A couple of months soon glided away ­a time of mingled misery and pleasure.  At one time I was light-hearted and happy, at another low-spirited and depressed; for I could not see that there was the slightest prospect of my hopes ever bearing fruit.  I was growing nervous, too, about Garcia; not that I feared him, but his manner now betokened that he bore me ill-will of the most intense character.

As for Lilla, the longer I was at the hacienda the more plain it became that she feared him, shuddering at times when he approached ­tokens of dislike that made his eyes flash, and for which it was very evident that he blamed me.

But his blame was unjust; he had credited me with having made known the cowardly part he had played on the river; but though my uncle and aunt were ignorant of it, the news reached Lilla’s ears, the medium being Tom Bulk.

Tom had settled down very comfortably at the hacienda, taking to smoking and hanging about the plantation sheds, and doing a little here or there as it pleased him, but none the less working very hard; and many a time I had come across him glistening with perspiration as he tugged at some heavy bag with all an Englishman’s energy when all around were sluggishly looking on.  He studiously avoided the woods, though, save when he saw me off upon a ramble; and it was one day when I was standing by Lilla’s side at an open window, previous to taking a long walk, that our attention was taken up by high words in the yard close at hand.

That Tom was one of the actors was plain enough, for his words came loud, clear, and angry to where we stood; and it was evident that he was taking the part of one of the Indian girls, who was weeping, probably from blows inflicted by one of her countrymen, whose gallantry is not proverbial.

“You red varmint,” cried Tom fiercely, “I’ll let you know what’s what!  We don’t strike women in our country ­no, not even if they hit us.”

Interested as I was, the recollection of a sharp slap I had heard at home would come to my memory.

“And I tell you what, if you touch her again I’ll make that face of yours a prettier colour than it is now.”

“Pray go and tell my father,” whispered Lilla anxiously.  “Quarrels here are very serious sometimes, and end in loss of life.”

Crack!  There was the sound of a blow followed by a woman’s shriek of pain.

“Why, you cowardly hound!” I heard Tom shout.  “You dare hit her, then ­you who sneaked off along with your grand Spanish Don when the boat was upset, and left young miss to drown!  You’re a brave one, you are, and then you all go and take the credit, when it was my Mas’r Harry who saved her.  Take that, you beggar, and that ­and that!”

Tom’s words were accompanied by the sounds of heavy blows; and on leaping out of the window I came upon him, squaring away, and delivering no meanly-planted blows upon the chests and faces of a couple of Indians, while a woman crouched, trembling and weeping, and writhing with pain, upon the ground.

“That’s a settler for you anyhow!” said Tom, as he sent one of his adversaries staggering back for a few yards, to fall heavily, when the other retreated, but only for both to out with a knife each, and again come forward to the attack.

But my appearance upon the scene stayed them, and they slunk scowling away.

“I’ll knock the wind out of some on ’em, Mas’r Harry, spite of their knives,” cried Tom excitedly.  “I’ll let ’em know how an Englishman serves them that knocks women about.  Hit her with a great thick stick, he did ­cuss him!  I’ll let him know!”

“Be quiet, Tom!  Are you mad?” I said, catching him by the collar, for he was squaring away at the Indians, who were a couple of dozen yards away.

“What did he go knocking her about for?  Yah!  Mas’r Harry, they’re a rotten lot out here, and the country’s a thousand times too good for them!”

By degrees I got Tom cooled down, and into the house, and on returning I found Lilla standing watching for me at the window, but only to gaze at me with a strange, troubled look, half pain, half pleasure, and before I could speak she had fled.

But an hour had not passed before I came upon her again, speaking anxiously to Tom.  They did not see me approach, and as I was close up I was just in time to hear Tom exclaim: 

“But he did, Miss, and stuck to you when all the rest had got ashore ­ the Don and all.”

Lilla gave a faint shriek as I spoke; and then darting at me a look of reproach, she hurried away, leaving me excited and troubled; for she had learned a secret that I had intended should not come to her ears.

“How dare you go chattering about like that?” I cried fiercely to Tom, for I was anxious to have some one to blame.

