On they went, turning and winding about, but still not hesitating. And
then suddenly the man halted in front of a grated door.

The key was in the lock and the door opened promptly as he turned it.

"Enter," said he.

Clif went in, and he heard the door shut behind him. It flashed over him
then that he had only been taken to another cell.

But when he whirled about he saw that the stranger had entered, too. The
dark figure brushed past him and went across the room. A moment
afterward Clif heard him in the act of striking a match.

And then the light of a lamp lit up the little room. By it the eager
cadet could see his rescuer, and he stared anxiously.

Further secrecy seemed not intended. The stranger faced about and each
looked at the other steadfastly.

What the mysterious man saw was a tall, handsome American in a blue
uniform, his face rather pale.

Clif in turn saw also a man in a blue uniform; he had to take but one
glance to see that he was a lieutenant in the Spanish army.

He was a tall, finely proportioned man, rather young, and with a slight
dark mustache. He had the dark skin and the features of a Spaniard; but
Clif thought he had never seen a finer looking military man.

For a moment Clif gazed at him in silence. Then he stepped toward him.

"Tell me, sir," he said. "Why have you done this?"

The officer answered in a low, quiet voice:

"You will soon know," said he. "Do not be impatient."

"You have saved me from a horrible fate," said the cadet, his voice
choking. "I do not know how to thank you."

"Do not try," answered the other. "You have some one else to thank."

And then he became silent again, watching Clif. He seemed to be very
much interested in him, from the way he studied the American's face. And
once he gave a slight sigh.

Clif looked at him in surprise; but the man turned away, and he went
toward the door.

"I will return soon," said he, again in that quiet, firm voice. "Wait
here."

There was nothing for Clif to do but wait; for when the door shut he was
locked in the cell.

That man's action was a mysterious one indeed. It left the cadet plenty
to think of. He saw now where he got the keys. He was evidently one of
the officers in charge of the castle.

But why had he done it? Clif was utterly baffled before that question.

But it was not for very long; he soon learned, and in a startling and
unexpected way.

Clif had not noticed it, but there was another door to that cell. It was
behind him, leading to a small room in the rear.

While he stood there motionless and lost in thought waiting for the
Spaniard's return, that door was silently opened, and a figure stood
watching him.

And then suddenly it stepped out and came across the room.

The cadet heard it then, and whirled about. He took one glance.

And then he staggered back with a cry of consternation.

It was Bessie Stuart!

For one instant the two stood and stared at each other as if to make
sure that their eyes did not deceive them. And then, with a cry of
delight that came from his very soul, Clif sprang toward the girl.

Bessie Stuart looked as if she had been through some terrible ordeal,
for her face was pale; the emotion of meeting Clif almost overcame her,
and she burst into tears upon his shoulder.

Clif himself was so dazed that he hardly knew what to think. He caught
the girl in his arms to keep her from falling.

"Bessie," he cried, "how on earth did you get here?"

The cadet's brain was in a whirl at that moment. He began to see what
the Spaniard meant when he said it was for some other person's sake that
he had rescued Clif. It was for her sake!

And it must have been by some terrible sacrifice that she had saved him
from the torture.

"Bessie!" he cried. "Tell me--that officer. What----"

The girl looked up through her tears.

"S-sh!" she exclaimed. "It is all right. Wait."

And at that instant Clif heard a key turn in the door, and knew that it
was the man returning.

Clif gazed into the girl's face and he saw a look of joy upon it that
partially reassured him; then he looked up and saw that the Spanish
lieutenant had entered and was watching them.

In his quiet way he studied the faces of the two; he saw the look of
happiness on Bessie Stuart's face, and he must have known that it was
because she had met the cadet again.

Clif saw him press his lips together resolutely. The cadet was watching
him with the intensest anxiety, for he hoped in that man's actions to
read the meaning of this mystery.

But the Spaniard's handsome face showed little emotion, though his chest
heaved and fell as he stood there.

And then suddenly he stepped forward toward the two.

"I have brought it, Miss Stuart," he said, with a dignified bow.

He held out a heavy cloth cape, which the girl flung over her shoulders;
then, leaning on Clif's arm, she stepped toward the door.

"I am ready," she said.

And without another word the officer turned and led the way out of the
cell.

He shut the door and locked it behind him and then went on down the
corridor.

Clif was mystified beyond expression, but he asked no questions. The
three went on silently. Bessie Stuart was so weak that she had to be
half carried.

They had gone but a short way down the long passage before they met a
sentry with a gun upon his shoulder; he glanced at them inquiringly.

But the lieutenant was not one who could be asked for explanations, and
the soldier saluted and passed on.

They passed through two heavily grated doors, each guarded in a similar
way. But still not a word was spoken.

And then suddenly Clif saw the passage broaden out into a wide hall, and
a moment later he came to what he knew to be the great door by which he
had first entered.

There were two men standing on guard there, either sentries or jailers.
Clif could not see which. The party came to a halt.

"Garcia," said the lieutenant, "these are two prisoners, Americans, whom
I have been directed to take across the bay."

The man saluted and bowed respectfully.

"Have you the order?" he inquired.

"I have not. The commander had no time to give one to me. There is some
hurry in the matter, I believe."

"It is somewhat irregular, lieutenant."

"I will assume full responsibility," said the other, quietly.

The man scanned the two prisoners closely.

"They are not even bound," he objected.

