CHAPTER XL.
THE APPEARANCE OF THE SERPENT.
Half a dozen hours from the time that Jack Ashley mounts his newly acquired Rozinante and rides forth from Santiago on his journey into the west, a visitor arrives at Le Quinta de Quesada.
The Don and his daughter are seated on the veranda, the former dreaming of the day when Cuba shall be free, the latter of the blue-eyed young man who at the moment is many miles on his journey toward Havana and is expressing his opinion of Cuban roads in comical apostrophes, rivaling the natural extravagance of Spanish conversation.
“A visitor,” remarks Quesada, as the crunching of carriage wheels sounds in the driveway, and Juanita’s day dreams are abruptly terminated by the appearance of a vehicle, not a Cuban every-day volante, but a four-wheeled affair, the best that Santiago can provide.
The carriage draws up before the quinta, the driver opens the door with a profound obeisance, and out steps a lady whose radiant beauty rather dazzles the Cuban gentleman, who advances with easy grace to meet her. For Don Quesada, though well past the meridian of life, is not without susceptibility to feminine charms.
“I have the pleasure of addressing Don Manuel de Quesada, I believe?” says the fair visitor in English.
“The pleasure is mine, madam.”
“I am under the embarrassment of introducing myself,” with a smile and a glance from a pair of liquid black eyes that instantly win for her the good-will of the master of the quinta. She tenders a bit of cardboard, and as the Don receives it with a bow, she explains: “When I left New York I had a letter of introduction from a gentleman who has the honor of your acquaintance”—she glances at the coachman standing near, and lowers her voice—“Don Rafael Manada.”
“Ah!” murmurs Quesada, regarding his visitor with new interest.