant the cacao and play the guitar at one and the same time."

Agueda hung her head as if the blame of right belonged to her.

"You act as if I blamed you, and I do," said Uncle Adan, shivering in the preliminary throes of his hourly chill. "You who have influence over the SeÑor! You should exert it at once. The place is going to rack and ruin, I tell you!"

Agueda turned and went out of the door. She was tired of the subject. There was no use in arguing with Uncle Adan, either with regard to the quinine or the visitors. She went to her own room, and took her hat from the peg. When again she came out upon the veranda, she had a long stick in one hand and a pail in the other. Then she visited the kitchen.

"Juana," she said, "fill this pail with water and tell Pablo and Eduardo Juan that I need them at once."

She waited while this message was sent to the recalcitrant peons, who lounged lazily toward the House at her summons.

"De SeÑorit' send fo' me?" asked Pablo.

"I sent for both of you," said Agueda. "Why have you done no cacao planting to-day?"

"Ain' got no messages," replied Pablo, who seemed to have taken upon himself the rÔle of general responder.

"You know very well that it is the messages that make no difference. Bring your machetes, both of you," ordered Agueda, "and come with me to the hill patch."

For answer the peons drew their machetes lazily from their sheaths.

"I knew that you had them, of course. Come, then! I am going to the field. Where is the cacao, Pablo?"

"Wheah Ah leff 'em," answered Pablo.

"And where is that?"

"In de hill patch, SeÑo'it'."

"And did some one, perhaps, mix the wood ashes with them?"

Pablo turned to Eduardo Juan, open-mouthed, as if to say, "Did you?"

Agueda also turned to Eduardo Juan. "Well! well!" she exclaimed impatiently, "were the wood ashes mixed, then, with the cacao seeds?"

Eduardo Juan shifted from one foot to the other, looked away at the river, and said, "Ah did not ogsarve."

"You did not observe. Oh, dear! oh, dear! Why can you never do as the SeÑor tells you? What will become of the plantation if you do not obey what the SeÑor tells you?"

"SeÑo' ain' say nuttin'," said Eduardo Juan, with a sly smile.

Agueda looked away. "I am not speaking of the SeÑor. I mean the SeÑor Adan," said she. "You know that he has charge of all; that he had charge long before—come, then! let us go."

As Agueda descended the steps of the veranda, she heard Beltran's voice calling to her. She turned and looked back. Don Beltran was standing in the open door of the salon. His pleasant smile seemed to say that he had just been indulging in agreeable words, agreeable thoughts.

"Agueda," said Beltran, "bring my mother's cross here, will you? I want to show it to my cousin."

Agueda turned and came slowly up the steps again. She went at once to her own room and opened the drawer where the diamonds lay in their ancient case of velvet and leather. The key which opened this drawer hung with the household bunch at her waist. The drawer had not been opened for some time, and the key grated rustily in the lock. Agueda opened the drawer, took the familiar thing in her hand, and returning along the veranda, handed it to Beltran. Then she ran quickly down the steps to join the waiting peons. But Felisa's appreciative scream as the case was opened reached her, as well as the words which followed.

"And you let that girl take charge of such a magnificent thing as that! Why, cousin, it must mean a fortune."

"Who? Agueda?" said Beltran. "I would trust Agueda with all that I possess. Agueda knew my mother. She was here in my mother's time."

The motherly instinct, which is in the ascendant with most women, arose within the heart of Agueda.

"Come, Palandrez, come, Eduardo Juan," said she. They could hardly keep pace with her. If there was no one else to work for him while he dallied with his pretty cousin, she would see that his interests did not suffer.

"Why, then, do you not go up there in the cool of the evening, Palandrez? You could get an hour's work done easily after the sun goes behind the little rancho hill."

"It is scairt up deyah," said Palandrez. "De ghos' ob de ole SeÑora waak an' he waak. Ain' no one offer deyah suvvices up on de hill when it git 'long 'bout daak."

Agueda went swiftly toward the hill patch, the peons sulkily following her. They did not wish to obey, but they did not dare to rebel. Arrived at her destination, she turned to Pablo, who was in advance of Eduardo Juan.

"Where, then, is the pail of seed, Pablo?"

Pablo, without answer, began to send his eyes roaming over and across the field. Eduardo Juan, preferring to think that it was no business of his, leaned against a tree-trunk and let his eyes rest on the ground at his feet. As these two broken reeds seemed of no practical use, Agueda began to skirt the field, and soon she came upon the pail, hidden behind a stump.

