The sight before me was a pitiful one. The wretched prisoner sat on a wooden bench in the dreary hovel. His arms were bound, but he was free to walk about if he so wished. At the click of the latch he raised his head, but seeing me dropped it again quickly, as if ashamed to meet my gaze.
"Don Felipe," I began, "have you any message for your daughter?"
Instead of answering my question, he himself asked one.
"Will that brigand really put me to death?" he said.
"I am afraid so. I have begged hard for your life, but in vain."
Looking at me curiously, he exclaimed, "I cannot understand why you should wish to save me!"
"For Rosa's sake! When you were carried off, she came to me, and I promised if it were possible to bring you back with me."
"Then you do not believe the story you heard to-day, about—about—"
"My father? Yes, I believe it; but that is no reason why I should be unkind to Rosa. Poor girl! 'twill be hard enough for her to lose you."
"Is there no way of escape?"