"I will assume full responsibility," said the officer again.

He spoke rather sharply; and without another word the man hastened to
swing back the door.

And the three stepped out of that black prison into the open air and
under the broad sky of heaven.

And the lieutenant turned toward the two Americans.

"You are free," he said, quietly. "Fly for your lives!"




CHAPTER XVIII.

CLIF FARADAY'S SACRIFICE.


It is needless to say that Clif stared at the man in amazement. But an
instant before he had heard him state that he was willing to assume
responsibility for them as prisoners.

And now he was saying that they were free!

But there was no time to ask any questions. Bessie Stuart was clinging
to Clif's arm and urging him on.

"Have you got some place to hide us?" she inquired anxiously of the
officer.

"It is hardly likely that I would leave you here," was the other's quiet
answer. "Come."

He led them away from the prison. A short distance off there was
standing a small closed carriage.

"Here it is," said the Spaniard. "Step in."

Clif helped the girl inside; and then entered himself. He expected the
officer to follow, but he did not; he clambered up with the driver.

And the carriage rattled off down the road.

Clif saw his chance then. He turned eagerly toward the girl.

"Bessie!" he cried, "for Heaven's sake, tell me what this all means. Who
is this man? And why is he setting us at liberty?"

The girl sank back weakly in the seat.

"I will tell you the story, Clif," she said. "There is plenty of time,
for we have a long ways to go."

"He is ruining himself for us!" Clif exclaimed. "For you! Why he will be
court-martialed and shot if he lets us get away."

"I know it," groaned the girl, choking down a sob. "I know it. We talked
it all over beforehand. But it was a question of his life or mine."

"Are you sure he is not tricking us?" gasped Clif--"kidnapping us?"

The girl smiled sadly.

"You do not understand the circumstances," she said. "Wait, and let me
tell you."

Clif missed in his friend the old self-reliant manner that she had
always had; she was nervous and weak, and it was plain that she was not
well.

And Clif was trembling all over with anxiety as he watched her.

"Go on!" he cried. "Tell me. How did you get here, in the first place?"

"You left me with Gomez," began the girl, taking a deep breath. "I did
not stay very long, for he was marching about, and I could not stand the
strain. He wanted me to go to one of the Cuban villages in the interior
where his family was; but I was anxious to get back to the United
States. And so I came here to Havana----"

"To Havana!"

"Yes, for I thought no one would know me."

"And Ignacio saw you?"

"Yes, and recognized me. But that was only the other day."

"Where were you meanwhile?"

"I had a letter to the British consul, and I stayed at his home. There
was so much suffering in this city that I couldn't stay idle. I used to
go to the hospitals to take care of the poor people, the Cubans. And
that was how I met Lieutenant Hernandez."

"Who is he?"

"He is the man who has rescued us. He had been hurt in the Matanzas
bombardment, and one of his arms was terribly cut. I took care of
him--he was there because the military hospitals were crowded. And,
Clif, I--I--I guess he fell in love with me."

The girl flushed as she said that.

"I should not tell, perhaps," she went on, hastily. "But it is your
right to know this, and you would not understand if I didn't tell you.
Clif, he asked me to marry him."

Clif started and turned pale.

"Bessie!" he exclaimed in horror.

The thought of that girl's marrying the Spanish officer was terrible. It
flashed over him that that was the reason why the rescue had been
attempted.

"Oh, Bessie!" he cried again.

Clif had never breathed a word of love to her in his life. But all
through their trying journey through Cuba he had protected her, fairly
worshiped her. And he had thought she understood his feelings.

And now he thought that he had lost her--she had promised to be that
officer's wife! It was no wonder that he felt his hands grow icy.

His heart fairly stood still as he waited for the girl to go on.

"I will tell you," said Bessie. "You must know in the first place that
this man is a gentleman, a hero in fact. You will understand it when I
tell you what he has done."

"Go on."

"When he left the hospital, as I say, he begged me to marry
him--declared he would resign from the army if I would."

The girl was breathing hard as she continued; it was evident that the
subject pained her.

"I felt so sorry for him," she said, in a low, trembling voice. "For I
think it has nearly broken his heart. I refused him. I told him that I
liked him, but I did not, I could not marry him. I had been kind to him
because he was ill. He swore that he would die for me--and, Clif, I
think he has nearly carried out his promise."

Bessie Stuart choked down a sob.

"I refused him," she said again. "And then came the horrible Ignacio. He
saw me on the street. That was three days ago; and that same day I was
placed under arrest."

"What for?"

"Why, Ignacio knew that I had been fighting with Gomez; you know we had
a fight with some Spaniards when he was along. And so there was no
chance for me. The British consul did all he could for me, but there was
no hope. I could not deny the charges. And, oh, Clif, I have had a
frightful time. I was taken over to those horrible dungeons in Morro.
And I was sentenced to death. I was to be taken out and shot to-morrow."

The girl stopped for a few moments to recover her composure.

"And how did you find out about me?" asked Clif.

"I will tell you," said Bessie. "But first I must go on about this
Lieutenant Hernandez. I did not know it, but he was stationed over here.
And when he found out what had happened to me he managed to come in to
see me."

And then Clif felt able to complete that story.

"I suppose," said he, "that he offered to free you if you would marry
him."

Bessie Stuart smiled sadly.

"You do not know the man," said she. "I will tell you what he did say. I
can almost hear him saying it."

