But of all
these there was not one to whom she dared appeal in this, her hour
of need. These were harsh times; Spanish hatred of the
revolutionists was bitter, and of the Cuban sympathizers none were
left. Moreover, Esteban's denouncement as a traitor had estranged
all who remained loyal to the crown, and so far as Rosa herself
was concerned, she knew that it would not matter to them that she
had cleaved to him merely from sisterly devotion: by that act she
had made herself a common enemy and they would scarcely sympathize
with her plight. The girl had learned only too well what spirit
was abroad. But even had she felt assured of meeting sympathy, her
pride was pure Castilian, and it would never down. She, a Varona,
whose name was one to conjure with, whose lineage was of the
highest! She to beg? The thing was quite impossible. One crumb, so
taken, would have choked her. Rosa preferred to suffer proudly and
await the hour when hunger or disease would at last blot out her
memories of happy days and end this nightmare misery.
Then, too, she dreaded any risk of discovery by old Mario de
Castano, who was a hard, vindictive man. His parting words had
shown her that he would never forgive the slight she had put upon
him; and she did not wish to put his threats to the test. Once
Rosa saw him, on her way to buy a few centavos' worth of sweet-
potatoes; he was huddled in his victoria, a huge bladder of flesh,
and he rode the streets deaf to the plaints of starving children,
blind to the misery of beseeching mothers.
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