d to be wandering in the wilderness in search of the
Cuban army. The first thing, he said, was to make the senorita
comfortable, as comfortable as their limited powers would allow. She
would take his tent, of course; it was her own from that instant; but
equally of course neither Rita nor Carlos would hear of this. A friendly
dispute ensued; and it was finally decided that Rita and Manuela were to
make themselves as comfortable as might be in Carlos's own tent, while
he shared that of his commander. The General yielded only under protest
to this arrangement; yet he did yield, seeing that resistance would
distress both brother and sister. Since the senorita would not take his
tent, he said, the next best thing was that she should accept his
hospitality, such as he could offer her, within it; or rather, before
it, since the evening was warm. His men were even now preparing the
evening meal; when the senorita was refreshed and rested, he hoped she
and Don Carlos would share it with him.

Rita withdrew into the little hut, in a glow of patriotism and
enthusiasm. "Manuela," she cried, "did you ever see such nobleness, such
lofty yet gracious courtesy? Ah! I knew he was a man to die for. How
happy we are, to be here at last, after dreaming of it so long! I
thrill; I burn with sacred fire--what is the matter, Manuela? you look
the spirit of gloom. What has happened?"

Manuela was crouching on the bare earthen floor, her shoulders shrugged
up to her ears, her dark eyes glancing around the tiny room with every
expression of marked disapproval. It was certainly not a luxurious
apartment. The low walls were of rough logs, the roof was a ragged piece
of very dingy canvas, held in place by stones here and there. In one
corner was a pile of dried grass and leaves, with a blanket thrown over
it,--evidently Don Carlos's bed. There was a camp-stool, a rude box set
on end, that seemed to do duty both for dressing and writing table,
since it was littered with papers, shaving materials, cigarette-cases,
and a variety of other articles.

Manuela spread out her arms with a despairing gesture. Was this, she
asked, the place where the senorita was going to live? Where was she to
hang the dresses? where was she to lay out the dressing things? As to
making up the bed,--it would be better to die at once, in Manuela's
opinion, than to live--Here Manuela stopped suddenly, for she had seen
something. Rita, whose back was turned to the doorway of t