"What?"

"'Miss Stuart,' he said, 'you have said you do not love me. And I think
you love some one else--I do not know whom; but I will not make you
unhappy by urging you any more. I might take advantage of your present
position to get you to promise to marry me. But I will not. If you will
be ready to-night I will help you to escape, and prove what I said about
dying for you.'"

The girl stopped and sat silent, too much moved to speak. And Clif was
too astonished.

That was indeed the act of a noble nature. The cadet saw it all then,
why the man had freed them and why he and the girl were both so quiet
and sad. Lieutenant Hernandez had given his life for hers.

It was fully a minute before anything more was said. Then Bessie Stuart
began again, in a low voice:

"About you," she said. "It was the lieutenant who told me, quite by
accident. He said there were five Americans captured, one a cadet, and
that he was to be killed. When I asked the name and he told me, I
fainted dead away. And I think that hurt the lieutenant more than
anything."

"Why?"

"I told him the story, how you had twice rescued me from the Spaniards.
And he asked--he asked if you were his rival."

The girl stepped abruptly.

"And you said that I was, I hope," said Clif, quietly.

Most women would have been embarrassed by a question such as that. But
Bessie Stuart was not.

There was some of the old-time self-possession in her voice as she
responded. She turned and looked fairly into Clif's eyes.

"I know you well enough to speak my mind," she said. "Yes, I told him
that you were."

And then the two sat perfectly silent, looking at each other. It was a
very few words they had said, but they covered a lifetime of feeling.

In that quiet way and under those strange circumstances Clif had
unbosomed his heart; and Bessie Stuart had done the same.

It was the first word that Clif had ever said to indicate how he felt
toward her.

For the two sat in silence for a minute or so; and then Clif went on:

"You told this officer that I was his rival," said he; "that you loved
me and that I was the only barrier to his hopes?"

"I did," said the girl.

"And he still was willing to save my life?"

"You see what he has done," answered the other. "He said that he loved
me, that he would risk his life to make me happy. And here we are."

"But not happy," Clif added, half under his breath.

Then again there was a long silence. One cannot say much when one feels
as deeply as those two felt then.

Clif thought of the heroism of that quiet Spanish officer. And his heart
went out toward him. He fancied what the man's own feelings must be, the
loneliness and the desolation.

He had ruined himself, accepted voluntarily disgrace and a shameful
death. And all in order that a woman who had been kind to him might be
set free and made happy.

Of the death there could be no doubt. When that officer was caught he
would have it to face. And he would face it for the sake of Bessie
Stuart.

And moreover, he was aiding Clif, his rival, the one who was robbing him
of his heart's desire; he was helping him to freedom so that the cadet,
when his work in the war was done, might claim the woman he loved as his
reward.

That was heroism; not the noisy kind in the battle, which every one sees
and applauds, but the quiet kind that knows it is right and cares for
no one else.

Clif felt that he could worship such a man as that.

And it is needless to say that his conscience troubled him. What right
had he to accept such a sacrifice?

But the alternative was a terrible one. The lieutenant might flee with
them to the United States; and then----

Clif could not finish the thought; it made him shudder.

Just then Bessie Stuart spoke again.

"Clif," she said, "I have something to say to you. And I shall speak
plainly, for there is no time to hesitate. I have told you how I feel
toward you; I have told you that I loved you. Neither of us would have
declared our feelings, I suppose, if it had not been for this situation.
But I have been with you for months, and I have never known you to do
anything I could not admire. And mine is no childish fancy, Clif, for we
have been doing the work of men, you and I. Clif----"

The girl choked back a sob--and then went on:

"We must stop," she said, "stop where we are."

Clif knew what was coming, and he felt his blood surging. Bessie
Stuart's hand was in his and it was trembling.

For a moment she could not speak; the words would not come.

But then with that terrible self-command she sometimes displayed, she
mastered her emotion and turned to look into her companion's face.

"Clif," she said, "you know what I mean. You must let me marry this
officer."

Clif had known, and so he did not move when he heard those awful words.
He sat perfectly motionless, almost frozen; he felt the girl's hand turn
cold in his.

The carriage rolled on, and for at least one long, long minute there was
not a sound. The girl was listening, trembling again; and Clif, half
dazed was thinking to himself, thinking again and again of that death
knell, "You must let me marry this officer."

And it was true. Clif knew it. It was his duty; and the feeling lingered
in his mind that if he had half the heroism of that Spaniard he would
have said so long ago.

At last he spoke. His mouth was dry and his voice husky, but he forced
the words out.

And they were the right ones.

"Yes," said he, "you must marry him. And we must never meet again."

And then once more came the terrible silence. Bessie Stuart heard him
choke down a sob; and her heart was ready to break.

For this cadet was the dearest friend she had. She had been through
terrible dangers with him, coming to love him more every day, as she saw
the brave man's daring. And no one could ever know now how she felt
toward him.

But there was her duty; and though she was nearly ready to faint, she
sat perfectly motionless by his side.

And so for two or three minutes they rode on in silence; then suddenly
they heard the driver of the carriage stopping his horses.

"We are there," said Clif, in a husky voice.

He turned to look at the girl once more; he found that she was gazing at
him, and their eyes met.

There was anguish in both of their faces; Miss Stuart could scarcely see
for her tears.

But Clif took her hands in his. All the emotion of his lifetime seemed
crowded into that moment. He bent toward her and their lips met in one
trembling kiss.

