When Estrella reached the mansion on the hill she found its mistress quietly awaiting her outside the dwelling; she welcomed the young girl with out-stretched hands, saying:

"Father Felix has done well, indeed, to send you to me so quickly, Estrella. I want you to feel perfectly at home, here. Old Mage will take you to your own room and tell you what little duties you may assume if you wish to do so. When you have arranged these little domestic matters, come to me in the library and we will talk over some plans I have in which I think you will be interested when you have somewhat recovered from your recent loss. I know, from my own experience, that there is but one way to carry sorrow through one's daily life and that is to be busy. If one has enough physical energy and nervous strength, one can accomplish a great deal of good in the world in spite of personal sorrow. You are young and have not had an easy life so far ... it may be that I can assist you so that, from now on, you and I may be able to help each other in doing good work among those who are weaker than we are."

Old Mage was only too willing to take charge of the girl, for, while she did not really like the idea of having her in the family, yet, she was aware that Ruth needed companionship and she enjoyed having a goodly number of people around her as her life consisted, mainly, of what each day brought into it, for old Mage, while she was a good woman and a faithful friend, was not a thinker and made few plans for the future.

She led Estrella to the room that Ruth had arranged to have her occupy, and, having explained certain little matters to her concerning the daily round of life in the house, she began to question her as to what she had learned regarding the explosion in Havana Harbor and what she thought as to the probability of the United States declaring war on Spain on account of it.

The girl had little information to give to the old woman for she had been too much absorbed by her own recent grief to even think of any of the consequences that might follow the accident ... it seemed to her that if the whole United States navy were blown up, it would make small difference to her now that she had lost Victorio for he had represented to her everything that meant happiness for her in the future; she had yet to learn many things that would, eventually, bring to her the kind of happiness that is lasting and to be depended upon when all that is transitory and ephemeral has passed beyond knowledge and memory.

At length, old Mage wearied of quizzing Estrella and left her to her own thoughts which were confused and uncertain; she did not understand why the lady of the mansion had condescended to ask her to come to her for Father Felix had left her in doubt as to any reason, only telling her that Miss Ruth desired her to come to her, at least for a time, to act as a sort of companion as she was alone a great deal; he did not explain to her that there might be work for her to do in the near future, leaving that part to Ruth, very wisely.

Father Felix led his little flock into fresh pastures when he felt that they were ready for such a change but he reflected deeply before doing this and hoped, in the case of the girl under consideration, that companionship with one as unselfish and intrinsically good and noble as Ruth Wakefield would do more for her character than any counsel he could give to her; the good Priest was well aware that the handsome, young, dashing Cuban had fascinated both the women and he felt sure that, had he lived long enough in the same world with them, he would have broken both their hearts, for it was his nature, evidently, to gather flowers wherever he found them and throw them away to wither and die; Father Felix was a normal human being as well as a spiritual leader and he recognized facts with regard to human nature as he found them, not being deceived by appearances as a less intellectual person would have been, or as a man possessed of weaker masculine traits than those that had been bestowed upon him.

There was one among his parishioners of whose case he was doubtful ... he was very anxious concerning Manuello for he knew that the young man had some sort of guilty secret that he had confessed to no one and this was one reason influencing him in his endeavor to extricate the innocent Estrella from her immediate surroundings; he knew that, in the troubled condition of the country, Manuello would be almost certain, with his wild and untutored nature, to get into some sort of tangle with authorities and supposed that the trouble he was well aware of as being on the young fellow's conscience had something to do with existing Spanish laws; he, himself, in breaking down the doors of the prison in order to liberate this man among the rest of the prisoners, had been guilty of violating a strict mandate and knew that he was liable to arrest at any time, but, now that America might come into the struggle on her own account, instead of simply through sympathy with the wrongs of the people of Cuba, he realized that his own case had taken on a new color, for, as he had told Ruth Wakefield, Father Felix was a native American and loved his own country devotedly, although he had been acting as a missionary in Cuba for some years of his active life in the priesthood; he was dwelling on the state of mind of Manuello, sitting quietly in his own place in the refectory, the evening after the events related in the preceding chapter, when he heard a hasty knock at his door and immediately opened it to admit the subject of his thoughts.

