“You will give the command to fire at eight o’clock precisely,” Captain Johnson instructed him.
“Yes, sir,” was the lieutenant’s reply.
Alice Beulow turned upon the traitor a scornful smile, but she uttered no sound. She recognized the folly of a plea for life at this late hour.
With her back to the ship’s rail she waved aside the man who approached with a bandage for her eyes.
“I am innocent,” she said quietly, “and am not afraid to die!”
The man stepped back, abashed. Lieutenant Taylor now was trembling perceptibly.
“I wish that I could undo this,” he muttered to himself, “but it is her life or mine.”
He pulled himself together, and faced the firing squad.
At this moment there came a shout from the sea. Captain Johnson looked over the side of the Alto. The small launch was now almost alongside, and the commander could see the form of a young man in the uniform of a midshipman directing the approach of the craft.
The latter shouted something unintelligible as the launch scraped alongside the cruiser.