remulous
voice.

The footsteps came nearer and nearer. Now they were just outside the
door and the boys involuntarily caught their breath. They passed on
without stopping and they heard them die away down the passage. Again
there was silence and then a sound as if a heavy iron door had been
closed with a bang. This was followed again by the regular tramp of the
soldiers' feet as they returned along the corridor. They passed the door
of the boys' cell and again the sound died away.

Harry turned again to the window. The soldiers filed rapidly into the
yard, but this time there was another in their ranks. A man in his shirt
sleeves with his hands bound behind his back marched with head erect
between the two middle ranks. He was a tall, muscular man, broad of
shoulder and lithe of limb. His face was pale, but the expression was
calm and determined. His step was firm and the soldiers at his back
found no need to urge him on. They marched straight to the wall of the
yard that faced the jail, and at a command from the officer, the
soldiers parted, leaving the man standing with his back to the wall and
facing his captors.

As the soldiers fell back they formed ranks of six on either side of the
prisoner, the butts of their rifles resting on the ground. Down this
narrow human alley the commander strode until he stood face to face with
the man against the wall. He spoke to him in Spanish and the prisoner
replied briefly, at the same time lifting his head proudly and looking
his questioner firmly in the eye. Although the boys could understand
nothing that was said, it was easy to tell that the officer had made
some offer which the other proudly rejected. The boys looked on with a
feeling that they were about to witness a tragedy, but some strange
fascination prevented them from turning away.

The commander turned to the jail and lifted his hand as a signal. A
friar in long solemn robes walked slowly down between the ranks of
soldiers, his eyes fixed on the ground. As he reached the prisoner, he
stopped in front of him and raised his head. In his thin, worn face
there was an expression of gentle sorrow. He spoke a few words and
raised a cross before the face of the other, who leaned eagerly forward
and kissed it. The friar bowed his head and fell back a few paces. In a
low voice he repeated what was apparently a prayer, and then once more
holding the cross for a moment before the eyes of the doomed man, he
turned and walked s