In a few minutes the fair Cuban rebel found herself in the heart of the city. She knew where the barracks were located, and at once sought them, and had a soldier arouse Captain Umberto. "A lady to see me! Admit her," were the old war veteran's quick words. When they were alone, he took the packet eagerly and read the communication. "Too late! Dios! why did not Martinez let me know of this before! The plot will miscarry! The Cuban soldiers will be butchered like cattle!" "Too late," gasped Estella. "Surely, señor, that cannot be. Captain Martinez was so certain----" "So was I, yesterday. But a detachment of Spanish soldiers is marching from Puerto Padre to Marambo, and they may arrive at any hour--if the storm does not render the vile road impassable," added Captain Umberto, suddenly. "It is raining rather hard, is it not?" "It is raining furiously." "Good! They may not be able to arrive in time. Pray Heaven we may have a deluge," he went on, and Estella muttered a half-audible amen. "Captain Martinez writes that you wish to save a certain young man at present confined in the city prison," continued Captain Umberto. "It shall be done, if the thing is possible. Your service justifies a reward. But I have now no time to spare. There is much to be done, and I must work with extreme caution, for the Spanish spies are everywhere. My own valet has taken their gold, although he thinks I know it not." And the captain hurried away to fulfill the orders which had been sent to him. Estella, impatient to know what would be the outcome of the night's work, was undecided as to what course to pursue. She could have gone to the house of some friend, but she felt she could not even rest, much less sleep. She felt that that night was destined to mark a turning point in her life. Chance made her ride off in the direction of the prison, a grim, stony pile, looking more forbidding than ever in the darkness and the storm. As she rode slowly past, she wondered in what part Howard was confined. Was he inside that wall, or was he under her very feet? Presently a figure darted out from the shelter of a pitch-black angle and ran toward her. "I thought it was you, fair mistress," cried the voice of Tomasso, the overseer. "Have you, too, learned of this wicked plot against Señor Sherwood?" "Tomasso," she returned. "And what brought you to the prison? Did you think to serve me by communicating with Señor Sherwood?" "I wanted to be near--they might try again to take his life. Oh, sweet mistress, you know not what vile men they are." "But I do," said Estella, bitterly. "They would take his life." "Yes, and by poison." "Poison"--she started back. "Tomasso, you are certain?"