"What does it mean? Hark, Jack! she is pleading for her liberty. There is a man's voice, and he, too, is begging for some one to spare his life. Is there nothing we can do for them?"
"It looks as if we had about all we could look after to save our own lives, lad. But, as long as it is in our way let's creep a little nearer the place."
The insurgents, having apparently moved farther to their right, they cautiously advanced, being careful not to disturb a bush or make any noise. They advanced in this way for a few rods, when they found themselves on the margin of a sunken swamp, dense with a growth of vines and bushes enveloped in moss and lichens. Finding this impenetrable, they crawled along its border, though forced to steer more to their right than they thought prudent. It was evidently this impassable jungle which had changed the course of the insurgents.
They must have advanced a hundred rods without finding any end to the swamp, when the sound of voices now became distinctly heard, though they were not raised above an ordinary tone. It was the same woman speaking they had heard before, while her accents were scarcely less intense. She was saying, in Spanish:
"Have mercy, señors! I have never wronged you nor the poor country you profess to be fighting for. My poor husband died in her defense, and I am willing to give my life in her cause, but do not torture me."
"Tell us where he is and we will spare you," replied a masculine voice, pitched in a high key.
"Alas! I do not know. I would that I did, señors. But if I did you cannot think me cowardly enough to betray him, not at the price of my poor life. God forbid that I should for a moment have such a thought or that you should so far misjudge me in my weakness. He is all there is left me—if he yet lives, which I am not certain—my noble son, the noblest of the De Caprians."
At the mention of that name Ronie and Jack instantly remembered the brave young exile then with Harrie in prison at San Carlos, and, as may be imagined, listened with excitement hard to suppress for the next words, which were hissed rather than spoken by the man who held her a prisoner:
"You lie!" and the concealed listeners fancied they could see him lift his armed hand over her head, as if he would kill her then and there. Her reply was spoken with the calmness born of despair:
"Think as you will, señor; I have spoken the truth. Had I a dozen lives depending on my answer, it would be the same. Kill me if you wish. I can die without a regret, knowing that Francisco is not here to witness my death or suffer at your hands, El Capitan."