h caution: till passing the rock-portal, they see the
platform and those on it.

Then the young officers rush forward, with no fear of having to fight.
Instead of armed enemies to meet them, they behold the dear ones from
whom they have been so long apart. Beside them, half-a-dozen figures,
more like skeletons than men--with cowed, craven faces, seeming so
feeble as to have a difficulty in keeping their feet!

With swords sheathed, and pistols returned to their holsters, the
English officers hasten on, the young ladies rushing out to receive
them.

Soon they are together, two and two, breasts touching, and arms enfolded
in mutual embrace.

For a while no words--the hearts of all too full for speech. Only
ejaculations and kisses, with tears, but not of sorrow.

Then succeeds speech, necessarily brief and half-incoherent, Crozier
telling Carmen that her father is still alive, and aboard the barque.
He lives--he is safe! that is enough.

Then in answer to his questions, a word or two, on her fide. But
without waiting to hear all, he turns abruptly upon Harry Blew, who is
seen some paces off. Neither by word, nor gesture, has the sailor yet
saluted him. He stands passive, a silent spectator; as Crozier
supposes, the greatest criminal on earth. In quick retrospect of what
has occurred, and what he has heard from Don Gregorio, how could it be
otherwise?

But he will not condemn without hearing him, and stepping up to the
ex-man-o'-war's man, he demands explanation of his conduct, sternly
saying:

"Now, sir, I claim an account from you. Tell your story straight, and
don't conceal aught, or prevaricate. If your treason be as black as I
believe it, you deserve no mercy from me. And your only chance to
obtain it, will be by telling the truth."

While speaking, he has again drawn his sword, and stands confronting the
sailor--as if a word were to be the signal for thrusting him through.

Blew is himself armed with both pistol and knife. But, so far from
touching either, or making any sign of an intention to defend himself he
remains cowed-like, his head drooping down to his breast.

He gives no response. His lips move not; neither his arms nor limbs.
Alone, his broad chest heaves and falls, as if stirred by some terrible
emotion.

His silence seems a confession of guilt!

Taking, or mistaking, it for this, Crozier cries out:

"Traitor! Confess, before I run this blade through your miserable
body!"