fate
being hidden forever by the walls of that horrible place.

And Clif was going then under the guidance of Ignacio. It was plain that
the fiendish man had secured his purpose, for he was in command of the
little party. And it was his to decide what was to be done with Clif.

How the man had secured that privilege from the authorities Clif could
not hope to know. That he had gotten it as a reward for some deed of
darkness he did not doubt.

Perhaps it was for capturing Bessie Stuart, was the thought that flashed
over the lad.

Again when the black, silent walls of Morro loomed up before them and
the great gate opened nobody asked any questions of Ignacio. He showed a
note, and it passed him from sentry to sentry; and the party passed down
a flight of stairs into a cold, damp, stone corridor black as night.

Poor Clif could not help but think of his own fate then. Ignacio's
cruelty and hatred were such that no torture would be terrible enough
for him. And he seemed to have his prisoner entirely to his own
discretion.

The great vault through which they were going echoed dimly to the
footsteps of the party. They seemed to be down in a sort of a cellar,
and they were winding their way through secret passages in almost
absolute darkness.

But Ignacio knew the way--probably the fellow had been in those gloomy
dungeons before.

He stopped suddenly and flashed the lantern upon a rusty iron door. It
was solid and heavy, but Ignacio took a key from his pocket and unlocked
it.

It swung back, creaking dismally upon its hinges. And Ignacio flashed
the light of his lantern in.

He staggered back quite white with fright as he did so. For there was a
series of thumping, shuffling sounds, and a shrill noise that made his
blood run cold.

But in a moment he again stepped forward, laughing under his breath.

"Por dios!" he exclaimed. "The rats! They must be hungry!"

And he stepped into the room. His foot splashed into a small puddle of
water on the reeking, earthen floor. But he pressed on, flashing his
lantern about the granite walls.

It was a tiny black cavern into which he had come.

There was a stone bench at one side of the horrible place, and in the
wall by it a heavy ring and a thick iron chain.

It was but a minute more before Clif's ankles were locked firmly in the
ring, and then he was utterly helpless.

For but a moment Ignacio stood looking at him, flashing the lantern full
in his face. And then he