CHAPTER LI.

UNDER THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE.

“You lie!” shouts Captain Raymon Huerta, white with rage.

Ashley retorts calmly. “I repeat, Captain Huerta, what I have asserted. As my wife, this woman is an American citizen. An order from you to your men to fire upon or seize us, will be the last words you will utter in this world!”

“The marriage? Impossible! The proof? The proof?” cries Huerta, foaming with passion.

Ashley points to Father Hilario. “The proof is the word of yonder man of God, by whom we were wedded not an hour ago!”

Captain Huerta glowers upon the priest. “Speaks the Americano truly?” he fumes.

Father Hilario is silent. His eyes wander from the lovers to the rage-distorted countenance of the Spanish captain.

Ashley holds his breath. He has made a superb bluff. Will the priest fail him at this supreme moment?

“Speak, vile dog of a priest!” snarls Huerta, the padre’s silence adding fuel to his rage.

At the brutal epithet Father Hilario’s cheek flushes. Then he speaks, slowly and deliberately:

“It is true. They are man and wife in the sight of God, and around them are the protecting arms of the church of Rome.” He raises his arms as if pronouncing a benediction, and murmurs under his breath a pious: “May God forgive me the deception!”

Captain Huerta bites his lip till the blood comes. One word to his men would mean the destruction of the heroic trio. But over the shining barrel of Ashley’s revolver, pointed straight at his heart, the Spanish captain reads, in a pair of flashing eyes, a grim resolution that means his death if he but raises his sword.

The situation is critical. The strain is beginning to tell on even Ashley’s steel nerves.

At this moment a commotion is noted in the throng of soldiery that bars the entrance to the church.

Pushing them right and left, a tall, distinguished-looking military man strides into the sanctuary.

Don Huerta dashes his sword back into its sheath and sullenly awaits developments.

General Murillo, for the arrival is he, glances from one of the party to the other, and then addresses himself to Ashley:

“Senor, may I ask the meaning of this warlike demonstration?”

Ashley lowers his revolver. “It means, general, that your arrival has averted an international episode.”

General Murillo turns to Huerta. “Withdraw at once,” he commands. “I will see you anon.”

When Captain Huerta and his men have left the church Murillo asks:

“And now, Senor Ashley, will you be good enough to explain this peculiar affair?”

“Willingly. But first, general,” says Jack, with a faint grin, “allow me to introduce you to the prettiest girl in Cuba.” And for the first time since the storming of the church door he removes his arm from about the waist of the Pearl of the Antilles.

Murillo bows with Spanish profundity. “I have the honor of the acquaintance of the Senorita de Quesada,” he remarks.

“Who is now plain Mrs. Jack Ashley,” corrects the newspaper man. “Pardon me one moment, general,” and he whispers to Juanita:

“Father Hilario looks very disconsolate; go and comfort him. And now, general,” to Murillo, “I am at your service.”

Ashley recounts briefly the exciting events that took place from the hour he left the ball-room until the arrival of his auditor. He says nothing of Mrs. Harding.

As the recital progresses Murillo’s face darkens.

“I am convinced,” declares Ashley, in conclusion, “that my arrest was wholly the work of that scoundrel Huerta.”

“And what do you propose to do now?” asks Murillo.

“Well, I have no special plans beyond settling accounts with Captain Huerta.”

“I will do the settling with Captain Huerta,” observes the general, dryly. “As for you—you must leave Cuba.”

“My duty to my paper will not permit me to leave at present. And even were I free, general, I should not desire to be understood as running away.”

Murillo makes a gesture of impatience. “Just like you Americans. You would all want to fiddle like Caesar while Rome was burning.”

“Your pardon; but I believe Nero was the soloist on that red-letter occasion.”

The general frowns. “Come with me,” he says; “I will furnish to you the necessary papers and you may proceed without interruption to Santiago. The cruiser America sails for Key West to-morrow. You must take passage on her. I do you a service, Senor Ashley, and I do it gladly, as I have a friendship for you. But I warn you that any delay in leaving Cuba may subject you to much annoyance, to use no harsher term. The government suspects you of secretly aiding the insurrection.”

“The government is mistaken.”

Murillo glances at Juanita, and smiles ironically. “Senor Ashley,” he says, “I am not so easily deceived. The instrumentality that saved the senorita from annoyance is the same instrumentality that placed the traitor Quesada in his present safe retreat. But what I as a man might applaud, I cannot as a loyal adherent to Spain condone; nor would the government take a sentimental view of the matter. You will see the wisdom of my advice. Come.” And Murillo leads the way from the church.

Before he leaves the scene of his new-found happiness Jack Ashley presses warmly the wrinkled hands of Father Hilario. “Father, you’re a brick,” he says, and adds solicitously: “Will not Captain Huerta seek to revenge himself upon you?”

“I fear him not,” replies the priest, raising his head proudly. Then, placing the hand of Juanita within Ashley’s, he lays a hand on the head of each, and in a voice choked with emotion says:

“My children, I have sinned for your sake, but I trust that God will condone the offense. Heaven bless and keep you and when you are happily sheltered in your northern home think sometimes of Father Hilario, of the little church of San Pedro.”