And then with a set look on his face the cadet rose from his seat and
opened the door of the carriage, which had stopped.




CHAPTER XIX.

A FAREWELL.


Clif found Lieutenant Hernandez waiting for them to come out. Both he
and the driver had descended from the carriage.

It was quite dark where they were, apparently surrounded by a lonely
woods. But by such light as there was Clif looked at the officer
anxiously.

Now since he had heard that story he was more than anxious to study his
face, to see what manner of man this was.

The lieutenant still wore the calm, quiet look; he seemed almost
inspired.

"If you will follow me a short distance," he said, "we shall reach a
place where we can remain concealed until morning."

He started across the country, after a few words with the driver of the
carriage; they had not gone very far before the faint roaring of the
breakers on the beach became audible.

"You see," said the Spaniard, "we are near the sea. We are only about
four miles from Havana harbor, and you may make an effort to reach the
blockading fleet in the morning."

Obviously, it would not do to try it in the darkness. They might be run
down or lost or fired on or swept out to sea.

"But it will be daylight in a few hours," said the lieutenant.

And then the three went on in silence until suddenly a small hut loomed
up in the darkness.

"It is deserted," said their guide. "We can conceal ourselves there."

And accordingly, they crept through the low doorway, and finding the
place covered with straw inside, sat down to wait.

There was no conversation among them, for each one of the trio was
wrapped in his own sad thoughts. The place was in absolute darkness, and
so they could not see each other.

But Clif was revolving a plan over in his thoughts, and it was not very
many minutes before he made up his mind.

He rose to his feet again.

"Excuse me for a while," he said. "I will return."

And with that he hurried out of the hut.

Bessie Stuart knew why he had gone, and after a moment's silence she
turned toward the lieutenant.

"My friend has left," she said, "in order that I may have a chance to
talk to you."

The officer answered nothing; the girl went on slowly.

"Lieutenant Hernandez," she said "will you answer me a question?"

"What is it?"

"What do you intend to do?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean that you will be court-martialed if you return to Havana----"

"Yes," said the other, "I know that."

"Do you mean to return there?"

"Such are my plans at present," was the quiet response.

Miss Stuart thought a moment before she began again.

"Lieutenant Hernandez," she said at last, "you have been a hero to-day."

"I have done my best," said the man.

"You have done what few men would have. You have given your life for our
safety."

"Yes," answered he, "I have."

"But there are other heroes, Lieutenant Hernandez," said the girl. "You
have inspired us two. That is what I wish to speak to you about. I have
a better plan than your return to Havana."

"What is it?"

"Come to America with us----"

"And then?"

"Then I will do my best to repay your favor. I will do as you have asked
me."

"You mean----"

"I mean that I will marry you the day that we arrive."

The girl said those words in a low, earnest tone. She saw the officer
give a start, she even fancied she heard his heart begin to beat louder.

But he said nothing. The two sat as they were in silence. The Spaniard
was having his struggle then.

The pause continued for at least five minutes; it was broken only once.

"Does Cadet Faraday know of this?" asked the officer.

"He does," said the girl. "We talked it over in the carriage."

"And he said that he was willing to give you up?"

"He did."

"I am glad that I saved him," muttered the man.

Bessie Stuart was a little puzzled to catch the drift of that last
remark. But she soon saw what it meant.

She was quite startled by the decision to which the Spaniard came.

"Miss Stuart," he began, in a low, trembling voice, "this is indeed a
reward for my helping you. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it.
It shows me that those I helped were worth helping. And it makes me all
the more sorry."

"Sorry?"

"Yes, sorry that it cannot be."

The girl gave a slight gasp.

"What cannot be?"

"I cannot marry you. I will not."

The officer paused for a moment, then he went on.

"It is plain to me," he said, "that you have worshiped this cadet. I do
not blame you, after what I have just seen of him. I have heard of his
bravery, too, and he is worthy of you--more so than I am. As I say, Miss
Stuart, you love him; and you do not love me. You make this proposal to
me from a sense of duty, and I cannot think of accepting it. You would
never be happy again."

The girl started to protest, but the lieutenant held up his hand to stop
her.

"No," he said, "there are more reasons, even stronger ones, I could not
think of going to the United States. I could not think of turning
traitor to my country. You forget, since I have helped you, that I am
still a Spaniard; and while this war continues I shall remain with my
countrymen."

"But they will kill you!"

"They may do what they please with me. It is not for me to say. I have
done my duty; I will not become a traitor."

The officer was silent for a moment, sadly staring ahead in the
darkness.

"You Americans forget how we Spaniards feel," he began slowly. "You
think us foolish to fight for a dying country. I know that it is dying;
for I am not one of those who blind their eyes and boast. I know that we
are bankrupt and disorganized, our men dying, and our enemies closing
in on us. We cannot keep up with modern nations. But, Miss Stuart, it is
still Spain, my native land; my friends are there, my memories are
there. And Spain's enemies are mine."

There was a gleam in the proud Castilian's eyes as he said that; but
then he sank back with a sigh.

"It is useless," he said, "foolish, if you will. And I am tired of the
struggle, tired of weeping at my country's trials, her follies. I shall
be glad to leave. I can die without a murmur. When I go back to Havana I
shall have no one to care about me, and it will soon be over."

The man stopped abruptly.

"I am through," he said.

