"Maybe, but--" she paused, and her eyes shone like twin stars. "Cuba should be free. It is not for Spain to grind down those faithful ones! Spain would take the last piaster from them! Those miserable soldiers"--her cheeks grew red again--"they rob the natives! Oh, señor, you do not know what the people suffer in our isle!" "I know something of it; I have studied the situation," replied Howard. But he was not thinking just then of the people--only of how amazingly pretty Estella looked. "It seems to me you hate the Spanish soldiery," he added. "I do--some of them!" On the adjective she put an emphasis that did not escape him. "They are cowardly--and worse! They should be sent from the island, bag and baggage, as you Americans say it." He laughed outright. "Your college chums were right when they called you Estella, the little Cuban rebel." His voice sank lower. "And may I call you Estella, too?" His eyes sought hers, and for an instant they seemed to gaze into each other's very soul. Then the long eyelashes dropped. "If you wish, Mr. Sherwood, but----" "Thank you, Estella; and why not call me Howard? We are going to be the best of friends, are we not? You are the first Cuban lady I have met." "Indeed? Then I suppose I will have to call you Howard. It would be quite proper in Cuba; but you Americans----" "We are going to Cuba, and must do as the Cubans do," he interrupted, merrily. "So it is Howard, remember. Hark! there is the supper gong. May I have the pleasure?" He extended his arm, which she took. "We must get seats together, and during the trip you will, perhaps, tell me all about the country--and yourself. Then I will not feel so much a stranger when I land." "I will tell you all you care to listen to," she smiled. Then of a sudden she grew grave, and said no more until they were seated in the dining-saloon. When supper was over, and they had come on deck again, the red sun had gone down in the direction of the land, and out of the rim of the eastern sea the pale new moon was rising, a thin crescent emerging from a bath of glittering silver. Estella clasped her hands together as she gazed on the scene. "How beautiful!" she murmured, in Spanish. "Excuse me, but you do not understand, Mr.--Howard!" "I do, but not very well. I much prefer to hear you talk in English--your accent is so soft and sweet, Estella. When you speak I listen like one in a happy dream." He drew closer to her, and his hand rested upon her shapely waist. "Yes, it is a beautiful scene," he went on. "Would that all the scenes in life were as beautiful." She started, and a slight shiver shook her form. "Yes, yes; would that all were as beautiful," she cried. "But it seems it cannot be. With the sweet must come the bitter--and, oh, so bitter at times!" He looked down at her gravely. He felt that she was speaking, not lightly, but in all sincerity, and a pang shot through his heart for whatever she might have suffered.