"Here it is, Eduardo Juan," she called. "Begin to dig your holes, you and Pablo, and I will—oh!" This despairing exclamation closed the sentence, and ended all hope of work for the day. Agueda saw, as she spoke, that the pail swarmed with ants. She pushed her stick down among the shiny brown seed, and discovered no preventive in the form of the necessary wood ashes. The seed was spoiled.

"It is no use, Pablo," she said. "Come and see these ants, you that take no interest in the good of the SeÑor." She turned and walked dejectedly down the hill. Pablo turned to Eduardo Juan.

He laughed under his breath.

"De SeÑo' taike no intrus' in hees own good."

"Seed come from Palmacristi; mighty hard git seed dis time o' yeah," answered Eduardo Juan, with a hopeful chuckle. If no more seed were to be had, then no more planting could be done.

Later in the evening, as Agueda went toward the kitchen, she passed by Felisa's doorway. A glimpse was forced upon her of the interior of the pretty room and its occupant. Felisa was seated before the mirror. She had donned a gown the like of which Agueda had never seen. The waist did not come all the way up to the throat, but was cut out in a sort of hollow, before and behind, for Agueda saw the shoulders which were toward her, quite bare of covering, and in the mirror she caught the reflection of maidenly charms which in her small world were not a part of daily exhibit. Agueda stopped suddenly.

"Oh, SeÑorita!" she exclaimed under her breath. "Does the SeÑorita know that her door is open? Let me close it, and the shutter on the other side. I will run round there in a minute. Some one might see the SeÑorita; people may be passing along the veranda at any moment."

Felisa gave a shrill and merry laugh.

"People might see! Why, my good girl, don't you know that is just why we wear such gowns, that people may see? Come and fasten this thing. Isn't it lovely against my neck?"

Agueda could not but admit to her secret soul that it was lovely against Felisa's neck. But she coloured as she entered and closed the door carefully behind her. She had seen nothing like this, except in those abandoned picture papers that came sometimes from the States, or from France, to Don Beltran, and then, as often as not, she hid them that she might not see him looking at them. She could not bear to have him look at them. She felt—

"Open the door, that's a good girl! There! Are you sure that the catch is secure? These beauties were my aunt's. See how they become me. I would not lose them for the world. Oh! had I only had them before."

"Are—are—they—has the SeÑor given them perhaps—to—to—"

"Well, not exactly, Agueda, good girl; but some day, who knows—there!" Felisa made a pirouette and sank in a low curtsey on the bare floor, showing just the point of a pink satin toe. "See how they glitter, even in the light of these candles. Imagine them in a ball-room—Agueda, and me in them! Now I must go and show my cousin. Open the door. Do you not hear—open the—"

"The SeÑorita is never going to show herself to the SeÑor in such a gown as that! What will the SeÑor say? The SeÑorita will never—"

But Felisa had pushed past Agueda, and was half-way down the veranda.

The thoughts that flashed through Agueda's mind were natural ones. She had honestly done her best to keep the SeÑorita from disgracing herself in the SeÑor's eyes, but she would have her way. She had gone to her own destruction. There was a quickening of Agueda's pulses. Ah! Now he would turn to her again. He could not bear any sign of immodesty in a woman. He had often said to Agueda that that was her chief charm, her modesty. He had called her "Little Prude," and laughed when she blushed. Was it to be wondered at that Agueda rejoiced at Felisa's coming defeat, at her imminent discomfiture, the moment that Beltran should see her? She stood in the doorway of Felisa's room, watching the fairy-like figure as it lightly danced like a will-o'-the-wisp down the dark veranda's length, flashing out like a firefly as it passed an opening where there was a light within, going out in the darkness between the doors, still keeping up its resemblance to the ignis fatuus.

Before Felisa reached the salon Beltran came out to discover why his charmer had absented herself for so long a time. Agueda caught the look in his eyes, as he stood, almost aghast at the meretricious loveliness of the little creature before him. He gazed and gazed at her. Was it in disgust? Alas! no. Poor Agueda! Rapture shone from his eyes. He opened his arms. But Felisa eluded him and danced round the corner of the veranda.

"You pretty thing! You pretty, you lovely, you adorable thing!" she heard Beltran exclaim, as utterly fascinated, he followed the small siren in her tantalizing flight.