"You say you have no one to care for you," said the girl. "I will care
for you."

But the officer only shook his head.

"I should ruin your hopes," he said. "You must not think of me at all.
If I came I should have no way of taking care of you; I will stay in
Cuba. And remember that I have done this to make you happy--because I
love you. If I leave you unhappy I shall know that I have died for
nothing."

And there the matter ended. The calm officer only shook his head to all
of Bessie's arguments; he had his mind made up, and was as firm as
adamant.

It seemed strange that the girl should be trying to persuade him to
marry her; but in her earnestness she never thought of that. The man's
sacrifice quite appalled her; she felt that she was not worth it, and
she did all she could to persuade him of her sincerity.

But Lieutenant Hernandez was unmoved.

"I know that you love him," he said, "and I know that your heart is
ready to break at the thought of leaving him. I can see it in the way
you look at him. I knew it when you fainted when I spoke of his danger.
And I do not blame you, for he is a braver man than I. But I will not be
coward enough to separate you. You would hate me."

"Hate you?"

"Yes, and every decent American, too. What else has any man for a
traitor? I should kill myself for shame. No, no!"

And the girl realized to her despair what he said was true; but oh! how
her heart went out to that man!

The officer rose to his feet just then, as if to close the painful
discussion. Bessie Stuart rose, too, and she held out her hand to him.

He took and kissed it reverently; then his face still calm and
dignified, he stepped to the door.

"It is best," he said, "that I should go."

"Can you not wait to see us start?" asked the girl.

"You will find a boat on the shore just in front of you," began the
other. "And you had best start as soon as it is light. But there is
nobody about here, and you are not in any danger. As to my staying, I
will watch you from the woods, a short ways back. It would not be well
for me to stay here, for I am human----"

The man paused a moment as he gazed into the girl's beautiful face.

"I am very weak," he said, with a sad smile. "I might accept the reward
you offer."

And with that he bowed, then turned resolutely on his heel and strode
away into the darkness.

As he did so he passed Clif; and Clif, as he saw him leave rushed toward
the dark figure that stood in the doorway of the hut.

What had been Clif's agony of mind may be imagined. When he saw the
lieutenant going away it had flashed over him that perhaps he refused
the act of treason implied in his going to America.

And Clif's heart began to throb once more with the wild hope he had
tried so hard to suppress.

"Bessie!" he panted. "Bessie! What did he say?"

"He has gone back to Havana," was the answer.

For an instant the two stood staring at each other, their hearts
throbbing with an emotion they were ashamed to call joy. Clif saw the
girl's slender figure trembling.

And he sprang forward and caught her in his arms just as she fainted
dead away.




CHAPTER XX.

AN UNEXPECTED PERIL.


How the long hours between then and sunrise passed away those two hardly
knew. Bessie Stuart, exhausted by her long nervous strain, sank into a
restless slumber. And Clif sat with his eyes fixed on the gradually
lightening doorway.

Clif wanted to feel happy, but he scarcely dared. For he had before his
mind the thought of that lonely Spanish officer, waiting somewhere in
the distance to see them depart and leave him to his fate.

It was a solemn thought, and it made Clif tremble. He almost wished that
the man had not rescued him.

But then again he thought of Ignacio and his frenzied cruelty, and he
felt that he would have died himself to save any man from such a fate as
that.

And now it was done and there was no undoing it. There was no way of
aiding the lieutenant, no way of persuading him, nothing but death for
him to face.

But as Clif sat there through the early hours of the morning and gazed
upon that silent figure by his side he felt that his love for that girl
was consecrated by that hero's sacrifice. There was a light of high
purpose in the brave man's eyes; he was accepting his life and hers at
the cost of another's, and the terms were such as made him feel the
meaning of his existence. It was to be no child's play, no blind hunt
for pleasure or wealth or fame, but a life with a purpose and meaning,
a struggle for the right.

"I think his face will always be watching me," thought Clif.

And there were moments in his after life when the thought that that
quiet Spaniard's eyes were watching made him shrink from the base things
of life.

The light that shone in from the eastern sky gradually grew brighter and
brighter, and Clif awakened from his solemn reverie to the duty that lay
before him then.

He had Bessie Stuart to protect, and to lead from that position of
peril.

It would indeed be a frightful calamity, he thought, if that sacrifice
of Lieutenant Hernandez should avail nothing. If that girl should fall
once more into the clutches of the Spaniards.

"For they are not all like that man," thought the lad.

And so he waited nervously until the light was bright enough. And then
very gently he awakened her and assisted her to rise.

The girl was weak and exhausted, but she gathered her strength for this
last final effort.

"We have not far to go," Clif said. "And we will soon be safe."

The two halted for a moment at the doorway of the hut and gazed out.

In the faint gray light they could not make out the line of the shore
beyond, but they heard the noise of the breakers and knew that it was
not far away.

And so half carrying his friend, Clif set out in the direction of the
sound. Once only he turned again.

That was to take a parting look in the direction he knew Lieutenant
Hernandez to be.

But he could make out only a dim line of woods behind him. No one could
be seen, and the place was lonely and silent and gray.

But Clif fancied those quiet eyes were watching him from the distance.

There was no time to be lost, however, for no one knew when they might
chance to meet with some of the enemy; they were in the midst of a
thickly settled country.

And so they made their way swiftly down to the shore.

