There was one remarkably good trait about Owen--he had a powerful will, and when he chose could concentrate all his abilities upon a certain subject, to the exclusion of everything else. It pleased him to nurse his grievances for a time--what badly used biped would not be addicted to the same luxury. Then, with a mighty upheaval he cast the whole load from him. The public weal demanded his full attention and private woes must take a back seat. For the present, therefore, he effaced cruel Georgia from his mind, and resolutely set his shoulder to the wheel. Roderic was himself again, calm, shrewd and with a contempt for danger that might take him to the border land of reckless endeavor, though he usually knew how to check this in good time to make it a servant rather than a master. The day had gone. Alas! he had thought to mark it down with a white cross as one that would take him a long step nearer Elysium; but instead it was to be distinguished by a red mark. Was there a fatality in his love for Georgia? Were they doomed never to know happiness? That was the last uneasy thought that came to him ere he shut the whole scene out of his mind, as a rain squall envelopes the landscape. It was no ordinary affair which Roderic now took up; at least it promised to afford considerable danger, and would call for a display of energy on his part, of no mean calibre. He went into it with a grim feeling such as he could not remember experiencing on any previous occasion. Perhaps this was caused in part by the dead weight upon his mind, for it was singular that he should be placing his life in jeopardy in order to please a girl who had jilted him, cast him aside like a worn-out glove. It added to the piquancy of the thing, but Roderic could not say he hoped for a repetition. The governor's daughter had given him strange information about Leon. This brother of Georgia seemed fated to see the inside of more than one Spanish prison. His experience in Morro Castle, from whence he escaped through the assistance of the girl who had fallen in love with him, one would think must have been quite enough in that line; but he had somehow or other again fallen into the hands of his foes. Thus it happened that he had been in the San Juan prison, condemned to exile, on the morning of the memorable twelfth of May, when about daybreak Sampson's powerful fleet opened on the forts and were in turn barked at by the bold Spanish gunners, who showed their bravery if they did no damage. It happened that the prison was probably the most exposed building in the city, lying as it did between the fleet and the pulverine, the gallery of it fronting on the harbor. Without warning a shell exploded in the wall, and that side of the building became a wreck. Bricks and _debris_ flew in every direction, and all who were in the apartment with Leon found themselves on their backs. Such a chorus of frightened shouts went up--demoralization reigned supreme.