ard another sound, the rapid, rhythmic beat of dancing footsteps.

"Hullo!" interrupted one of the lingering officers. "Another fire
company coming? It's about time more began to arrive, isn't it?"

"It's a patrol--and on the jump, too! What's up, I wonder?" answered
Brent, spinning about to face towards the Calle Real. There was an
officer with this patrol,--an officer who in his eagerness could barely
abide the sentry's challenge.

"Officer of the guard--with patrol," he cried, adding instantly, as he
darted into view. "Sentry, which--which way did that officer go? Tall
young officer--in white uniform!"

In surprise, the sentry nodded towards the speechless group standing in
front of Brent's, and to them came the boy lieutenant, panting and in
manifest excitement. "I beg pardon, colonel," he began, "our sentry,
Number 6, was found a minute ago--shot dead--down on the Padre Faura. My
men said they saw an officer running from the spot, running this way,
and this gentleman--Mr. Stuyvesant, isn't it?"

There was an awed silence, an awkward pause. "I certainly was there not
long ago," spoke Stuyvesant, presently. "And Number 6, your sentry, was
then all right. I certainly came running----"

"That's all I can hear," was the sharp interruption. "My orders are to
arrest you. You're my prisoner, Mr. Stuyvesant," gasped the lad.

"Preposterous!" said Dr. Frank a few minutes later when told by an
awe-stricken group what had occurred.

"Preposterous say I!" echoed Brent. "And yet, see here----Oh, of course,
you know Major MacNeil, field officer of the day," he added, indicating
a tall, thin-faced, gray-mustached officer of regulars who had but just
arrived, and who now held forth a gleaming revolver with the words, "I
picked this up myself--not ten yards from where he lay."

It was Marion's.

CHAPTER XVI.

A solemn assemblage was that at the Ermita quarters of the provost-guard
the following day. Officers of rank and soldiers from the ranks, in
rusty blue, in gleaming white, in dingy Khaki rubbed shoulders and
elbows in the crowded courtyard.

In the presence of death the American remembers that men are born equal,
and forgets the ceremonious observance of military courtesies. All
voices were lowered, all discussion hushed. There was a spontaneous
movement when the division commander entered, and all made way for him
without a word, but sturdily stood the rank and file and held their
ground against all other