There they found a rowboat, drawn up on the beach a little beyond them.
Clif was startled to see a figure standing by it.

But it proved to be only a boy, and he hailed them and then disappeared.
Clif knew that he had been sent there to guard the boat; it was more of
the lieutenant's thoughtfulness.

The sight of that guarantee of safety revived Bessie Stuart's spirits
considerably; her step grew quicker and in a few moments they reached
the spot.

There were a pair of oars in the boat, which was a small one. Without a
word, Clif set to work to put it off from the shore.

That was as hard a task as could have been given him; for great waves
were rolling upon the beach. But Clif was an athlete and a sailor
besides; and the realization of their danger nerved his arm.

He seated the girl in the bow and ran the boat out with a rush; he
caught a favorable moment. He plunged on until the water was up to his
waist, and then he leaped into the boat and seized the oars just as
another great wave swept them in toward shore again.

But Clif pulled for his life and held his own; and when the current set
out again, he breasted the line of breakers and reached the sea beyond.

Bessie Stuart sat perfectly motionless, grasping the gunwale, until she
saw that they were safe. Then she gave a slight gasp and closed her eyes
wearily.

Clif had but one object, and that was to get as far from the coast of
Cuba as he could; every stroke that he rowed put him further away from
that dreaded shore.

And he knew, though he could not see them then, that far out to sea lay
the vessels of the blockading squadron. Once in sight of them and the
anxious fugitives were safe.

And so Clif put every ounce of muscle he had into that task. Not a word
more was spoken; but the man's lips were set in a desperate resolve and
his broad back heaved as he fought his way on.

There was a heavy sea, and progress was frightfully slow. Now that they
were so near to safety, to be recaptured would be frightful indeed.

But yet the cadet knew that Spanish soldiers on the shore might catch
sight of them at any moment, and come rushing down the beach to open
fire.

Clif had rescued one man from just such a plight as that; and so as he
rowed he glanced nervously along the shore.

But he saw no one, and no one saw him. The light brightened until he
could make out everything along the coast, but there was no sign of any
one's having noticed them.

An so with his heart growing lighter at every moment Clif tugged at the
oars and forced the frail boat ahead through the waves. It was but
natural that his relief should be great, for his adventures upon that
island had been terrible ones indeed.

A warship is far from a safe place of residence, especially in war time.
But Clif felt that if he once got under the American flag again all his
worry would be at an end.

And so every stroke nearer was a cause for joy.

For perhaps five minutes he rowed on in silence. By that time he was
some distance from shore, though their progress was slow in the heavy
sea.

But they felt that they were safe. They felt that there was no longer
anything to be feared. And there was a silent prayer of thanksgiving in
Clif Faraday's heart.

And such being his feelings, the reader may imagine the horror and
consternation that swept over him a moment later.

For an appalling discovery was made, one that seemed fairly to freeze
Clif's blood.

He was struggling with his back toward Bessie Stuart. And the joy that
was in his heart was turned to horror by hearing the girl give a shrill
scream.

The cadet whirled about.

He saw the girl, her face transfixed and white as a sheet, pointing with
a trembling finger off to starboard.

Clif followed the direction of her gaze; what he saw made his brain
reel, made him almost totter backward into the boat.

Not half a mile away, coming straight down the coast and bearing down
upon them at full speed, was a vessel, a low gunboat.

And high above her bow was floating a Spanish flag.

Clif stared at the frightful apparition as if he had seen a ghost.

What it meant to him may be imagined--the failure of all their
hopes--their capture and death!

And there was not the slightest possibility of escape!

Perfectly wild with terror the agonized cadet whirled about, gazing
seaward, with a faint hope of the possibility of there being seen by
some American vessel.

But the gray horizon was not light enough for them to be sighted. And
all hope was gone.

Bessie Stuart continued pointing to the vessel as if she were paralyzed
by fright.

"Row! Row!" she shrieked.

And Clif seized the oars frantically. But he knew that it was utterly
useless. The gunboat was coming on like a race horse.

And scarcely had he taken two strokes before the matter was settled
finally. For there came a puff of white smoke from the Spaniard's bow.

And almost at the same instant with a deafening, blinding crash, a solid
shot struck the tiny rowboat.

It plunged through, almost tearing the frail craft in half, hurling
splinters about and sending the two horrified occupants tumbling into
the water!




CHAPTER XXI.

RECAPTURED BY THE ENEMY.


Clif was so heartbroken at that sudden ending of all his hopes, that he
scarcely cared whether he was drowned or not. But he saw Bessie Stuart
struggling in the seething waters, and toward her he struck out
desperately.

It took the cadet but a moment to reach her side. The shattered wreck of
the wooden boat was floating near, and to that he struggled, helping her
on.

And they reached it, in what it sounds like mockery to call safety. The
girl scarcely knew whether it were best to hold on or to drown.

But instinctively she clung to the side as the great waves swept over
them; and the two fixed their eyes upon the approaching vessel.

She came on swiftly, sheering the water with her sharp bow. And Clif
could see half a dozen men standing in the bow watching them.

"Perhaps they have heard of our escape," he growled, "and come after
us."

The vessel was not coming from Havana, but the cadet knew that a
telegram might have sent it out.

At any rate, they were recaptured; and the horrors of Morro were before
them again.

Steadily the gunboat drew nearer; the two half-drowned Americans were
reached in a minute or two.