The young man entered as if upon a desperate errand and sat down in the first chair he found without waiting for the invitation of the Priest, a proceeding that, alone, showed the condition of his mind:

"Good Father," he began without introduction, "where is Estrella? She has not been home for some hours and none of the family seem to know much about her; all they told me was that I was to come to you for information ... and here I am."

The Priest looked into his eager face and pitied while he condemned him, for he could see that he greatly mourned the absence of the girl whom he had decided in his own heart to have for his own.

"Manuello," said Father Felix, at length, having regarded him with a sympathetic smile, "you must accept the situation as calmly as you can. I have to tell you that Estrella has found another home than yours and will, from this on, be under good care and will, I hope, find happiness later on in her career ... she is a good girl and deserves to be happy," he concluded, benevolently.

"Do you mean," demanded Manuello, "that I am not to see her any more? That I am to be shut out from her life? I want to know," he rose to his feet, "I demand to know what you have done with her? Have you placed her in some convent?"

His voice had risen as he added question to question and he faced the Priest with a fierce expression on his dark and lowering features. His attitude had no effect on Father Felix who was without bodily fear and knew that, in the present instance, at least, he stood upon safe ground, having, as he well knew, removed the girl from danger from the very being who, now, glared at him:

"My Son," he said, "my Son, compose yourself. I will brook no demonstration of vile anger from you. Estrella has been put beyond your power. I do not know," he went on, coolly, "just what it is that is upon your conscience at present, but I do know there is something that will not bear a close investigation by the authorities, and I advise you to have a care how you conduct yourself in the future. Cuba will have need of your strong arm and I hope that you will use it in her service."

Cowed by the sternness of the tone of voice in which he had been addressed as well as by his own guilty knowledge, Manuello, silently, and without thanks or regrets of any kind, left the refectory, slamming the door after him ... an indignity that few would dare to place upon their record; giving vent, inwardly, to the curses he did not dare to utter, he retraced his steps to his own home, intending to get what information he could from the other members of his family as to how Estrella went away; reaching his domicile, he, at once, began to ply his father, who had returned from his daily toil, with various inquiries, but found him not only uncommunicative but, apparently, also uninformed as to what had taken place during his absence; all that the other members of the family knew was that Father Felix had come hurriedly to the house and had a short conversation with Estrella when she had packed a few personal effects, of which, indeed, the poor girl had but few, and left the place, telling them she would see them again from time to time and leaving kind farewells for both himself and his father.

Then he remembered how intimate Estrella had always been with Tessa and decided his best course would be to go to her little friend, being well aware that any information she might have she would gladly give to him; he was hurrying along, intent upon this new hope of relief from his anxiety regarding the woman he imagined himself to be deeply in love with, when, all at once, he became aware that someone was following his footsteps, guardedly and yet with determination; immediately upon this knowledge, there stalked into the foreground of his consciousness the fear of discovery of his recent crime; the intimation of the Priest that he had suspected it had stirred within him the instinct of self-protection and he hastened his progress along the familiar and narrow street, hoping to out-distance his pursuer, whoever he might happen to be.

It seemed to him that he was succeeding in this last effort and he was congratulating himself upon his own celerity, when a hand was laid rather heavily upon his shoulder and a loud and insistent voice declared him to be the prisoner of the owner of it.

Instantly, Manuello became a beast of prey, cornered in its lair, and furious with all the animal instincts of self-preservation. He squirmed away from the heavy hand and whirled around to face his would-be captor and looked directly into the muzzle of a very capable gun held in steady hands that seemed well accustomed to its use.

"Up wid ye'er fists, ye dirty spalpeen ye!" commanded the man behind the gun, using his own rich native brogue in the excitement of the moment. "Hould 'em right there ..." he went on, as Manuello, instinctively, though sullenly, obeyed him, "til I snap these putty bracelets on ye'er wrists!" fumbling in his pocket with one hand while he held the gun in the other, steadying it against his shoulder, for he had come prepared, knowing his prospective prisoner to be a desperate character. "There, now!" having completed his search and placed a handcuff on one of Manuello's wrists. "Up wid that one and over to its mate!"

