"Only Pepe!" said Manuela, in a small voice.
Was the name a conjuring-spell? It had hardly been spoken when Pepe himself stood in the doorway, ducking respectfully at the señorita, but looking out of the corners of his black eyes at Manuela. Rita smiled in spite of herself. Was this ragamuffin, barefoot, tattered, his hair in elf-locks,—was this the once elegant Pepe, the admired of himself and all the waiting-maids of Havana? He had once been Carlos's servant, when the young Cuban had time and taste for such idle luxuries; now he was his fellow soldier and faithful follower.
"Well, Pepe," said Rita; "you also are here to welcome us, it appears. That is well. If you could find us a few nails, my good Pepe? the Señor Don Carlos is occupied with the General at present, and you can help us, if you will."
Where had Rita learned this new and gracious courtesy? A few months ago, she would have said, "Pepe! drive nails!" and thought no more about it. Indeed, she could have given no explanation, save that "things were different." Perhaps our Rita is growing up, inside as well as outside? Certainly the pretty airs and graces have given way to a womanly and thoughtful look not at all unbecoming to any face, however beautiful.
The thoughtful look deepened into anxiety, as a sudden recollection flashed into her mind. "Oh!" she cried. "And here I sit in peace, and have done nothing about those poor creatures in the hut! I must go to the General! But stay! Pepe, do you know—is there a man in the camp called Pedro Valdez?"
But, yes! Pepe said. Assuredly there was such a man. Did the señorita require him?
"Oh, please bring him!" said Rita. "Tell him that I have something of importance to tell him. Quick, my good Pepe!"
Pepe vanished, and soon returned, dragging by the collar a lean scarecrow even more dilapidated than himself. Apparently the poor fellow had been asleep, and had been roughly clutched and hauled across the camp, for his hair was full of leaves and grass, and he was rubbing his eyes and swearing softly under his breath, vowing vengeance on his captor.
"Silence, animal!" said Pepe, admonishing him by a kick of the presence of ladies; "Behold the illustrious señorita, who does you the honour to look at you. Attention, Swine of the Antilles!"
Thus adjured, poor Pedro straightened himself, made the best bow he could, and stood sheepishly before Rita, trying furtively to brush a few of the sticks and straws off his ragged clothing.