"Good news! She left the Pan de Matanzas with the two negroes. She went into the city before Cobo's raid."
Esteban collapsed limply. He closed his eyes, his face was very white.
He crossed himself weakly.
"The letter is definite. It seems they were starving. They obeyed
Weyler's bando. They're in Matanzas now."
"Do you hear, Esteban?" Norine shook her patient by the shoulder. "She's alive. Oh, can't you see that it always pays to believe the best?"
"Alive! Safe!" Esteban whispered. His eyes, when he opened them, were swimming; he clutched Norine's hand tightly; his other hand he extended to O'Reilly. The latter was choking; his cheeks, too, were wet. "A reconcentrado! In Matanzas! Well, that's good. We have friends there—they'll not let her starve. This makes a new man of me. See! I'm strong again. I'll go to her."
"YOU'LL go?" quickly cried Miss Evans. "YOU'LL go! You're not strong enough. It would be suicide. You, with a price upon your head! Everybody knows you there. Matanzas is virtually a walled city. There's sickness, too—yellow fever, typhus—"
"Exactly. And hunger, also. Suppose no one has taken Rosa in? Those concentration camps aren't nice places for a girl."
"But wait! I have friends in Washington. They're influential. They will cable the American consul to look after her. Anyhow, you mustn't think of returning to Matanzas," Norine faltered; her voice caught unexpectedly and she turned her face away.
O'Reilly nodded shortly. "You're a sick man," he agreed. "There's no need for both of us to go."
Esteban looked up. "Then you—"