"I am called Donna Rafaela Mora," answered the girl, simply. "I am daughter of the Commandant of Fort San Carlos. I am no Nicaraguan, but a Spaniard And, señor, what is your name?"
"Horatio Nelson, an humble captain in His Majesty's naval forces, to be heard from later, I hope, unless Donna Rafaela cuts short my thread of life with her stiletto."
"And does a captain in His Majesty's forces condescend to play the part of a spy?" asked the girl, proudly.
"He is delighted to do so when it brings him the acquaintance of another spy so charming as Donna Rafaela. My spying, and I imagine yours also, is but amateurish, and will probably be of little value to our respective forces. Our real spies are now gathered round your fort, and will bring to us all the information we need. Thus, I can recline at your feet, Donna Rafaela, with an easy conscience, well aware that my failure as a spy will in no way retard our expedition."
"How many men do you command, Señor Captain?" asked the girl, with ill-concealed eagerness.
"Oh, sometimes twenty-five, sometimes fifty, or a hundred or two hundred, or more, as the case may be," answered the young man, carelessly.
"But how many are there in your expedition now?"
"Didn't you count them, Donna? To answer truly, I must not, to answer falsely, I will not, Donna."
"Why?" asked the girl, impetuously. "There is no such secrecy about our forces; we do not care who knows the number in our garrison."
"No? Then how many are there, Donna?"
"Three hundred and forty," answered the girl.
"Men, or young ladies like yourself, Donna? Be careful how you answer, for if the latter, I warn you that nothing will keep the British out of Fort San Carlos. We shall be with you, even if we have to go as prisoners. In saying this, I feel that I am speaking for our entire company."
The girl tossed her head scornfully.
"There are three hundred and forty men," she said, "as you shall find to your cost, if you dare attack the fort."
"In that case," replied Nelson, "you are nearly two to one, and I venture to think that we have not come up the river for nothing."
"What braggarts you English are!"
"Is it bragging to welcome a stirring fight? Are you well provided with cannon?"
"You will learn that for yourself when you come within sight of the fort. Have you any more questions to ask, Señor Sailor?"
"Yes; one. The number in the fort, which you give, corresponds with what I have already heard. I have heard also that you were well supplied with cannon, but I have been told that you have no cannonballs in Fort San Carlos."
"That is not true; we have plenty.
"Incredible as it may seem, I was told that the cannon-balls were made of clay. When I said you had none, I meant that you had none of iron."
"That also is quite true," answered the girl. "Do you mean to say that you are going to shoot baked clay at us? It will be like heaving bricks," and the young man threw back his head and laughed.
"Oh, you may laugh," cried the girl, "but I doubt if you will be so merry when you come to attack the fort. The clay cannon-balls were made under the superintendence of my father, and they are filled with links of chain, spikes, and other scraps of iron."
"By Jove!" cried young Nelson, "that's an original idea. I wonder how it will work?"
"You will have every opportunity of finding out, if you are foolish enough to attack the fort."
"You advise us then to retreat?"
"I most certainly do."
"And why, Donna, if you hate our country, are you so anxious that we shall not be cut to pieces by your scrap-iron?"
The girl shrugged her pretty shoulders.
"It doesn't matter in the least to me what you do," she said, rising to her feet. "Am I your prisoner, Señor Nelson?"
"No," cried the young man, also springing up; "I am yours, and have been ever since you looked at me."
Again the girl shrugged her shoulders. She seemed to be in no humour for light compliments, and betrayed an eagerness to be gone.
"I have your permission, then, to depart? Do you intend to keep your word?"
"If you will keep yours, Donna."
"I gave you no promise, except that I would not run away, and I have not done so. I now ask your permission to depart."
"You said that I might accompany you to the fort."
"Oh, if you have the courage, yes," replied the girl, carelessly.
They walked on together through the dense alleys of vegetation, and finally came to an opening which showed them a sandy plain, and across it the strong white stone walls of the fort, facing the wide river, and behind it the blue background of Lake Nicaragua.
Not a human form was visible either on the walls or on the plain. Fort San Carlos, in spite of the fact that it bristled with cannon, seemed like an abandoned castle. The two stood silent for a moment at the margin of the jungle, the young officer running his eye rapidly over the landscape, always bringing back his gaze to the seemingly deserted stronghold.
"Your three hundred and forty men keep themselves well hidden," he said at last.
"Yes," replied the girl, nonchalantly, "they fear that if they show themselves you may hesitate to attack a fortress that is impregnable."
"Well, you may disabuse their minds of that error when you return."
"Are you going to keep my stiletto?" asked the girl, suddenly changing the subject.
"Yes, with your permission."
"Then keep your word, and give me your pistol in return."
"Did I actually promise it?"
"You promised, Señor."
"Then in that case, the pistol is yours."
"Please hand it to me."
Her eagerness to obtain the weapon was but partially hidden, and the young man laughed as he weighed the fire-arm in his hand, holding it by the muzzle.
"It is too heavy for a slim girl like you to handle," he said, at last. "It can hardly be called a lady's toy."
"You intend, then, to break your word," said the girl, with quick intuition, guessing with unerring instinct his vulnerable point.
"Oh, no," he cried, "but I am going to send the pistol half-way home for you," and with that, holding it still by the barrel, he flung it far out on the sandy plain, where it fell, raising a little cloud of dust. The girl was about to speed to the fort, when, for the third time, the young man grasped her wrist. She looked at him with indignant surprise.
"Pardon me," he said, "but in case you should wish to fire the weapon, you must have some priming. Let me pour a quantity of this gunpowder into your hand."
"Thank you," she said, veiling her eyes, to hide their hatred.
He raised the tiny hand to his lips, without opposition, and then into her satin palm, from his powderhorn, he poured a little heap of the black grains.
"Good-bye, señor," she said, hurrying away. She went directly to where the pistol had fallen, stooped and picked it up. He saw her pour the powder from her hand on its broad, unshapely pan. She knelt on the sand, studied the clumsy implement, resting her elbow on her knee. The young man stood there motionless, bareheaded, his cap in his hand. There was a flash and a loud report; and the bullet cut the foliage behind him, a little nearer than he expected. He bowed low to her, and she, rising with an angry gesture,