“God have mercy!  So young—­so beautiful!  What a pity!”

The two filibusters and the farmer’s eldest son, all visibly perturbed, likewise joined in the commotion, while the smaller children looked on from the background and whimpered.

“What’s happened?” O’Reilly demanded, breathlessly.

Norine turned a puzzled face to him, meanwhile warding off the farmer’s attack.  “I can’t quite make out,” she said.  “They all talk at once.  Please ask them what I’ve done.”  Mechanically she raised the ripe mango to her lips, whereupon the ranchero, with a yell, leaped upon her and violently wrenched it out of her fingers.

Facing O’Reilly, the man panted:  “There!  You saw her!  She wouldn’t listen to my wife—­”

“Oh, I warned her!” wailed the woman.  “But it was too late.”

“You must tell her what she has done,” said the fellow. in the stiff hat.

“Well, what has she done?” Johnnie managed to inquire, whereupon every one began a separate explanation: 

“She will never become your wife. ...  Look!  That’s not her first mango. ...  Enough to destroy an army. ...  You can see for yourself. ...  Wait!  Ask her how many she ate.  Ask her, senor, I implore you!”

There was a silence while Johnnie translated the question and repeated the answer: 

“She says she doesn’t remember, they are so nice and ripe—­”

“’So nice and ripe’!” shouted the owner of the farm, tearing his hair.

“’So nice and ripe’!” echoed his wife.

’"So nice and ripe’!” groaned the man who had awakened O’Reilly.  “Major Ramos told me to guard her with my life because she is the guest of Cuba.  Well, I shall kill myself.”

The country woman laid a trembling hand upon Norine’s arm, inquiring, gently:  “How are you feeling, my beautiful dove?  Sick, eh?”

“What on earth ails these people?” inquired the object of all this solicitude.  “I haven’t made away with a baby.  Maybe they’re afraid I won’t pay for my food?”

Light came to O’Reilly.  “I remember now,” said he.  “Mangoes and milk are supposed to be poisonous.  The woman wants to know how you feel.”

“Poisonous!  Nonsense!  They taste splendid.  Tell her I’m still half starved.”

It proved now that one of the three members of the landing-party possessed an unsuspected knowledge of English, which modesty alone had prevented him from revealing.  Under the stress of his emotion he broke out: 

“Oh, missy!  Those fruit is skill you.”

“I don’t believe it,” Miss Evans declared.

“It skill you, all right.  Maybe you got a headache here, eh?” The speaker laid a hand upon his abdomen and leaned forward expectantly.

“Nothing but an aching void.”