And the vessel slowed up and a rope was thrown to them. Clif desperate
from despair, seized it and drew himself close.

A couple of Spanish sailors leaned down from the low side and lifted
first the half unconscious girl and then the cadet up to the deck.

And then, weak and pale and dripping wet, they confronted a tall,
ugly-looking Spaniard with an officer's chevrons.

He stared at them curiously.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

And Clif, grim with desperation, looked him in the eye and answered
boldly:

"We are Americans," said he.

"Prisoners?"

"Yes."

"From where?"

"Morro Castle."

The Spaniard looked the amazement he felt.

"Morro Castle!" he echoed. "Humph! How did you get out?"

"Take us back there and you'll find out," was Clif's defiant answer.

And with that he turned toward the girl to wipe her dripping hair from
her face.

He expected that the man would continue questioning them. But he was
mistaken. The Spanish gunboat had done a risky thing, running out as it
had, and her officers were anxious to get back.

The man turned away and hurried off. A sailor with a pair of handcuffs
approached Clif, and the cadet quietly allowed his wrists to be secured.

Bessie Stuart was fortunately spared that indignity. The sailor gruffly
ordered them to go below.

The vessel, meanwhile, had resumed her trip. She had been running along
close to the coast under cover of the darkness of the previous night.
And now she turned to steal back.

Clif's heart was heavy, and he was miserable beyond description.

But he turned and silently followed the sailor to the companionway.

They did not go below at once, however, for just then something occurred
that made the sailor stop.

The man who had first spoke to Clif, the captain, apparently, had been
sweeping the shore with his glass. And just then he gave a startled
exclamation.

Everybody heard him, and the Spanish sailor stopped and turned to look.

Clif was so listless and despairing that he did not take the trouble to
do likewise; but when he heard the exclamations of the men he felt his
heart give a leap.

They were staring at a man on the shore.

"What in the world can be the matter with that fellow?" cried the
captain.

"Santa Maria! he is calling to us!" exclaimed another.

"He must be crazy," declared a third.

The captain, with his glass could see more plainly than the others, and
his astonishment grew greater.

"Why, he's a Spanish officer--a lieutenant, I think! And he is trying to
hail us. What can it mean?"

"Perhaps he's got dispatches!" suggested some one.

It flashed over Clif in an instant what that meant, and Bessie Stuart
heard him give a muffled exclamation of delight.

For he could see a blue-uniformed figure running down the shore and
waving its arms wildly.

"It's Lieutenant Hernandez!" he panted.

And there was a wild gleam of hope in his eyes as he realized what that
meant.

He might rescue them again!

Feverishly Clif watched to see what the gunboat would do. The captain
continued staring and muttering exclamations of astonishment.

"I wonder if he does want us," he cried. "Por dios, I do think that's
it."

And a second later he made up his mind and whirled about.

"Hard a port!" he roared.

And Clif's heart leaped with joy as he heard that order.

The sailor was so much interested in that strange incident that he let
his prisoners remain on deck while he stood and stared. The Spanish
vessel raced swiftly in toward shore.

And the stranger as soon as he saw that stopped his frantic
gesticulating and stood still to wait.

The captain ran in as close as he dared, and then stopped. He stepped
into the bow.

"What do you want?" he roared.

"Send a boat," the man shouted back. "I must come aboard. Quick!"

The captain muttered an exclamation of astonishment under his breath;
but his curiosity alone would have been sufficient to move him. The
gunboat's wherry boat was quickly gotten away.

As for Clif, he was simply wild with delight. For he could see that it
was Lieutenant Hernandez after all.

Bessie Stuart was so overcome by the sudden shock of the discovery that
she was scarcely able to stand, breathlessly the two watched the rowboat
speeding in.

The lieutenant waded out as far as he could, and when the boat reached
him he climbed into the bow. In a few moments he was speeding back to
the gunboat.

And when he stepped on board he found the captain staring at him.

"Lieutenant Hernandez!" he gasped.

"Yes," said the other with a bow.

But he scarcely glanced at the man until his eager eyes had sought out
Clif and Bessie. When he saw them alive and unhurt a look of relief
swept over his face.

And then he turned to the captain.

"What in the world is the matter?" the man cried.

The other nodded toward the two Americans.

"It is about them," he said.

"What about them?"

"Why did you stop them?"

"Stop them! Why they are Americans, and they were prisoners in Morro."

"I know that," said the officer. "But they were released."

"What!"

"Yes. And I was charged with the duty of seeing them safe on board the
American ships."

The Spanish captain stared in amazement.

"Carramba!" he muttered. "Why didn't they say so?"

"I don't see that you gave them a chance," said the other. "You fired on
them too soon."

"But I had no idea of this!" cried the other.

To doubt that story never once entered his head; he seemed to know who
the lieutenant was.

"What in the world am I to do?" he asked, after a moment.

"I don't see that there is but one thing," said the other.

"Take them back to Havana and let them be sent from there?" asked the
captain.

"No," said the lieutenant, quietly. "That will not do; for the
government has pledged its word that they shall be on the ships by
daybreak. To make haste is very important."

"But what else?"

"Give them your small boat."

"Carramba! I haven't got but one! And how will I ever get it back?"

The lieutenant was puzzled for a moment.

But suddenly he hit on a daring scheme.

"Captain," he said, "my orders are from General Blanco himself. He
charged me above all things to see these people safe at once, even if I
had to go out to the ships with them. I don't see that there is but one
thing we can do."

