"Who was the olive-colored party with the fine eyes and foreign accent?" asked Mark, lazily rowing. "Gabriel Andre." "Is he an Italian?" "No; a Cuban." "I forgot you had tried that mixture of Spain and Alabama. How was it?" "As such climates always are to me,--intoxicating to-day, enervating to-morrow." "How long were you there?" "Three months." "I feel tropically inclined, so tell us about it." "There is nothing to tell." "I'll prove that by a catechism. Where did you stay?" "In Havana." "Of course, but with whom?" "Gabriel Andre." "The father of the saffron youth?" "Yes." "Of whom did the family consist?" "Four persons." "Mark, leave Mr. Warwick alone." "As long as he answers I shall question. Name the four persons, Adam." "Gabriel, sen., Dolores his wife, Gabriel, jun., Catalina, his sister." "Ah! now we progress. Was senorita Catalina as comely as her brother?" "More so." "You adored her, of course?" "I loved her." "Great heavens! what discoveries we make. He likes it, I know by the satirical glimmer in his eye; therefore I continue. She adored you, of course?" "She loved me." "You will return and marry her?" "No." "Your depravity appalls me." "Did I volunteer its discovery?" "I demand it now. You left this girl believing that you adored her?" "She knew I was fond of her." "The parting was tender?" "On her part." "Iceberg! She wept in your arms?" "And gave me an orange." "You cherished it, of course?" "I ate it immediately." "What want of sentiment! You promised to return?" "Yes." "But will never keep the promise?" "I never break one." "Yet will not marry her?" "By no means." "Ask how old the lady was, Mark?" "Age, Warwick?" "Seven." Mark caught a crab of the largest size at this reply, and remained where he fell, among the ruins of the castle in Spain, which he had erected with the scanty materials vouchsafed to him, while Warwick went back to his meditations. A drop of rain roused Sylvia from the contemplation of an imaginary portrait of the little Cuban girl, and looking skyward she saw that the frolicsome wind had prepared a practical joke for them in the shape of a thunder-shower. A consultation was held, and it was decided to row on till a house appeared, in which they would take refuge till the storm was over. On they went, but the rain was in greater haste than they, and a summary drenching was effected before the toot of a dinner-horn guided them to shelter. Landing they marched over the fields, a moist and mirthful company, toward a red farm-house standing under venerable elms, with a patriarchal air which promised hospitable treatment and good cheer. A promise speedily fulfilled by the lively old woman, who appeared with an energetic "Shoo!" for the speckled hens congregated in the porch, and a hearty welcome for the weather-beaten strangers.