As the young girl descended the hill to the little village she reflected upon the splendor of the home she had just quitted and wondered if such wealth as was displayed there could take the place of the companionship of a loved and loving human being; she remembered the very sad expression of the great gray eyes into which she had peered for a few fleeting moments and she marveled at the memory, for, as it seemed to the inexperience of Estrella, Ruth Wakefield should have been as happy as a queen indeed for she had the proud position, almost, of Royalty among the peons to whose constant society she, herself, had had to be accustomed from her earliest recollection of society at all.

In spite of her own great sorrow on account of the sudden death of Victorio Colenzo she felt comforted, somehow, by the memory of the vital nearness of the woman who was so much her superior, as it seemed to her, in every possible way; she could not know that in Ruth Wakefield's gentle bosom there throbbed a deeper and more lasting agony than any that she, herself, had ever experienced ... she only saw her own position among those who had little sympathy for her, as all the girls she knew well, except little Tessa, envied her as having been the sweetheart of a man they all admired, and the young men, feeling that she was superior, in many ways, to the girls of their own type, were jealous of the handsome Colenzo who had won so easily what they had failed to even attract.

Chief among these latter was Manuello who called himself her half-brother, half in derision and half in rough sport, for well he knew that no similar blood flowed through their veins as Estrella had been taken care of by his own mother simply from motives of pity for a deserted and helpless orphan; this loving and unselfish mother had passed away some time before the opening of this tale and Estrella had taken full charge of the household affairs of the family among whom she had grown up, as being the eldest of the girls, having always been of a domestic turn of mind and wishing to repay the kindness of those who had cared for her when she was unable to do so.

As she walked along she remembered several little duties for her to perform yet that night, although she felt that she wished to devote her entire attention to the funeral arrangements that she had made for poor Victorio whose mangled remains still lay at the improvised morgue in the village.

Reflecting on these arrangements, she remembered the money that old Mage had given to her which was yet clutched in the hand that had received it; hearing a slight noise in the path ahead of her, she hastily thrust the money into the bosom of her gown and advanced, cautiously, for there was much unrest all over the Island of Cuba at this time and no one was really safe, either at home or abroad, as the Governor-General had issued positive orders to arrest without question all those who were, in any manner, detrimental to the ruling powers.

Estrella was aware, in a dim and uncertain way, of existing conditions, and, having been a participant in the recent uprising, she was afraid that she might be detained by the government, in which case, how she could attend to the sorrowful duty of the morrow was a problem too big for her to solve on the spur of the moment; with the thought of this danger in her mind, she stepped carefully to one side of the narrow path, hoping that whoever or whatever had made the noise she had heard would pass on up the hill without observing her; she was standing as still as possible, fairly holding her breath and involuntarily clutching at the bundle of money in her dress, when she became conscious of the approach of someone or something from behind her and jumped, like a startled fawn, back into the path and down the hill at top speed; she knew that she was followed but did not stop until she had reached the door of the little cottage where she made her home; as she pushed madly at the door it yielded to her touch too quickly to have been moved by herself alone, and, hurridly entering, she found herself face to face with Manuello who pulled her hastily inside and barred the simple door, saying testily:

"Why did you startle me so? Had I not known your step, I would have kept you out until you had told me who you were ... don't you know that we, who have made ourselves conspicuous in the recent uprising, are being closely watched by the authorities and are liable to arrest at any moment? Why do you expose us in this manner by staying out after nightfall and perhaps bringing the soldiers who are stationed in the block-houses upon us? Is it not enough that you are marked as being the sweetheart of our dead leader? Must you even stray about the country-side after dark?"

"Manuello ..." panted the poor girl, "I was so frightened ... someone was in the path and I jumped to one side and then someone came behind me and I ran! I did not mean to do wrong ... I went to see the lady at the mansion on the hill ... she asked me to come for she pitied me because of Victorio's death.... I am sorry if I did wrong by going, Manuello ... I hope you will forgive me ..." she ended, pleadingly, leaning against the door with one hand over her fluttering heart and looking up into his angry eyes.

