But perhaps he yet hoped to! CHAPTER IV. AT THE PREFATURA. Hal marched through the main entrance to the Prefatura. His bearing was as proud as ever. He could not have shown more fortitude had he felt that the whole honor of Old Glory was resting on his youthful shoulders. He had marched for more than two miles through the streets, his military escort taking a roundabout course, as if they enjoyed displaying this dangerous captive to the excited populace. He had been jeered at, jibed at, made the butt of hundreds of coarse jokes. At last he had reached the Prefatura. Senor Vasquez still brought up the rear. He carried himself with the air of one who wishes it understood that he has done his duty by his country. In the corridor of the Prefatura Hal’s escort halted until it could be learned before which official the prisoner was to be taken. In the same corridor were other prisoners, each under guard. There was only this difference: Hal Maynard was erect, rosy, healthy-looking. The other poor wretches, most of whom were women, were plainly Cubans. Their invariably starved appearance showed them to be reconcentrados--people from the interior who had been driven in by General Weyler’s infamous order, and then left to starve. There was little, if any, acute terror in their fates. They had suffered so much, had witnessed so many atrocities, that they were indifferent to what was yet to come. Paris, during the Reign of Terror, was not such a city of horrors as Havana has lately been! Captain Tamiva, Hal’s chief captor, still bearing the letter “found” in the boy’s trunk, disappeared into one of the numerous offices opening upon the corridor. He soon came back, ordering the soldiers to take their prisoner in. Hal found himself arraigned before a stern-looking, elderly Spaniard. Before the latter, on his desk, lay the accusing letter. He looked up quickly, this official, shot a penetrating look into the boy’s face, and snarled out: “So you are another of the Yankee pigs who root with our Cuban sucklings!” “I am an American citizen, certainly,” replied Hal. “And a sympathizer, as I said.” “I have never held communication with the insurgents.” “But this letter?” “I know nothing about it.” “It was found in your trunk.” “Though never placed there by me.” “Bah! Of what avail is lying? Do you think you are talking to some of your own stupid Yankees? Confess!” “How can I,” retorted Hal, “when there is nothing to confess?” The official scowled, snorting impatiently: “Time is valuable. We have too many cases like yours to attend to. The island is full of treason. Instantly tell me all you know about this letter, and the plans at which it hints, or take the consequences.” “There is nothing that I can tell you,” rejoined Hal, earnestly. “Then take the consequences!” “I shall have to, since I can’t run away from them.”