"Miss Juanita," called Harry, softly. "What is the matter? Get up. It is your friends again."
She did not stir.
"She may be dead," said Harry, in fear, as he climbed through the passage. He kneeled down beside her and turned her limp body over so that he could see her face. "No, she still breathes."
"Perhaps she has fainted," said Mr. Wyman from the other side of the passage. "Take some water from that pitcher there and bathe her face."
Harry did as directed and soon a faint sigh escaped from her pallid lips, and in a moment more she opened her eyes and looked up, dazed and frightened.
"Do not be afraid, Miss Juanita," said Harry, nervously. "It is the American boys again. What has happened?"
"I think I fainted," she said, weakly. "Oh, it's all so terrible."
Painfully she dragged herself to her feet and sank into a chair that Harry placed for her.
"What is so terrible?" he asked.
"First the shooting in the jail yard this morning. Did you see it?" Harry nodded his head. "I cried out. I tried not to, but the horror was too great. They laughed. They had wrung from me the first sign of womanly weakness. Then they came to me and repeated their demands for information. But I was strong again and they left me with curses. To-morrow I shall stand where he did in the jail yard. I must have fainted when they left me. But do not mind. It is soon over. Tell him when you see him that I died bravely for—for him and the cause."