His countenance softened in a moment as he gazed upon her delicate beauty, and stretching out his arms he said to her:

"Rest, little Sister, here, here upon my breast. All the others are asleep and you and I are alone. I would not scold you for the world, but we must all be as cautious as we can for we are living in very dangerous times."

Estrella evaded his offered embrace and hastened into her own little room after bidding him a short goodnight; she wondered, vaguely, what it was that had startled her in the path, but, in spite of everything, her healthy youth soon asserted itself and she was lost to her little world upon the earth with all its many disappointments and unknown turnings.

The day upon which Estrella made her visit to the mansion on the hill, as the residence of Ruth Wakefield was popularly known in the village of San Domingo, was a memorable one in the history of the Spanish-American war for it happened to be the fifteenth day of February in the year of our Lord and Master 1898.

Upon that fateful day secret preparations had been made by the agents of some of those who were then in power over the people of Cuba ... secret mines had been laid and large quantities of explosives had been placed in Havana Harbor with a set purpose in view; many of those who had been incarcerated in political prisons had been kept in total ignorance of the movements of Spanish troops in Cuba but most of the inhabitants of the Island had known that, for some time, some definite object with reference to our own United States was being considered by those who directed the Spanish soldiery.

Among those who had been apprised of what had been going on during the confinement of those who had been liberated the night before in San Domingo was Manuello; during the absence of Estrella from their home, that evening, this redoubtable warrior had been hobnobbing with the Spanish soldiers in the block-house nearest to the village and had discovered something of the plot to blow up a United States battleship in Havana Harbor; as it was known that the Maine, an armored cruiser of the second-class, had been lying in the harbor for some weeks, the young fellow was especially nervous, and, hearing Estrella's flying feet approaching their dwelling, he dreaded some new horror.

The little village of San Domingo was wrapped in the first sound slumber of the night. Good Father Felix had been dreaming, for some hours, of the heavenly home he hoped, sometime, to reach; old Mage had long ago forgotten all about her defense of her dear young lady, that day, and Estrella was far away from every human care.

But Ruth Wakefield was one of those who never sleep right through the dark hours of any night; from her earliest recollection, she had been wide awake, with a clarified vision of the affairs of daily life as well as of those that were quite beyond the world of men and women who were yet embodied, about the hour of two A.M., and, when she had some especially knotty problem to solve, she seldom slept for more than an hour or so at a time, but would waken to a consciousness of the facts of her human existence with a shock that would almost always cause her to jump as if struck a blow, which, indeed, was the exact state of affairs, only the blow was a mental one.

On this one night, having lost the most of the sleep she should have had upon the previous one, her bodily strength was almost entirely exhausted so that she sunk into a deep and dreamless sleep during the first part of the evening and woke, with a start, about nine P.M.

Rising from her bed, as was her custom upon awakening in the night, she approached one of the large windows of her own room facing Havana Harbor; she could see the lights from the various vessels lying at anchor and imagined that she could make out those of the Maine, which, as it represented her own native land to her, was, naturally, of deep interest to her; she fell to imagining how it would seem to return to the United States on that great ship lying so peacefully and appearing to be so stanch and strong in the harbor below her window ... she wondered if it might not be better for her, now that she no longer had the keen interest in Cuba that she had only recently had, to go back to her own country and so possibly forget the dark eyes and lying lips of the man to whom she had given her virginity only to find it flouted and treated with disdain; for, try as she would to vindicate Victorio Colenzo, she was too just and reasonable to deny to herself that he had acted the part of a sneaking villain both to her and to poor, trusting Estrella, who had not had to see her dream of him lying in fragments at her feet, but who still believed that he had spoken the truth to her when he had told her that she was the only woman he had ever loved; she was too young to know that this statement is a regular trite and tried prevarication, common to almost all male lovers.

But Ruth, at present, was laboring under no delusions with regard to the man she had married, although his dead body was still unburied and she had not so much as said a prayer over his remains ... she knew beyond all shadow of doubt that he had been untrue to both of the women he had professed to love in San Domingo, and her mind was much distraught as she sat at her window and, gazed down upon Havana Harbor upon that memorable evening of February fifteenth, eighteen hundred and ninety-eight.

