“You interrupted our theatricals.  I was rehearsing an impassioned proposal to your beloved stepmother,” O’Reilly explained, with a pretense of annoyance.

“Yes, Senor O’Reilly believes he can infuriate Isabel by laying siege to her.  He’s a—­foolish person—­” Rosa’s cheeks were faintly flushed and her color deepened at the amusement in Esteban’s eyes.  “He makes love wretchedly.”

“What little I overheard wasn’t bad,” Esteban declared; then he took O’Reilly’s hand.

Esteban was a handsome boy, straight, slim, and manly, and his resemblance to Rosa was startling.  With a look engaging in its frank directness, he said:  “Rosa told me about your meetings here and I came to apologize for our stepmother’s discourtesy.  I’m sorry we can’t invite you into our house, but—­you understand?  Rosa and I are not like her; we are quite liberal in our views; we are almost Americans, as you see.  I dare say that’s what makes Isabel hate Americans so bitterly.”

“Wouldn’t it please her to know that I’m becoming Cubanized as fast as ever I can?” ventured the caller.

“Oh, she hates Cubans, too!” laughed the brother.  “She’s Spanish, you know.  Well, it’s fortunate you didn’t see her to-day.  Br-r!  What a temper!  We had our theatricals, too.  I asked her for money, as usual, and, as usual, she refused.  It was like a scene from a play.  She’ll walk in her sleep to-night, if ever.”

Rosa nodded soberly, and O’Reilly, suppressing some light reply that had sprung to his lips, inquired, curiously, “What do you mean by that?”

Brother and sister joined in explaining that Dona Isabel was given to peculiar actions, especially after periods of excitement or anger, and that one of her eccentricities had taken the form of somnambulistic wanderings.  “Oh, she’s crazy enough,” Esteban concluded.  “I believe it’s her evil conscience.”

Rosa explained further:  “She used to steal about at night, hoping to surprise papa or Sebastian going or coming from the treasure.  They were both killed, as you know, and the secret of the hiding-place was lost.  Now Isabel declares that they come to her in her sleep and that she has to help them hunt for it, whether she wishes or not.  It is retribution.”  The speaker drew up her shoulders and shivered, but Esteban smiled.

“Bah!” he exclaimed.  “I’ll believe in ghosts when I see one.”  Then, with a shake of his head:  “Isabel has never given up the hope of finding that treasure.  She would like to see Rosa married, and me fighting with the Insurrectos, so that she might have a free hand in her search.”

O’Reilly scanned the speaker silently for a moment; then he said, with a gravity unusual in him, “I wonder if you know that you’re suspected of—­working for the Insurrecto cause.”

“Indeed?  I didn’t know.”

“Well, it’s a fact.”  O’Reilly heard Rosa gasp faintly.  “Is it true?” he asked.

“I am a Cuban.”  Esteban’s smile was a trifle grim.