dogged as his former ideas of self-destruction--summoned all his
energies to reach the shore. He struck out wildly, desperately; once or
twice he thought he felt his feet touch the bottom, only to find himself
powerlessly dragged back towards the sea. With a final superhuman effort
he gained at last a foothold on the muddy strand, and, half scrambling,
half crawling, sank exhaustedly beside the fisherman's net. But the
fisherman was gone! He attempted again to rise to his feet, but a
strange dizziness attacked him. The darkening landscape, with its
contracting wall of fog; the gloomy flat; the still, pale sea, as yet
unruffled by the faint land breeze that was slowly wafting the escaping
boat into the shadowy offing--all swam round him! Through the roaring
in his ears he thought he heard drumbeats, and the fanfare of a trumpet,
and voices. The next moment he had lost all consciousness.

When he came to, he was lying in the guard-room of the Presidio. Among
the group of people who surrounded him he recognized the gaunt features
of the Commander, the sympathetic eyes of Father Esteban, and the
fisherman who had disappeared. When he rose on his elbow, and attempted
to lift himself feebly, the fisherman, with a cry of gratitude, threw
himself on his knees, and kissed his helpless hand.

"He lives, he lives! your Excellencies! Saints be praised, he lives! The
hero--the brave Americano--the noble caballero who delivered me from the
madman."

"Who are you? and whence come you?" demanded the Commander of Hurlstone,
with grave austerity.

Hurlstone hesitated; the priest leaned forward with a half anxious, half
warning gesture. There was a sudden rustle in the passage; the crowd
gave way as Miss Keene, followed by Mrs. Markham, entered. The young
girl's eyes caught those of the prostrate man. With an impulsive cry she
ran towards him.

"Mr. Hurlstone!"

"Hurlstone," echoed the group, pressing nearer the astonished man.

The Comandante lifted his hand gravely with a gesture of silence, and
then slowly removed his plumed hat. Every head was instantly uncovered.

"Long live our brave and noble ally, Don Diego! Long live the beautiful
Dona Leonor!"

A faint shade of sadness passed over the priest's face. He glanced from
Hurlstone to Miss Keene.

"Then you have consented?" he whispered.

Hurlstone cast a rapid glance at Eleanor Keene.

"I consent!"

PART II. FREED.

CHAPTER I.

THE MOURNERS AT SAN FRAN