"'Miss Stuart,' he said, 'you have said you do not love me. And I think you love some one else--I do not know whom; but I will not make you unhappy by urging you any more. I might take advantage of your present position to get you to promise to marry me. But I will not. If you will be ready to-night I will help you to escape, and prove what I said about dying for you.'" The girl stopped and sat silent, too much moved to speak. And Clif was too astonished. That was indeed the act of a noble nature. The cadet saw it all then, why the man had freed them and why he and the girl were both so quiet and sad. Lieutenant Hernandez had given his life for hers. It was fully a minute before anything more was said. Then Bessie Stuart began again, in a low voice: "About you," she said. "It was the lieutenant who told me, quite by accident. He said there were five Americans captured, one a cadet, and that he was to be killed. When I asked the name and he told me, I fainted dead away. And I think that hurt the lieutenant more than anything." "Why?" "I told him the story, how you had twice rescued me from the Spaniards. And he asked--he asked if you were his rival." The girl stepped abruptly. "And you said that I was, I hope," said Clif, quietly. Most women would have been embarrassed by a question such as that. But Bessie Stuart was not. There was some of the old-time self-possession in her voice as she responded. She turned and looked fairly into Clif's eyes. "I know you well enough to speak my mind," she said. "Yes, I told him that you were." And then the two sat perfectly silent, looking at each other. It was a very few words they had said, but they covered a lifetime of feeling. In that quiet way and under those strange circumstances Clif had unbosomed his heart; and Bessie Stuart had done the same. It was the first word that Clif had ever said to indicate how he felt toward her. For the two sat in silence for a minute or so; and then Clif went on: "You told this officer that I was his rival," said he; "that you loved me and that I was the only barrier to his hopes?" "I did," said the girl. "And he still was willing to save my life?" "You see what he has done," answered the other. "He said that he loved me, that he would risk his life to make me happy. And here we are." "But not happy," Clif added, half under his breath. Then again there was a long silence. One cannot say much when one feels as deeply as those two felt then. Clif thought of the heroism of that quiet Spanish officer. And his heart went out toward him. He fancied what the man's own feelings must be, the loneliness and the desolation. He had ruined himself, accepted voluntarily disgrace and a shameful death. And all in order that a woman who had been kind to him might be set free and made happy. Of the death there could be no doubt. When that officer was caught he would have it to face. And he would face it for the sake of Bessie Stuart.