“Don’t care, Mas’r Harry,” he said sulkily.  “Miss Lilla asked me, and I never told her only the truth.  They are a cowardly set of hounds, the whole lot of ’em; and I’ll take any couple of ’em, one down and t’other come on, with a hand tied behind me.”

“We shall have to go, Tom,” I said bitterly.  “What with your brawls and the mischief you have made, this will be no place for us.”

I spoke with gloomy forebodings in my mind, for I could not but think that trouble was to be our lot.  Poor and without prospects, and with a rich and favoured rival, what was I to hope for?  Indeed I felt ready to despair.

“Say, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom penitently, “’tain’t so bad as that, is it?”

“Bad!  Yes, Tom,” I said gloomily, and I turned and left him.

It was a day or two after.  I had only seen Lilla at meals, to find her shy and distraite.  She hardly seemed to notice me, but I had the satisfaction of seeing that Garcia fared no better.

But he smiled pleasantly, evidently to conceal the rage that burned within him, and more than once there was a hateful glare in his eye that evidently boded no good to those who crossed his path; and it seemed as if I had not only crossed his path, but now stood right in his way.

We had just finished the mid-day meal.  Garcia had been with us, and on Lilla rising he had followed her to the door; but she had turned from him with a look of contempt, when, white with passion, he had been unable to control himself, but dashed out of the place, muttering fiercely.

My uncle had seen all, and his countenance lowered, but for a while he did not speak.  He walked to a closet, took out a cigar, and sat smoking till Mrs Landell had left the room, when, beckoning me to him, he pointed to a chair, and then, as soon as I was seated, he gave utterance to what was in his mind.

“Harry, my lad,” he said, “I am a plain, straightforward fellow, and I like frankness.  I’m going now to speak very plainly to you, for I’m not blind.  You’ve taken a fancy to little Lill.”

I rose, holding by the back of my chair, blushed, blundered, and then stood without a word.

“I see I am right,” he said coolly.  “But look here, Hal.  I can’t call to mind a single dishonourable act committed by a member of either of the families from which you sprang.  Now listen to me:  have you ever said a word ­you know what I mean ­to Lilla?”

“Oh, no, Uncle!” I exclaimed warmly.

“Quite right, my lad ­quite right, for it would not do.  You see, Hal, she has money in her own right, and you are not worth twopence.  The girl is in my care.  I hold her from her relations, as it were, in trust; and it seems to me that it would be like taking advantage of my position if I encouraged anything between her and a poor relative of my own.  You’ll have to go away, Harry, unless you can make me a promise, and keep to it.”

“What am I to promise?” I said gloomily; for he had ceased speaking; and I began to realise what going away meant.  “What am I to promise?” I said again.

“Promise me, as a man of honour, that you will not in any way take advantage of your position here.”

“Is it likely,” I said bitterly, “when I am not worth twopence, and there is some one else in the field?”

“Don’t be spiteful, lad, because things don’t go as you wish.  We all have to bear crosses in our time.  But, as you say, there’s some one else in the field.  Garcia is an old lover, and I am under obligations to him.  You must not in any way cross his path, Hal, for he is rich, and possesses a good deal of power over the Indians about here.  I should say, Hal, that in this lawless country that man’s life would not be safe who stood between him and his wishes.  Don’t offend him, Hal ­ don’t offend him, Hal.  He’s a good fellow, but, like all those half-bloods, very susceptible.”

“I’ll promise you anything you like,” I said gloomily, “but don’t send me away.  Let me stay and do something so as not to be an encumbrance to you, but don’t send me away.”

“No one wants to send you away, Hal,” said my uncle kindly.  “Look about you and see the country; shoot and fish a little, too.  I need not say, beware of the caymen ­the river swarms with them.  See all you can of the place, and then you’ll have to try somewhere else.  Texas or one of the States ­those are the places for a young fellow like you.”

I sighed to myself, for it seemed to me now that there was no place on earth bearable but the one where Lilla dwelt; and then, clapping me on the shoulder, my uncle rose and went out.

I followed him at the end of a few minutes; and, so as to be alone, I wandered away from the house and heedlessly took one of the paths that led down to the river bank.