Hillyard looked around him with a nod of comprehension.
This is what its proprietor would wish for.

With a hundred old houses to select from for a model--no! This is the way his fancies would run.

The one beauty of the place, its position, was Nature's.

Hillyard went to the window, which was on the side of the house opposite to the door.

He looked down a steep terraced garden of orange trees and bright flowers to the foam sparkling on the rocks a thousand feet below.
"You wished to see me, senor," and Hillyard turned with curiosity.
Twelve years had passed since he had seen Jose Medina, but he had changed less than Hillyard expected.