Prudence might have dictated another course, for there was reason to believe, as both Darby and himself had discovered, that the old Porto Rican general, Georgia's uncle in fact, was allied with those who had endeavored to work the grand scheme.
Therefore, he would not be apt to look upon any Yankee, and particularly Roderic Owen, with favor.
General Porfidio to the contrary, the American strode past the sentinel posts, up the box bordered walk and directly to the front door.
This was his nature, bold to a fault, ready to walk directly up to the cannon's mouth if duty but half demanded it.
It was the Irish element in his blood, for where that strain goes throughout the peoples of the wide world, it carries with it devotion and gallantry.
Before he could lay a hand upon the knocker, that represented a bronze Hindoo god, the door softly opened.
A young girl stood there.
As he looked at her, framed in the opening, with the light of the setting sun falling upon her wondrous face, Roderic held his very breath, for he was again under the spell of her dusky eyes, that ever wove a web of enchantment about him.
Thus they stood, these two who had parted some years before—stood and stared and said not a single word for more than a full minute.
What they lived over in those sixty seconds of time God only knows.