After some difficulty we gained the street, and our first move was to a _pulperia_, where I treated our boat's crew, and bought as many bananas, oranges and cigars as they could take down to the boat, to send to my shipmates aboard. The second was to charter a volante, in which we got under weigh for Mr. Stowe's house, which was situated about a half a mile from the mole, in a retired street running parallel with the Cabanas river, surrounded by a large garden, at the foot of which was a summer-house, overhanging the river, to which led a flight of steps. Upon our arrival we alighted from our vehicle, paid our driver and rang the gate-bell. A gray-headed negro gave us admission and conducted us to the house, where we were met by our host. "Ah! my dear boys," he cried, "I am delighted to see you, and so will be Mrs. Stowe and the girls. They associate with the natives but very little, and old friends like you will be a godsend." Half an hour afterward Langley and I were as much at home as could be, laughing and chatting with Mary and Ellen Stowe. Mary was a tall, handsome brunette of eighteen, and my chum had always preferred her to her sister, but my predilections were in favor of the gentle Ellen. While we were children the elders often predicted that when we grew up there would be a wedding some day, but her father had carried her with him when he moved from Boston to the West Indies, and there seemed an end to our intimacy. She was two years younger than I, and consequently, at the time I saw her in Matanzas, about sixteen. I wish I could describe her--perhaps I may be able to give you some idea of her. She was of the middle height, and bade fair to be exquisitely formed; her face was intellectual, a tolerably high forehead, straight nose, a small mouth with pretty rosy lips, white, even teeth, small and thorough bred hands and feet, and her eyes, which I have purposely left to the last, are, notwithstanding Mr. Stewart's encomiastic account of the dark orbs of the Creole girls, I think, the most beautiful in the world; they are large, dark-blue and loving, and when she looks up at you, even if you are the most wicked man in the world, it will calm your thoughts and make you still and quiet. Dear reader, imagine Ellen very beautiful, and take my word for it that your fancy will not deceive you. Ellen and I resumed our former friendship almost immediately, and after dinner we walked into the garden to talk over auld lang syne. "Do you remember, Ellen," said I, "how we both cried when I bade you good-bye?" "Did _I_?" asked Ellen, mischievously. "Yes, you little sinner, much more than I did, because I was fourteen and had the dignity of manhood to support." "Well," said Ellen, "I think I do remember something about it." "Is it possible! and does your memory serve you still farther; you said that if I would ever come to see you, you would never refuse to kiss me again." "Why, Frank Byrne, what a fertile invention you have got."