'And my father has almost forgotten you are not one of his own,' added Carlo, standing behind Etta and taking one of the fair curls in his hand; for he dearly loved this English sister, as he called Etta Allison.
'Yes, yes, it is all true, and Santa Teresa is a lovely home; but I cannot forget I am English, and that I am really a prisoner. I once asked Don Estevan to send me back to England by one of the big ships, and he refused; and yet my mother's last words were that I was not to forget my own land.'
At the thought of her mother Etta's tears came fast; but at this moment the Governor of St. Catherine himself appeared in the garden, and Etta, being afraid to be seen crying, dried her tears and stooped down to play with Felipa's little dog, so as not to show her red eyes. When she looked up again the sunshine had returned to her bonnie-looking face.
The Marquis Don Estevan del Campo was a small thin-looking man, who had long suffered from a liver complaint, and in consequence his whole nature seemed to be changed. From a determined, clever administrator he had become peevish, undecided, and ill-tempered; and the men under him hardly knew how to obey his orders, which were often very contradictory.
To-day he walked towards Carlo, with a troubled expression on his face, and on the way he took occasion to find fault with a slave who was watering the flower-beds. The slave trembled, as he was bidden in a very imperious fashion to be quicker about his work.
Carlo came to meet his father, doffing his hat in the courtly fashion of a young Spanish noble.
'What are you doing here, children?' the Marquis said. 'Is not this your hour of study?'
'You have forgotten, my father, that it is a holiday to-day; and I was coming to ask if Felipa and Etta might not come down to the bay with me and have a row in my canoe.'
The Marquis looked up quickly.
'No, no: there must be no rowing to-day; I have set workmen to repair the bridge, and you had best keep at home.'