"What is it?"

"We will have to hoist a flag of truce and take them out on this
vessel."

The captain started.

"Can we trust the Americans?" he gasped.

"They are expecting us," said the lieutenant quietly.

And then for a minute the captain was silent; when he spoke it was to
the man at the wheel.

"Steer us out to the Yankee fleet," he said. "It will have to be done,
and run up that white flag."

       *       *       *       *       *

Perhaps ten minutes after that the blockading squadron sighted a Spanish
gunboat coming toward them with a flag of truce.

The New York steamed to meet it; and the vessel came alongside and
without a word of explanation the two prisoners were sent aboard.

Clif and Bessie both gazed longingly at the noble-hearted lieutenant as
he stood on the deck and watched them leave. Their look said plainer
than words, "Come with us!"

But he only shook his head; and when he saw the two disappear upon the
deck of the big cruiser, and when the gunboat was well on her way back
to shore he turned with a slight groan and went below.

Clif and Bessie wondered with anxiety and sorrow what would be his fate.
They dreaded for him the worst tortures of Castle Morro, but the heroic
Spaniard escaped that--in a way that Clif learned a few days later.




CHAPTER XXII.

CUTTING A CABLE.


The cadet's report was soon made. Under ordinary circumstances he would
have been ordered to report back to the Uncas, but that stanch little
gunboat was then miles beyond the western horizon. Moreover, the admiral
had other work for the cadet.

As to Miss Stuart; there was a parting between her and Clif that was
such as should be between acknowledged lovers, but it was a parting of
the most decided kind, for his duty lay in the war, hers on land. She
was sent to Key West on a cruiser that was then leaving the squadron to
recoal.

What the young man and the girl said to each other cannot concern us
here, for we have now to do with Faraday's experience as a sailor. His
love affair had to await the events of war, and so may the story of it.

Clif's next service began on the morning following his escape. A small
boat left the flagship and headed for Point Rubalcava on the Cuban
coast. It was bent upon a dangerous mission; so hazardous, in fact, that
volunteers had been called for to man the boat.

The first one to offer his services had been Clif Faraday. There was no
lack of followers among the brave American tars. Fifty offered
themselves a moment after the cadet stepped forward, and the task was to
select from them twelve men to form the boat's crew.

"It is necessary to cut the cable as a war measure," said Rear Admiral
Sampson, when the selection had been made. "You will proceed cautiously
toward shore and grapple for the cable. If you find it, cut it. If not,
you must go ashore and locate the landing place of the wire. Are you
ready for the service?"

"Ay, ay, sir!" came the ready response.

Rear Admiral Sampson looked upon the brave, eager faces of the men for a
moment with evident satisfaction.

"There is danger of discovery, and attack from the shore batteries," he
added. "Success will depend upon your quickness and skill."

The men well knew the danger that lay before them, but there was no sign
of faltering upon their faces. Rather, there was an eagerness for
instant action that was not lost upon the commanding officer.

"Then go!" he exclaimed, heartily.

The boat was lowered, and quietly set out upon its mission.

It was in charge of a lieutenant, and Clif Faraday, in recognition of
his being the first to volunteer, was placed beside him in the stern to
steer the boat through the rough waters.

It was still dark, though the eastern sky gave promise of the near
approach of day. The time had been selected to enable the boat to near
the shore without great danger of detection in the dim light. But by the
time they should succeed in grappling the cable there would be
sufficient light to enable them to complete their task.

"All seems quiet on shore," said Clif, after a time, to the lieutenant,
as they both peered forward at the coast line now looming up before
them. "The Spaniards don't seem to be looking for us."

"True," responded the lieutenant. "It looks that way. But you can't
sometimes always tell. They may have a surprise for us."

"If they don't shoot any straighter than they have been doing," said
Clif with a laugh, "they'll never touch us."

"That's true, too," assented the lieutenant. "But still you must
remember----"

"The Maine!" interrupted Clif.

"Yes, remember the Maine! But, as I was saying, these fellows might
possibly aim at something else beside our boat and hit us accidentally.
At any rate, I hope they don't see us. We are not out to capture a fort
armed as we are with nothing but revolvers, and in this open boat we
would be an easy prey to decent marksmanship."

"Still, the boys like action," said Clif.

"We may have plenty of it yet," replied the lieutenant, with a suspicion
of uneasiness in his tone.

Meanwhile the boat, guided by Clif's hand, had drawn nearer the shore.
They could see plainly the outlines of the fortifications, which had
been recently battered by shell from American gunboats, and which they
knew the Spaniards had attempted to repair. But as far as they could see
all was quiet there.

The boat was following what was supposed to be the course of the cable,
and the men were constantly seeking to secure it with their grappling
irons. The crew proceeded cautiously but expeditiously with its work,
the boat passing to and fro across what they supposed was the line of
the cable.

"How is it, Wilson?" at last said the lieutenant, speaking to one of the
men who was leaning over the side of the boat. "Struck anything yet?"

"Not yet, sir," was the response.

Nearer and nearer to the shore came the boat, the men coolly continuing
their labors, seemingly as unmindful of danger as though the coast was
not lined by hostile forces. The sun peeped above the face of the water
to the eastward, and the darkness slowly receded before it. Every
detail of the frowning fortification ashore was now plainly visible to
the boat's crew.