“You live near here?” inquired the midshipman. “Yes--that is, our plantation is four or five miles away. I rode straight from there after I had left the villa. But why do I say ‘our’ plantation when it is, in fact, my uncle’s?” “But it belonged to your father?” asked Ned. “That is true. But your confirmation of his death will strengthen the claim of General de Guzman upon it. You see, under our law, the property goes to him.” “But not if there is a will expressly deeding it elsewhere?” “Ah, no, senor, but there is not one. My poor father fled from the country disguised as a common sailor before he had even time to make provision for us. There is a suspicion that my uncle betrayed him.” “I think you are mistaken,” said Ned gently. “There _is_ a will, and I know its whereabouts. The document is now in possession of Lieutenant Timmons, of the United States torpedo-boat destroyer _Beale_. But he will surrender the document to your mother or yourself upon your application.” “But why not upon yours, senor? Cannot you obtain it from him?” Ned looked embarrassed. “Um, well, you see----” he began. “We are likely to be here for a few days. We are being detained for some time by your uncle,” put in the midshipman, coming to the rescue. “But when you are free again? It is only a misunderstanding, I am sure.” “When we are free again, senorita, we shall be delighted to do anything in our power to aid you,” went on Midshipman Stark, “but in the meantime it would be better for you to communicate with Mr. Timmons yourself if it becomes possible.” “Thank you, gentlemen!” exclaimed the Spanish-American girl, with a grateful glance. “Be assured that my father’s will would be little to us were it not that my uncle threatens to banish both my mother and myself from our home unless----” She paused, and was apparently overcome with confusion. Recovering herself, she went on proudly: “But, after all--after all you have told me, you have a right to know. He is determined that I shall marry the man you saw me with to-day.” “Chawed bone!” burst out Stanley, in a forecastle roar of indignation. “Yes, senor, you are right,” said the young woman. “That is something like the name of the man.” “But you don’t like him?” demanded the old sailor excitedly. The young woman gazed at him in surprise, while Midshipman Stark shot a disapproving glance at the boatswain’s mate. “No, I do not!” she declared, with a little stamp of her foot. At that moment the sergeant in charge of the sentries came in and uttered a few excited words. “He says that he has received word that my uncle is on his way here, senors. Perhaps he is coming to release you. I hope so. But it will not do for him to find me here. Adios!” In a flash she was gone, and the cell-room door clanged once more. Presently the rattle of her horse’s hoofs sounded, rapidly dying away in the distance. “Well!” exclaimed the midshipman, drawing a long breath, “matters are getting complicated.”