ess his fever is subdued,"
persisted the doctor.

"And you would surely kill him by your way of subduing it," said the
young girl boldly. "Better for him, a disgraced man of honor, to die
by his own hand, than to be bled like a calf into a feeble and helpless
dissolution. I would, if I were in his place--if I had to do it by
tearing off the bandages."

She made a swift, half unconscious gesture of her little hand, and
stopped, her beautiful eyes sparkling, her thin pink nostrils dilated,
her red lips parted, her round throat lifted in the air, and one small
foot advanced before her. The men glanced hurriedly at each other, and
then fixed their eyes upon her with a rapt yet frightened admiration. To
their simple minds it was Anarchy and Revolution personified, beautiful,
and victorious.

"Ah!" said the secretary to Padre Esteban, in Spanish, "it is true! she
knows not fear! She was in the room alone with the madman; he would let
none approach but her! She took a knife from him--else the medico had
suffered!"

"He recognized her, you see! Ah! they know her power," said the
Comandante, joining the group.

"You will help me, Father Esteban?" said the young girl, letting the
fire of her dark eyes soften to a look of almost childish appeal--"you
will help me to intercede for him? It is the restraint only that is
killing him--that is goading him to madness! Think of him, Father--think
of him: ruined and disgraced, dying to retrieve himself by any reckless
action, any desperate chance of recovery, and yet locked up where he can
do nothing--attempt nothing--not even lift a hand to pursue the man who
has helped to bring him to this!"

"But he CAN do nothing! The ship is gone!" remonstrated the Comandante.

"Yes, the ship is gone; but the ocean is still there," said Miss Keene.

"But he has no boat."

"He will find or make one."

"And the fog conceals the channel."

"He can go where THEY have gone, or meet their fate. You do not know my
countrymen, Senor Comandante," she said proudly.

"Ah, yes--pardon! They are at San Antonio--the baker, the buffoon, the
two young men who dig. They are already baking and digging and joking.
We have it from my officer, who has just returned."

Miss Keene bit her pretty lips.

"They think it is a mistake; they cannot believe that any intentional
indignity is offered them," she said quietly. "Perhaps it is well they
do not."

"They desired me to express their condolences to the S