His second was to see
sweet Mariquita, the girl of his choice.
They had exchanged several letters. His had been brief, hurried
accounts of his doings, assuring her of his safety after every action
and of his unalterable affection; hers were the artless outpourings of
a warm, passionate nature tortured by ever-present heartrending
anxiety for the man she loved best in the world. There had been no
time to warn her of his visit to Gibraltar, and his appearance was
entirely unexpected there.
Things were much the same at the cigar-shop. McKay walked boldly in
and found La Zandunga, as usual, behind the counter, but alone. She
got up, and, not recognising him, bowed obsequiously. Officers were
rare visitors in Bombardier Lane and McKay's staff-uniform inspired
respect.
"You are welcome, sir. In what can we serve you? Our tobacco is
greatly esteemed. We import our cigars--the finest--direct from La
Havanna; our cigarettes are made in the house."
"You do not seem to remember me," said McKay, quietly. "I hope
Mariquita is well?"
"Heaven protect me! It is the Sergeant--"
"Lieutenant, you mean."
"An officer! already! You have been fortunate, sir." La Zandunga spoke
without cordiality and was evidently hesitating how to receive him.
"What brings you here?"
"I want to see Mariquita.
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