“It is rather a long story. But tell me, where is Alano?” And now it was Señor Guerez' turn to become anxious.
In a few words I explained matters, to which the planter listened with close attention. His brow darkened when I mentioned the Spaniards up at the coffee plantation.
“I know them,” he said. “We are expecting an attack from them every day.”
“An attack at this place?”
“Yes.” He turned to his companions, and introduced me to Father Anuncio and to Lieutenant Porlando, both of whom shook hands warmly when they were informed who I was. “You see, many of the planters have brought their families here,” Señor Guerez went on, "and the Spanish think to subdue us if they can make our wives and daughters prisoners. But that shall never be while we have strength to fight."
“Tell me of my father,” I said impatiently.
“Come inside, my boy,” said Alano’s father; and giving Bumbo a bit of silver I sent him off, and followed the others into the courtyard, in the rear of which was the convent building proper, although wings extended out upon both sides.
In a shady corner I was introduced to La Señora Guerez and to Alano’s two sisters, Inez and Paula, two girls of ten and twelve, now quite as dark as their father and mother, and very beautiful, with their black wavy hair and sparkling eyes full of good humor and merriment. Mother and daughters could speak a little English, and for Alano’s sake they fairly made me feel like one of the family.
I was impatient to hear about my father; and as soon as the señor had told the others of what I had said concerning Alano, Señor Guerez told me his story.
“As soon as we felt that the war was going to be severe and probably of long duration,” said he, "your father and I telegraphed to Dr. Walford to keep you at Broxville Academy until you heard from us by letter. Two days later came a return message stating that you had already gone to New York and taken steamer for Cuba. The worthy doctor could not tell by what route you had gone.