She had been watching a little boat plying back and forth between the wharf and the battleship which she had picked out among the other black hulks in the harbor as being the Maine, and was speculating, idly, what it could be about, as it seemed busily engaged in something of importance, when, all at once, a mighty detonation shook the entire harbor and the adjacent shore, making even her own stout residence tremble, and, where the majestic battleship had, only just a moment before, been a thing of beauty and power, there was nothing but a wild mass of flying dÉbris and a raging furnace of belching, flaming fire.

Ruth Wakefield realized, even as the terrific explosion occurred, that here was a turning point in the affairs of state and that, in all probability, her own country would, after this, become involved in the war that had been raging in Cuba, then, for about three years; it was with mingled feelings of dismay and dread that she surveyed the activity that very soon became apparent both in the harbor and in the city of Havana; she could see the lights of the rescuing boats as they circled about the scene of the wreck and even hear the groans and supplications of some of the severely wounded survivors, for the night was clear and the light wind carried the sounds from the harbor up to her window so that her very acute hearing told her that this was no casual accident, but, in all probability, a carefully planned holocaust in which her own much-loved native land would, inevitably be involved.

Manuello was one of the first to rush out upon the streets of the little village after the terrific noise of the explosion had rolled away; he passed hastily from cottage to cottage asking the inmates if they were aware of the cause of it, for, being a little below the level of Havana Harbor, the inhabitants of San Domingo could not command a view of it.

As no one seemed able to give him any explanation of the disturbing detonation, he even dared to approach one of the block houses held by the Spanish soldiery; here, he found everything in confusion and excitement ... men were hastily arming themselves so as to be in readiness for whatever orders might come from their superiors, and Manuello found no one among them who seemed much better informed than he, himself, was; he imagined that what he had heard had been the result of the consummation of the plans upon which he had stumbled earlier in the evening and started to climb to the top of the hill upon which Ruth Wakefield's residence was located in order to gain a view of Havana Harbor.

Manuello had almost reached the very top of the hill before he realized that he had come out into the night without a weapon of any kind, and, no sooner had he made this disconcerting discovery than he became aware of some sort of movement directly in his rear; wishing to avoid whatever it might be, he hastily concealed himself and waited for the approach of his unseen companion in the darkness; the steps he had heard came along the path hastily, yet steadily, and the owner of them soon appeared; as he passed Manuello, the young fellow made out that the new-comer was none other than the village Priest who, as it seemed likely, was bent upon the same errand as the hidden peon; Father Felix kept on, sturdily, climbing the grade to the mansion on the hill; having reached the house he at once disappeared inside it and Manuello was again alone upon the hillside.

Gaining a point of vantage, Manuello looked down upon Havana Harbor, and, at once, decided upon the course that he must pursue to cover himself from danger of suspicion as to the possibility of his having participated in the terrible calamity that had befallen the United States battleship, for Manuello knew the exact location of the different ships then anchored in Havana Harbor as he had in his possession a map of it upon which he had drawn certain black crosses which indicated the positions of different vessels, also certain ingenious little flourishes told him the nationality of the various ships, so that he felt as sure as if he were right upon the scene that the battleship Maine had been blown up in Havana Harbor, that fateful evening, and he knew that there would be a searching investigation made as to what had caused the explosion, so that Manuello had this little problem to consider as well as the one concerning the sudden and mysterious death of Victorio Colenzo just as he was about to be liberated from the prison at San Domingo; for Manuello knew far more concerning that casualty than he had imparted to Estrella when she had so diligently inquired of him about it.

Father Felix found Ruth Wakefield and her little, frightened household fully awake as well as fully aware of the nature of the episode that had startled him to such an extent that he had climbed the hill to ascertain the safety of the inhabitants of the mansion on the hill, for the good Priest pitied the mistress of the mansion far more than he did the poor girl in the cottage, knowing that added refinement often makes more poignant a sorrow that would inevitably be hard for any human heart to bear.