nhappy because of the misfortune of the
other.

Clif as he went out of that room was almost dazed; he could think of
nothing. He scarcely heard the sailors sadly bidding him good-by.

Nor did he notice anything else until he heard the clang of a door
behind him, he realized then from the darkness and silence about him
that he was alone in one of the cells of the prison.

It was not for himself that the poor cadet feared. He could have marched
out without flinching and faced a dozen rifles aimed at his heart.

But it was for Bessie Stuart, fallen into the hands of these brutal men.
The fate that was before her was enough to make Clif wish her dead.

He racked his brains trying to think of how she could have come to
Havana; could she have been captured in a battle? And what had Ignacio
to do with it?

But poor Clif knew nothing, and could think of nothing except that she
was here, and he powerless to aid her.

His own fate was terrible enough, though he hardly thought of that.

He was to be sent at night to Morro.

Many indeed were the unfortunates who had gone to take that sea trip in
the darkness and never come back--and sometimes not reached their
destination either. It was a terrible journey, that short ride across
Havana Bay.

But the cadet did not even stop to realize that. He had but one thought,
and that he kept repeating over and over to himself in a state of
confusion and despair. He never moved from his one position on the
floor; and the hours flew by unheeded.

Once and once only the heavy door of the cell was opened and that by a
man who shoved in a pitcher of water and a dish of food. He must have
thought the prisoner asleep.

And as a fact, Clif was half unconscious; he was too dazed to think of
anything. He had no hope and no chance of life, and nothing to think of
except that Bessie Stuart was captured and he could not aid her.

So the long day wore by; it was as a man waking from a deep sleep that
the wretched American looked up when the door of that cell was opened
again. He found that the hours had flown by, and that the time for the
trip to Morro had come.

If Clif had cared about anything then he would have shivered with horror
at that moment, for it was surely gruesome and uncanny enough.

Three men there were, dark, silent, shadowy figures who entered the damp
cell. The only light they had was from a dark lantern, which they
flashed upon the solitary prisoner.

They found him st