At the sound of that patient, softly modulated voice, Hawley gave a start of surprise. He felt positive that he recognized it as the voice of Doctor Gaspard Bonsal. Until that moment he had been unaware of the identity of any of his fellow captives, and the possibility that the venerable physician might be confined in the arsenal jail had not occurred to him, for he had heard that he had been sent to El Torro. Although, under other circumstances, he would have been averse to playing the rôle of eavesdropper, he could not help now straining his ears in an effort to catch the conversation which passed between the señora and her devoted old friend, for he had an uneasy suspicion of what her visit and her great grief portended. They spoke mostly in such low tones that what they said did not reach him, but once Doctor Bonsal unconsciously raised his voice, and the Camera Chap heard him say. “I am old, my child, and what happens to me does not matter. We must accept the situation with philosophy.” “If only I could do something,” the woman sobbed. “I have been to Portiforo and pleaded with him, but it was no use. He would not listen. That tyrant----” She stopped short at a remonstrance from the physician, spoken in a voice so low that Hawley could not catch the words. Almost immediately after that the two officials stepped up to the señora and gruffly informed her that it was time for her to withdraw. The Camera Chap heard her plead with them to be allowed to have a few more words with the prisoner, but the request was refused, and, sobbing violently, she was literally dragged from in front of the barred door. The next morning Hawley’s fears for the old physician were confirmed in a startling manner. At sunrise the tramp of many feet resounded on the stone floor of the courtyard, and he heard a hoarse voice exclaim: “_Adelante!_” Knowing that this order was the Spanish equivalent for “Forward, march!” he was not surprised, upon jumping from his bed and gazing through the bars, to see a file of soldiers in the courtyard. There were about twenty of them. At the command of the officer they ranged themselves at one end of the yard and stood at attention, as unconcerned as though they had come there to perform their usual morning drill. Presently Hawley heard voices to the right of his cell. “Are you ready?” somebody asked. Then, in a voice which thrilled the listener, Doctor Bonsal answered unfalteringly: “I am ready.” A gate creaked on its hinges, and the venerable prisoner, his head held high, his shoulders squared, walked past the Camera Chap’s door, an army officer in dress uniform on each side of him.