Rosa's face, as she looked at the two men, was white and worried. For a time the three of them sat silent; then the American said, slowly, "You'll be shot if you're caught."
Rosa whispered: "Yes! Think of it!"
"Some one must run chances," Esteban averred. "We're fighting tyranny; all Cuba is ablaze. I must do my part."
"But sooner or later you'll be discovered—then what?" persisted
O'Reilly.
Esteban shrugged. "Who knows? There'll be time enough when—"
"What of Rosa?"
At this question the brother stirred uneasily and dropped his eyes. O'Reilly laid a hand upon his arm. "You have no right to jeopardize her safety. Without you, to whom could she turn?" The girl flashed her admirer a grateful glance.
"Senor, you for one would see that she—"
"But—I'm going away." O'Reilly felt rather than saw Rosa start, for his face was averted. Purposely he kept his gaze upon Esteban, for he didn't wish to see the slow pallor that rose in the girl's cheeks, the look of pain that crept into her eyes. "I came here to tell you both good-by. I may be gone for some time. I—I don't know when I can get back."
"I'm sorry," Esteban told him, with genuine regret. "We have grown very fond of you. You will leave many friends here in Matanzas, I'm sure. But you will come back before long, eh?"