But this was
not all that the smaller box contained. Beneath the papers there
were numerous leather bags. These had rotted; they came apart
easily in O'Reilly's fingers, displaying a miscellaneous
assortment of unset gems--some of them at first sight looked like
drops of blood, others like drops of purest water. They were the
rubies and the diamonds which had brought Isabel to her death.
O'Reilly waited to see no more. Candle in hand, he crept out into
the well to apprise Rosa of the truth.
"We've got it! There's gold by the barrel and the deeds to your
land. Yes, and the jewels, too--a quart of them, I guess. I--I
can't believe my eyes." He showed her a handful of coins. "Look at
that! Doubloons, eagles! There appear to be thousands of them.
Why, you're the richest girl in Cuba. Rubies, diamonds--yes, and
pearls, too, I dare say--" He choked and began to laugh weakly,
hysterically.
"I've heard about those pearls," Rosa cried, shrilly. "Pearls from
the Caribbean, as large as plums. Isabel used to babble about them
in her sleep."
"I found those deeds the first thing. The plantations are yours
now, beyond any question."
Rosa drew back from her precarious position, for she had grown
limp from weakness and her head was whirling. As she rose to her
feet she brushed something, somebody, some flesh-and-blood form
which was standing almost over her.
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