"Adeos, senhora!" echoed San Benavides, bringing his heels together with a click, and saluting. He gathered a number of papers from the table with nervous haste, and at once began to issue instructions to several officers. De Sylva renewed the signing of documents. Russo and he conversed in low tones. A buzz of talk broke out in the tent. Carmela felt that she had no part in this activity, that her mere presence was a positive hindrance to the work in hand. A trifle disappointed, yet not without a thrill of high resolve to create for herself an indispensable share in the movement of which her father was the central figure, she went out, unhitched her tired horse, and walked to the house. In Brazil, a _quinta_, or farm, may range from a palace to a hovel. Dom Corria was rich; consequently Las Flores attained the higher level. It was a straggling, roomy structure, planned for comfort and hospitality rather than display, and the gardens, to whose beauty and extent was due the Spanish name, used to be famous throughout the province. Carmela had not seen the place during five years; she expected to find changes, but was hardly prepared for the ravages made by neglect, aided by unchecked tropical growth, as the outcome of her father's two years in prison. The flowers were gone, the rarer shrubs choked by rank weeds, the trees disfigured by rampant climbers. But, in front of the long, deep veranda, even the attention of a month had restored much of its beauty to a widespread lawn. Here, at that early hour, the air was cool and the shade abundant; indeed, so embossed in towering trees was the wide greensward, that it seemed to flow abruptly into the veranda without ever a path or garden gate to break the solid walls of foliage. Filled with tumultuous memories, her heart all throbbing at the prospect of her father's fortunes being restored, the Senhora De Sylva was entering a gate that led to the left front of the house, when the young man came out whom she had seen leaving the headquarters tent. Again he rode like one in a hurry, and she noted that he emerged from a side path which gave access to the lawn. He gave her a sharp glance as he passed. She received an impression of a strong face, with stern-looking, bright, steel-blue eyes, a mouth tensely set, an aspect at once confident yet self-contained. She was sure now he was not a Brazilian, and he differed most materially from the mental picture of Captain James Coke created by the many conversations in which he had figured during her long voyage from Southampton in company with David Verity and Dickey Bulmer. So Carmela wondered now who he could be, nor was her wonder lessened when she peered through the screen of trees, and saw a girl, whom she recognized instantly as Iris, furtively dabbing her tear-stained face with a handkerchief.