Col. Miguel Lopez, a handsome, animated fellow, took O'Reilly's hand in a hearty clasp when they were introduced; but a moment later his smile gave way to a frown and his brow darkened. "So! You are that O'Reilly from Matanzas," said he. "I know you now, but--I never expected we would meet." "Esteban Varona told you about me, did he not?" The colonel inclined his head. "I'm here at last, after the devil's own time. I've been trying every way to get through. The Spaniards stopped me at Puerto Principe--they sent me back home, you know. I've been half crazy. I--You--" O'Reilly swallowed hard. "You know where Esteban is? Tell me-" "Have you heard nothing?" "Nothing whatever. That is, nothing since Rosa, his sister--You understand, she and I are--engaged-" "Yes, yes; Esteban told me all about you." Something in the Cuban's gravity of manner gave O'Reilly warning. A sudden fear assailed him. His voice shook as he asked: "What is it? My God! Not bad news?" There was no need for the officer to answer. In his averted gaze O'Reilly read confirmation of his sickest apprehensions. The men faced each other for a long moment, while the color slowly drove out of the American's cheeks, leaving him pallid, stricken. He wet his lips to speak, but his voice was no more than a dry, throaty rustle. "Tell me! Which one?" he whispered. "Both!" O'Reilly recoiled; a spasm distorted his chalky face. He began to shake weakly, and his fingers plucked aimlessly at each other. Lopez took him by the arm. "Try to control yourself," said he. "Sit here while I try to tell you what little I know. Or, would it not be better to wait awhile, until you are calmer?" As the young man made no answer, except to stare at him in a white agony of suspense, he sighed: "Very well, then, as you wish. But you must be a man, like the rest of us. I, too, have suffered. My father"--Lopez's mustached lip drew back, and his teeth showed through--"died in the Laurel Ditch at Cabanas. On the very day after my first victory they shot him--an old man, Christ! It is because of such things that we Cubans fight while we starve--that we shall continue to fight until no Spaniard is left upon this island. We have all faced something like that which you are facing now--our parents murdered, our sisters and our sweethearts wronged. ..." O'Reilly, huddled where he had sunk upon the bench, uttered a gasping, inarticulate cry, and covered his face as if from a lash.