you're not asleep, are you?"

"No; Listen! There it is again."

The boys drew closer together and put out their hands until they touched
one another. The sound they heard seemed to come from nowhere in
particular.

"What do you think it is, Hal?"

"I don't know. Wait until we hear it again."

By this time their eyes had become accustomed to the darkness of the
room, and aided by the star-lighted sky, they could see into every
corner. There was no one in the room. Somewhat reassured they waited.
The next time the sound was an unmistakable sob, and it seemed to be
wafted through the barred windows on the still night air.

"I know what it is," said Harry, eagerly jumping from the bed and
pulling the table under the window. "It's some one in the cell next to
ours. Let's try to talk to him."

"He's probably a Spaniard or a Cuban, and will not be able to understand
you."

"I'm going to try, anyway. Misery loves company, you know."

Harry mounted the table and put his face between the bars.

"Hist," he said.

A low moaning cry answered him.

"Bert, it's a woman," said Harry, turning in amazement to his companion,
who now mounted the table beside him.

"How do you know?"

"Couldn't you hear? It was a woman's voice."

"Hist," said Harry, again, as loudly as he dared. "Who are you? Can we
help you in any way?"

He hardly expected a reply for he felt, as did Bert, that they would not
find any other English-speaking prisoners confined there. His surprise
was great therefore, when a low voice, with just a suspicion of soft
Spanish accent, asked:

"Who are you?"

"We are two American boys who would like to assist you if we can."

"Are you prisoners also?"

"We are."

"Then I fear you can be of little assistance to me, but I thank you very
much for your interest. What have they shut you up for; are you friends
of the insurgents?"

"We have one very good friend among them, but until we met him we did
not know an insurgent from a Spanish regular. May I ask what offense you
have committed against the laws of this fussy country?"

"I am a Cuban," said the soft voice, with a little gasping sob.

"Is that a crime?"

"Yes; to be a true Cuban."

"O, I see. You are what they call a sympathizer."

"Yes."

"How long have you been here?"

"I have lost count of the days and nights. I think a week."

"Have they ill-treated you?"

"Not yet, but they threaten to if I do not give them the information
they s