Mere mention of their stepmother’s name was enough for Rosa and Esteban; they scuttled away as fast as they could go, and when Dona Isabel came to their rooms, a few moments later, she found them in their beds, with their eyes deceitfully squeezed shut.  Evangelina was cowering in a corner.  Isabel had overheard the wager, and her soul was evilly alight; she jerked the slave girl to her feet and with a blow of her palm sent her to her quarters.  Then she turned her attention to the twins.  When she left them they were weeping silently, both for themselves and for Evangelina, whom they dearly loved.

Meanwhile Don Mario had resumed his singing.

Day was breaking when Esteban Varona bade his guests good-by at the door of his house.  As he stood there Sebastian came to him out of the mists of the dawn.  The old man had been waiting for hours.  He was half crazed from apprehension, and now cast himself prone before his master, begging for Evangelina.

Don Pablo, in whom the liquor was dying, cursed impatiently:  “Caramba!  Have I won the treasure of your whole establishment?” he inquired.  “Perhaps you value this wench at more than a thousand pesos; if so, you will say that I cheated you.”

“No!  She’s only an ordinary girl.  My wife doesn’t like her, and so I determined to get rid of her.  She is yours, fairly enough,” Varona told him.

“Then send her to my house.  I’ll breed her to Salvador, my cochero.  He’s the strongest man I have.”

Sebastian uttered a strangled cry and rose to his feet.  “Master!  You must not—­”

“Silence!” ordered Esteban.  Wine never agreed with him, and this morning its effects, combined with his losses at gambling, had put him in a nasty temper.  “Go about your business.  What do you mean by this, anyhow?” he shouted.

But Sebastian, dazed of mind and sick of soul, went on, unheeding.  “She is my girl.  You promised me her freedom.  I warn you—­”

“Eh?” The planter swayed forward and with blazing eyes surveyed his slave.  Esteban knew that he had done a foul thing in risking the girl upon the turn of a card, and an inner voice warned him that he would repent his action when he became sober, but in his present mood this very knowledge enraged him the more.  “You warn me?  Of what?” he growled.

At this moment neither master nor man knew exactly what he said or did.  Sebastian raised his hand on high.  In reality the gesture was meant to call Heaven as a witness to his years of faithful service, but, misconstruing his intent, Pablo Peza brought his riding-whip down across the old man’s back, crying: 

“Ho!  None of that.”

A shudder ran through Sebastian’s frame.  Whirling, he seized Don Pablo’s wrist and tore the whip from his fingers.  Although the Spaniard was a strong man, he uttered a cry of pain.

At this indignity to a guest Esteban flew into a fury.  “Pancho!” he cried.  “Ho!  Pancho!” When the manager came running, Esteban explained:  “This fool is dangerous.  He raised his hand to me and to Don Pablo.”