Cajo spoke the truth; neither he nor Juana had
been at the "big house" when Margaret came, and they had not seen her go
away. But the Doctor of course was not thinking of Margaret.

"Ah,--very possibly Mr. Spenser strolled over again in our direction,
then; I was occupied, and shouldn't have seen him."

"No, sah, he ain't gwine nowhar; he come home befo' fibe, en here he
stay twel he start."

"It's of no consequence, though I thought I should have been in time. I
hope you have persevered, Cajo, in the use of that liniment I sent you
for your lame arm?"

And after a few more words with the old couple, who stood bowing and
courtesying at their low door, the Doctor rode Osceola on a walk down
the winding path which led from Madam Giron's to the water road. This
water road ran southward from East Angels, following the edge of the
lagoon; it was comparatively broad and open, and, though longer, the
Doctor now preferred it to that dark track through the wood, since it
had become evident that there was no one in the wood at present with
whom it was necessary that he should hold some slight conversation.

Reaching East Angels in safety, he entered the drawing-room half an hour
later, very tired, but freshly dressed, and repressing admirably all
signs of his fatigue. He found Mrs. Carew engaged in telling Garda's
fortune in solemn state with four packs of cards, as an appropriate rite
for Christmas-eve; the cards were spread upon a large table before her,
and Garda and Winthrop were looking on. Upon inquiring for Margaret (the
Doctor always inquired for the absent), he was told that she was
suffering from headache, and would not be able to join them.

Garda was merry; she was merry over the fact that a certain cousin of
Madam Ruiz, whom they had never any of them seen, kept turning up (the
card that represented him) through deal after deal as her close
companion in the "fortune," while the three other named cards--Winthrop,
Manuel, and Torres--remained as determinedly remote from her as the
table would allow.

"I don't see what ever induced me to put him in at all," said Betty, in
great vexation, rubbing her chin spitefully with the card she was
holding in her hand. "I suppose it's because Madam Ruiz has kept talking
about him--Julio de Sandoval, Julio de Sandoval--and something in his
name always reminded me of sandal-wood, you know, which is so nice,
though some people _do_ faint away if you have fans made of it, which