But his prisoner was indeed a desperate man and did not intend to yield to arrest as easily as it had appeared, at first; raising the manacled wrist, he brought the steel bracelets down on the red head of the Irishman, felling him to the ground; then it was but the work of a moment to secure the loaded gun, and, after that, the tables were completely turned for Manuello immediately became the master of the situation; looking hastily about him to be sure that he was unobserved, he was about to complete the utter defeat of the man who had given him such a terrific fright by beating his brains out with the clubbed gun, when he heard his own name spoken in a soft, low, scared voice; turning, he beheld little Tessa standing behind him.

"Oh, Manuello," she cried, breathing pantingly, "what has happened here? Are you hurt? There is blood on your wrist ... and ..." here she stopped in consternation, "what else have you here?" for the Irishman had done, at least, a part of his work well, having locked the handcuff which the young man had almost forgotten he was wearing, "Take the hateful thing off, dear Manuello ... do take it off ... I don't like to see it on your wrist."

"Easier said than done, my dear little Girl!" declared the victim, smilingly. "But we can fix that somehow; in the meantime, we will let this fellow lay where he has fallen. Someone of his tribe will, likely, be along, soon, and they can take care of each other. Come along, Tessa, we will see what we can do with this piece of jewelry ... it is rather unwieldy ... I don't like the look of it."

The home of the young girl was not far distant and thither they repaired; after repeated efforts to file through or break the manacles, Tessa bethought herself of one possible method of releasing Manuello and acted upon her idea at once; running out upon the street she approached the place where the soldier had fallen, for he wore the uniform of the Spanish army, intending to feel in all of his pockets for a key that would unlock the handcuffs.

As she drew near to the spot she heard low voices and crept along in the shadow of the shrubbery that lined the narrow street until she was within ear-shot; then she realized that two more soldiers had joined their fallen comrade whom they had resuscitated, so that he was relating to them something of the circumstances that had led to his present plight:

"Ye see, b'ys," he was saying, "I wanted to arrist the spalpeen myself becase I think he is not only a revolutionist, but, also, a mhurderer ... a fella we arristed yesterday tould me that he thinks this wan killed the leader of thim all ... seems he was jealous of him ... they both wanted the same ghirl...."

Tessa, realizing that her errand was useless, turned to go back silently, but the words she had heard had burned themselves into her brain, and when she was again beside Manuello he seemed far different to her than he had before; she found him almost crazy from fear of discovery as he had failed in all of his efforts to free himself from the device that had been placed upon his wrist.

"Did you get the key?" he demanded, almost fiercely. "Where is it? This cursed thing is almost killing me!"

Frightened at his expression and regretting her inability to help him, the girl began to cry, lifting her apron to her eyes to wipe away her tears; as she did so, the young man said to her, angrily:

"Well ... stand there and cry while I am suffering ... you'll do a lot of good that way ... hustle out and see if you can't find some tool to get this thing off of me ... go to the village blacksmith and tell him some lie or other ... ask him how you can get an iron off your little sister's leg ... do something ... someone will come in and find me this way!"

"Even if they did, Manuello ... you are not under arrest ... the man don't know where you are, now; but I'll go and try to find some way to help you ... of course I will ..." said the generous-hearted girl, "I am so sorry for you, and, now, that Estrella is gone...."

She hurried out, then, leaving the young fellow in no pleasant mood, for he had much to reflect upon and a pair of heavy handcuffs hanging to one wrist is not conducive to a man's happiness.

Tessa soon returned and had to report that her efforts in his behalf were, again, unsuccessful, for the blacksmith had only said:

"Bring the child to me and I will do what I can for her."

Manuello was, now, almost in despair and he was wise enough to know that cursing, while it might relieve his feelings to some extent, would not really help the situation, so he pulled his sleeve down as far as he could over the manacled wrist and proceeded to find out what he could concerning Estrella.

Tessa would have felt much freer than she did had she not remembered the words of the soldiers concerning the crime of which they suspected the young man, and only told him that Estrella had come running to her, that morning, and had told her that she was going away for a while but that she would see her again, soon.

Manuello had to content himself with this, hoping to find out more from Tessa within a day or so, and went away, divided between a desire to revenge himself upon the man who had tried to arrest him and self-congratulation upon his escape, but most of all he pondered how to get the hateful handcuffs from his wrist, for, besides being painful and unwieldly, he knew that they would attract attention to him.