porridge and a jug of water. Without a word, he set these down and
departed.

A little later other soldiers came and gazed curiously at him through
the grated door, always speaking of him as "el Yanko," and making merry
at his expense. Thus several hours passed, and he still sat
motionless, trying to think; but his brain was in a whirl, and he
seemed as powerless to concentrate his thoughts as he was friendless.
He realized dimly that at regular intervals a guard, pacing the outer
corridor, paused before the door of his cell to peer in at him, and so
make sure of his presence; but he paid slight attention to this
official scrutiny.

Suddenly his ear caught a sound strange to that place--a girlish voice
laughing merrily and evidently exchanging brisk repartee with the
soldiers in the guard-room. It was a pleasanter sound than any he had
heard, and he listened to it eagerly. After a little the voice seemed
to draw nearer, and he could distinguish the words, "el Yanko." He,
then, was the subject of that gay conversation. A moment later, from
the same source, came an expression that numbed him with the awfulness
of its possible meaning. "To be shot at sunrise? Poor fellow!" Could
he be the "poor fellow" meant? Of course not; but then he might be.
Such a summary disposition of prisoners was not unknown to Spanish
jailers.

While his mind was busy with this startling question the laughing
voice, now lowered almost to a whisper, approached his door, and he
became conscious of a scrutiny through the grating. Also a discussion
was going on outside, and he heard: