"Oh, many, many years."
"Across the Atlantic—far away in Cuba?"
"Far, far away," said Dolores, her sweet voice rising to a plaintive note; "far away—in Cuba—oh, many, many years! And there the padre had a plantation, and was rich; but the insurrection it did break out, and he was killed."
Dolores stopped and wiped her eyes. Katie looked at her, and her own eyes overflowed with tears of tender sympathy.
"Oh, how sad!" she said. "I had no idea."
Dolores drew a long breath.
"Yes; he died, the good, tender padre; and madre and me be left all—all—all—alone—alone—in the cruele world. And the rebel came, and the soldiers, and oh, how they did fight! And the slaves, they did all run away—all—all—all—away; and the trees and fruits all destroy; and the houses all burn up in one gran' conflagration; and it was one kind, good American that did help us to fly; or we never—never would be able to lif. So we did come back to our patria poor, and we had to lif poor in Valencia. I told you I was lifing in Valencia when I left that place to come on thees travel."
"I suppose," said Katie, "since you lived in this castle once, you must know all about it."
"Oh yes, all—all about it."
"And you must have been all over it in every direction."