“And they are going to let her in!” he added the next instant.
Hardly had he spoken before the door of their dungeon was thrown open, and a shaft of blinding sunlight streamed in. The prisoners all rose to their feet as there entered the squalid cell a young woman in a riding habit. The four prisoners instantly recognized her as General de Guzman’s niece.
“Oh, the poor Americans!” she exclaimed, with a little shudder, as she gathered her riding skirt about her. The boys noted that it was dusty, and, taken in conjunction with the rapid pace of her horse, meant that she had ridden fast to what was to prove a momentous interview.
“To what are we indebted for this visit, senorita?” began Midshipman Stark.
He spoke in Spanish, but the girl checked him with a finger to her lips.
“Speak in English,” she said, “otherwise they will listen, and if they should report this to my uncle it might go hard with you.”
“It couldn’t go much worse,” muttered Stanley in a grim aside.
“Where is the one that spoke of my father,” went on the girl, tears brimming into her large eyes. “Ah! there he is. Tell me, sir, you have news of him?”
Ned came forward somewhat unwillingly as she spoke. It was going to be a hard task to tell this woman about the derelict and the almost certain proof it offered of her father’s death. Perhaps she read his thoughts, for as he hesitated she exclaimed:
“Do not seek to spare my feelings by not speaking plainly. I must tell you that since he fled the country on that sailing ship he has been mourned as dead by those who loved him. We have heard nothing of the ship for months. She never reached her destination, and there is little doubt that she was lost at sea.”