THE HEART'S SECRET.

CHAPTER I.

THE ACCIDENT.





THE soft twilight of the tropics, that loves to linger over the low
latitudes, after the departure of the long summer's day, was
breathing in zephyrs of aromatic sweetness over the shores and
plains of the beautiful Queen of the Antilles. The noise and bustle
of the day had given place to the quiet and gentle influences of the
hour; the slave had laid by his implements of labor, and now stood
at ease, while the sunburnt overseers had put off the air of
vigilance that they had worn all day, and sat or lounged lazily with
their cigars.

Here and there strolled a Montaro from the country, who, having
disposed of his load of fruit, of produce and fowls, was now
preparing to return once more inland, looking, with his long Toledo
blade and heavy spurs, more like a bandit than an honest husbandman.
The evening gun had long since boomed over the waters of the
land-locked harbor from the grim, walls of Moro Castle, the guard