e time my heart flutters like a wounded dove. I
cry in my soul, 'All depends on the wit of that child. If she had but
gone with Prudencia to the forest!'

"Finally there is no escape, we must pass the door. I stop before it.
'Open!' says the colonel.

"'Your Excellency will observe,' I say, 'that there is a dangerous case
of spotted fever in this room.'

"He turns white, then black. He pulls his moustache, which resembles a
mattress.

"At last 'How do I know?' he cries; 'You may be lying! all Cubans are
liars. The girl may be in this room!'

[Illustration: "'I THROW OPEN THE DOOR AND STEP BACK, MY HEART IN MY
MOUTH.'"]

"I throw open the door and step back, my heart in my mouth, my eyes
flinging themselves into the apartment. Heavens! what do we see? a
hideous face projects itself from the bed. Red--black--a face from the
pit! A horrible smell is in our nostrils--we hear groans--enough! The
colonel staggers back, cursing. I close the door and follow him out to
the verandah. My own nerves are shaken, I admit it; it was a thing to
shatter the soul. Still cursing, he mounts his horse, and rides away
with his troop. I see them go. They carry away the best of what the
house holds, but what of that? they are gone!

"I hasten, as well as my infirmity allows, to the chamber. I cry
'Manuela, is it thou?'

"I am bidden to enter. I open the door, and find that admirable child at
the toilet-table, washing her face and laughing till the tears flow.
Already half of her pretty face is clean, but half still hideous to
behold.

"'How did you do it?' I ask her. She laughs more merrily than before; if
you have noticed, she has a laughter of silver bells, this maiden. 'The
red lip-salve,' she says, 'and a little ink. Have no fear, Don
Annunzio; it was you who discovered the fever, you know.'

"'But the smell, my child? there must be something bad here, something
unhealthy; a vile smell!'

"She laughs again, this child. 'I burned a piece of tortoise-shell,' she
says. 'Saint Ursula forgive me, it was one of the senorita's side-combs,
but there was nothing else at hand.'

"Thus then, senorita, thus, my Prudencia, has Manuela virtually saved
our house and ourselves. Hasten to embrace her! I have already permitted
myself the salute of a father upon her charming cheek, as simple
gratitude enjoined it."

As if by magic--could she have been listening in the passage?--Manuela
appeared, blushing and radiant. Donna Prudencia did not