My father said that the tragedy of the thing was on him, and he
acted under the pressure of it.
"My child," he said, "you are to go to the house of your
grandfather in Havana. If Mr. Lucian Morrow wishes to renew his
suit for your hand in marriage, he will do it there. Go now and
make your preparations for the journey."
The girl cried out in pleasure at the words.
"My grandfather is a great person in New Spain. I have always
longed to see him . . . father promised . . . and now I am to go
. . . when do we set out, Meester Pendleton?"
"At once," replied my father, "to-day." Then he crossed the room
and opened the door for her to go out. He held the latch until
the girl was down the stairway. Then he closed the door.
The big man, falsely in his aspect, like a monk, looking out at
the far-off figures on the distant roads, now turned about.
"A clever ruse, Pendleton," he said, "We can send her now, on
this pretended journey, to Morrow's house, after the sale."
My father went over and sat down at the table. He took a faded
silk envelope out of his, coat, and laid it down before him.
Then he answered Zindorf.
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