Rainbows End | Page 3

Dona Rosa--" The fellow choked.
"Yes," Esteban nodded, wearily, "she is dead, Sebastian."
Tears came to Sebastian's eyes and overflowed his cheeks; he stood
motionless, striving to voice his sympathy. At length he said:
"She was too good for this world. God was jealous and took her to
Paradise."
The widowed man cried out, angrily:
"Paradise! What is this but paradise?" He stared with resentful eyes at
the beauty round about him. "See! The Yumuri!" Don Esteban flung a
long arm outward. "Do you think there is a sight like that in heaven?
And yonder--" He turned to the harbor far below, with its fleet of
sailing-ships resting like a flock of gulls upon a sea of quicksilver.
Beyond the bay, twenty miles distant, a range of hazy mountains hid
the horizon. Facing to the south, Esteban looked up the full length of
the valley of the San Juan, clear to the majestic Pan de Matanzas, a
wonderful sight indeed; then his eyes returned, as they always did, to
the Yumuri, Valley of Delight. "Paradise indeed!" he muttered. "I gave
her everything. She gained nothing by dying."

With a grave thoughtfulness which proved him superior to the ordinary
slave, Sebastian replied:
"True! She had all that any woman's heart could desire, but in return for
your goodness she gave you children. You have lost her, but you have
gained an heir, and a beautiful girl baby who will grow to be another
Dona Rosa. I grieved as you grieve, once upon a time, for my woman
died in childbirth, too. You remember? But my daughter lives, and she
has brought sunshine into my old age. That is the purpose of children."
He paused and shifted his weight uncertainly, digging his stiff black
toes into the dirt. After a time he said, slowly: "Excellency! Now, about
the--well--?"
"Yes. What about it?" Esteban lifted smoldering eyes.
"Did the Dona Rosa confide her share of the secret to any one? Those
priests and those doctors, you know--?"
"She died without speaking."
"Then it rests between you and me?"
"It does, unless you have babbled."
"Master!" Sebastian drew himself up and there was real dignity in his
black face.
"Understand, my whole fortune is there--everything, even to the deeds
of patent for the plantations. If I thought there was danger of your
betraying me I would have your tongue pulled out and your eyes torn
from their sockets."
The black man spoke with a simplicity that carried conviction. "You
have seen me tested. You know I am faithful. But, master, this secret is
a great burden for my old shoulders, and I have been thinking--Times
are unsettled, Don Esteban, and death comes without warning. You are
known to be the richest man in this province and these government
officials are robbers. Suppose--I should be left alone? What then?"

The planter considered for a moment. "They are my countrymen, but a
curse on them," he said, finally. "Well, when my children are old
enough to hold their tongues they will have to be told. If I'm gone, you
shall be the one to tell them. Now leave me; this is no time to speak of
such things."
Sebastian went as noiselessly as he had come. On his way back to his
quarters he took the path to the well--the place where most of his time
was ordinarily spent. Sebastian had dug this well, and with his own
hands he had beautified its surroundings until they were the loveliest on
the Varona grounds. The rock for the building of the quinta had been
quarried here, and in the center of the resulting depression, grass-grown
and flowering now, was the well itself. Its waters seeped from
subterranean caverns and filtered, pure and cool, through the porous
country rock. Plantain, palm, orange, and tamarind trees bordered the
hollow; over the rocky walls ran a riot of vines and ferns and
ornamental plants. It was Sebastian's task to keep this place green, and
thither he took his way, from force of habit.
Through the twilight came Pancho Cueto, the manager, a youngish man,
with a narrow face and bold, close-set eyes. Spying Sebastian, he
began:
"So Don Esteban has an heir at last?"
The slave rubbed his eyes with the heel of his huge yellow palm and
answered, respectfully:
"Yes, Don Pancho. Two little angels, a boy and a girl." His gray brows
drew together in a painful frown. "Dona Rosa was a saint. No doubt
there is great rejoicing in heaven at her coming. Eh? What do you
think?"
"Um-m! Possibly. Don Esteban will miss her for a time and then, I dare
say, he will remarry." At the negro's exclamation Cueto cried: "So! And
why not? Everybody knows how rich he is. From Oriente to Pinar del
Rio the