"What on earth is that, Harry?" ejaculated Roger, looking at his friend, on whose forehead the cold perspiration was now standing in beads. "What an awful sound!" "I am afraid, my friend," replied Harry, "that it means that some poor mortal is undergoing torture almost greater than he can bear. What devils these inquisitors are! If I could but be at the head of a few hundred English seamen at this moment, would I not pull this place of torture about their ears; and would I not put a few of them to the torture themselves, just to teach them by experience what it feels like, and as a warning to the rest! God help that poor wretch, whoever he may be! What a fearful, awful sound it is! This is getting dreadful," he went on, as another shrill and blood-curdling scream broke on their ears, quavering as it was with the extremity of fearful agony, yet not quite so loud as before, as though the unfortunate individual were losing his strength. "To be imprisoned here, and not to be able to do anything to help the poor fellow! Oh, they are fiends in human shape!" cried Roger, stamping his foot on the ground in impotent fury. Then came a sound which made the lads start and look apprehensively at each other. It was the noise of footsteps approaching down the long passage at the end of which their own cell was situated. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. IN THE TORTURE-CHAMBER OF VERA CRUZ. Both lads felt their hearts stop beating, and a cold chill seized their bodies as they heard the footsteps pass other cell doors without pausing, and continue down the passage towards their own. Those dreadful cries still rang in their ears, and they felt that if the approaching person was coming to conduct them also to the torture, they could not bear it. They were still, it must be remembered, only lads, and the sound of those cries of agony had racked their nerves--as they might those of much older men--more than they themselves knew. They felt their very hair rising on their scalps, and a sensation of deadly sickness and faintness swept over them. Harry was the first to recover his presence of mind, and he spoke to Roger. "Come, come, Roger, lad," said he; "pull yourself together, my friend. If they are indeed coming for us, we must make up our minds to endure it as best we can, even as we have done before. And perchance we are mistaken, and they do not intend to torture us at all." Roger came out of his dismal reverie of foreboding, and his face became once more immobile. A few heartbeats and he was as well prepared as Harry for what might happen. Once, for a moment, the footsteps paused, and their hearts gave a great bound of thankfulness. The messenger, then, was not coming for them after all! Their sensation of relief, however, was of but brief duration. After a pause, lasting but a few moments, those inexorable footsteps resumed their approach once more, and nearer and nearer they came toward the door of the last cell.