answer him, it will alarm the sentry. I will
wait until he comes closer to the wall."

I could tell that he was creeping nearer and nearer.

Finding he had not been answered, the howling ceased. I stood listening
eagerly to every sound from without. My comrades, who had now become
apprised of Lincoln's proximity, had risen to their feet and were
leaning against the walls.

We were about half an hour in this situation, without exchanging a word,
when a light tap was heard from without, and a soft voice whispered:

"_Hola, Capitan_!"

I placed my ear to the aperture. The whisper was repeated. It was not
Lincoln--that was clear.

It must be Narcisso.

"_Quien_?" I asked.

"_Yo, Capitan_."

I recognised the voice that had addressed me in the morning.

It is Narcisso.

"Can you place your hands in the aperture?" said he.

"No; they are tied behind my back."

"Can you bring them opposite, then?"

"No; I am standing on my toes, and my wrists are still far below the
sill."

"Are your comrades all similarly bound?"

"All."

"Let one get on each side of you, and raise you up on their shoulders."

Wondering at the astuteness of the young Spaniard, I ordered Chane and
Raoul to lift me as he directed.

When my wrists came opposite the window I cautioned them to hold on.
Presently a soft hand touched mine, passing all over them. Then I felt
the blade of a knife pressed against the thong, and in an instant it
leaped from my wrists. I ordered the men to set me down, and I listened
as before.

"Here is the knife. You can release your own ankles and those of your
comrades. This paper will direct you further. You will find the lamp
inside."

A knife, with a folded and strangely shining note, was passed through by
the speaker.

"And now, Capitan--one favour," continued the voice, in a trembling
tone.

"Ask it! ask it!"

"I would kiss your hand before we part."

"Dear, noble boy!" cried I, thrusting my hand into the aperture.

"Boy! ah, true--you think me a boy. I am no boy, Capitan, but _a
woman--one who loves you with all her blighted, broken heart_!"

"Oh, heavens! It is, then--dearest Guadalupe!"

"Ha! I thought as much. Now I will not. But no; what good would it be
to me? No--no--no! I shall keep my word."

This appeared to be uttered in soliloquy, and the tumult of my thoughts
prevented me from noticing the strangeness of these expressions. I
thought of them afterwards.

"