Now it did not occur to Cueto really to doubt the boy’s innocence, though the circumstances of Dona Isabel’s death were suspicious enough to raise a question in any mind; but in view of Esteban’s threat he thought it wise to protect himself by setting a back-fire.  It was with some such vague idea in his head that he turned to the sunken garden as the first gray light of dawn appeared.  He hoped to gain some inspiration by examining the place again, and, as it proved, he succeeded beyond his most sanguine expectations.

As he sat on an old stone bench, moodily repicturing the catastrophe as Esteban had described it, his attention fell upon an envelope at his feet.  It was sealed; it was unaddressed.  Cueto idly broke it open and began to read.  Before he had gone far he started; then he cast a furtive glance about.  But the place was secluded; he was unobserved.  When he finished reading he rose, smiling.  He no longer feared Esteban.  On the contrary, he rather pitied the young fool; for here between his fingers was that which not only promised to remove the boy from his path forever, but to place in his hands the entire Varona estates.  Fate was kind.  After years of patient scheming Cueto had obtained his reward.

One afternoon, perhaps a week later, Don Mario de Castano came puffing and blowing up to the quinta, demanding to see Rosa without a moment’s delay.  The girl appeared before her caller had managed to dry up the streams of perspiration resulting from his exertions.  With a directness unusual even in him Don Mario began: 

“Rosa, my dear, you and Esteban have been discovered!  I was at lunch with the comandante when I learned the truth.  Through friendship I prevailed upon him to give you an hour’s grace.”

“What do you mean, Don Mario?” inquired the girl.

“Come, come!” the planter cried, impatiently.  “Don’t you see you can trust me?  God!  The recklessness, the folly of young people!  Could you not leave this insurrection to your elders?  Or perhaps you thought it a matter of no great importance, an amusing thing—­ "

“Don Mario!” Rosa interrupted.  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You don’t, eh?” The caller’s wet cheeks grew redder; he blew like a porpoise.  “Then call Esteban quickly!  There is not a moment to lose.”  When the brother appeared De Castano blurted out at him accusingly:  “Well, sir!  A fine fix you’ve put yourself in.  I came here to warn you, but Rosa pretends ignorance.  Perhaps you will be interested to learn that Colonel Fernandez has issued orders to arrest you and your sister as agents of the Insurrectos.”

“What?” Esteban drew back.  Rosa turned white as a lily and laid a fluttering hand upon her throat.

“You two will sleep to-night in San Severino,” grimly announced the rotund visitor.  “You know what that means.  Cubans who enter the Castillo seldom come out.  Have you noticed the big sharks that swim about under the walls of it?  Do you know what bait keeps them there?  Well, I’ll tell you!  It’s the bodies of rebel sympathizers--foolish people like you who call themselves patriots.”