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