Cautiously Howard moved on a few steps to a spot where Tomasso would come within a few feet of him. The long line of prisoners marched around, and the overseer drew close. As he approached he bent forward with a keen glance, to be certain that he was not observed. "Estella is here," he whispered in English, that the other prisoners next to him might not understand. "Cell 47." He moved on, and Howard fell back nearly dumfounded. What was this Tomasso had said? Estella a prisoner in cell 47! He could scarcely believe the evidence of his own ears. He waited until the overseer came round again. "What for?" he questioned. "Helping the rebels, and trying to help you," replied Tomasso. "Beware of poison. I saved you once; I may not be able to do so again, señor!" Tomasso moved on quickly after this. But a guard had seen him talking this time, and with an oath he belabored the faithful fellow over the shoulders with a cowhide. "Didn't I tell you to keep silent? Another word and I'll string you up by the thumbs, you dirty rebel!" Howard scarcely heard the remarks. Estella had been arrested for aiding the insurgents, and for trying to aid him, a condemned spy? What would they do with his sweetheart--condemn her to death, also? "Would that I could speak to her, if only once again!" he thought, and instantly decided to make a final and desperate effort to do so. CHAPTER XXIV. THE LAST MOMENT--"TAKE AIM! FIRE!" To make a resolve was an easy matter; to carry it out was extremely difficult. Although the guards were fully occupied at the gates of the prison, they did not forget Howard, and as soon as they saw him walking toward the exercising prisoners they ordered him back to his place. "You are not to speak to any one!" cried the captain of the guard. "Attempt to do so, and you may find yourself dead before the other man can answer!" And then the Spaniard, thinking he had said a very smart thing, laughed coarsely, and his companions joined in his hilarity. This, however, did not deter the young war correspondent. He was condemned to die, so if he failed in his effort, he could lose nothing. He stood in the place designated; then, at the first opportunity he slipped away, and into the open prison doorway. When he had been confined at the end of one of the upper corridors, he had noticed how the numbering of the cells ran, and now he had no trouble in locating cell 47, in a wing of the building farthest from the street gate, and in a section devoted entirely to females. He ran up to the cell door and peered inside. All was gloomy enough, but he recognized the beautiful form on the bench, as Estella sat there, her face buried in her hands. "Estella!" he called, softly. She started and raised her head. Then she gave a glad cry and rushed to the grating. "Howard, is it really you?" she faltered.