Imprinting a kiss upon the brow of the Cuban girl, the aged priest turns away and sinks upon his knees before the crucifix over the altar.

It requires but a few minutes for General Murillo to make out the necessary passports and as he hands them to Ashley, he remarks: “You will follow my advice?”

“I will follow it to Santiago, at least, general.”

The general shrugs his shoulders. “Do as you please. I have warned you,” he says, and turns away.

Ten minutes later Ashley and Juanita are en route for Santiago in a volante.

The young lady is sad. The natural reaction has set in.

“I am thinking of my father,” she replies to Jack’s attempt to rally her.

“Your father is all right,” he confidently assures her. “In an hour or two you will be in his arms, and I shall have the pleasure of asking him for the hand of the dearest girl in the world. Or, stay, I am progressing too rapidly,” he muses, in mock concern. “It has occurred to me,” he goes on, “that—oh, well, of course a proposal of marriage must naturally be regarded more conservatively now than—”

“Jack!”

“Yes, senorita.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Of you, senorita. Ah, something in your eyes tells me that I may be presumptuous enough to hope.”

“What nonsense! There, I knew you were joking,” declares Juanita, as she catches a stray twinkle in Jack’s eye. “You foolish boy, you know I love you. I have loved you ever since—I met you.”

“Three whole weeks ago,” muses Ashley, as he draws the blushing face to his and kisses it.

“Do you know, I have been insanely jealous of your friend Don Carlos all along,” confesses Jack, after a long, happy silence, during which the pair quite forget the volante driver.

“Jealous of Don Carlos? Oh!” cries Juanita, bursting into merry laughter.

“I admit it is highly humorous, in the light of recent developments,” says Jack, who sees nothing to laugh at in his remark. “What is there so amusing in it all?”

“Oh, you dear, foolish Jack,” exclaims the girl, throwing her arms around his neck. “To be jealous of Don Carlos! Why, Don Carlos is a girl.”

“I am aware that, to the public gaze, Don Carlos is at present a young lady,” returns Ashley, loftily, “but you must remember that I knew Don Carlos before he exchanged his customary attire for his present feminine toggery.”

“Oh, how superiorily wise you look,” banters Juanita. “But I tell you that Don Carlos has always been, is now and always will be a girl!”

“What!”

“And you never suspected it—you who are so penetrating?” mocks the young lady.

But Jack makes no reply. His mind is attempting to digest this surprising bit of information. Then a light begins to break upon him.

“Her real name—what is it?” he asks, suddenly.

Juanita becomes serious again. “I must not divulge it, Jack, dear. I should not have told you what I have, but you looked so comical when you told me you had been jealous of Don Carlos. There, please don’t catechise me further.”

“I shall not,” replies Ashley. “Besides, it will be unnecessary for you to betray her identity.”

“Then you know—”

“I think I do. As I more than once remarked, I have an excellent memory for faces, although I am sometimes a dev—a diablo of a while in recalling the names that go with them.” And Ashley relapses into meditation.

“Well, here we are at Santiago,” announces Jack. “In a short time you can bid a temporary adieu to the soil of Cuba; and the sooner the better.”

And indeed, the streets of Santiago are in apparent possession of a riotous mob, swarming in and out of the cafes.

Ashley and Juanita find no obstacles in their path; half an hour later they are aboard the America, under the red, white and blue, and Juanita is in her father’s arms, relating breathlessly the thrilling incidents of the last few hours.

Ashley leaves them to their exchange of confidence and affection, and goes off to talk with Captain Meade. When he sees Don Quesada again that gentleman takes his hand and assures him that he is honored by his prospective entrance into the family.

“As for Cuba,” declares the Don, his eyes lighting with a trace of their old-time fire, “the cause of the patriots was never brighter. To be sure, I am a fugitive, and El Terredo yesterday suffered a severe defeat, the Pearl of the Antilles having been destroyed in an unequal engagement with three Spanish cruisers and gunboats. But General Masso is advancing upon Santiago, with 10,000 revolutionists, and the fall of the city is looked for within forty-eight hours. Already the Spanish warships are gathering preparatory to shelling the place should it come into the hands of the patriots, and foreign vessels are preparing to leave the harbor.”

“I believe I will take Murillo’s advice for the present,” reflects Ashley, “but I shall return to-morrow with the cruiser and be in at the death.” Then he goes in search of Juanita.

“Now,” says that young lady, “if you have finished squeezing my hand before all these officers and seamen, come below and I will introduce you to—to ‘Miss Carlos’.”

“All right, sweetheart,” replies Jack, gayly. “Let me see. I believe you remarked early this morning that you would never doubt me again.”

“Yes?” responds the young lady, inquiringly.

“Then, after you have introduced me to ‘Miss Carlos’ will you leave us alone for a short time?”

“What a strange request! But it is granted.”

“Good. And now let us go below.”

The interview, whatever its nature, has a peculiar effect upon Ashley. Upon returning from it he is saying to himself, sotto voce.

“By Jove! This case has taken a turn that I little looked for. I’d give four dollars to see John Barker, detective, at this moment.”