Perhaps this was caused in part by the dead weight upon his mind, for it was singular that he should be placing his life in jeopardy in order to please a girl who had jilted him, cast him aside like a worn-out glove.
It added to the piquancy of the thing, but Roderic could not say he hoped for a repetition.
The governor's daughter had given him strange information about Leon.
This brother of Georgia seemed fated to see the inside of more than one Spanish prison. His experience in Morro Castle, from whence he escaped through the assistance of the girl who had fallen in love with him, one would think must have been quite enough in that line; but he had somehow or other again fallen into the hands of his foes.
Thus it happened that he had been in the San Juan prison, condemned to exile, on the morning of the memorable twelfth of May, when about daybreak Sampson's powerful fleet opened on the forts and were in turn barked at by the bold Spanish gunners, who showed their bravery if they did no damage.
It happened that the prison was probably the most exposed building in the city, lying as it did between the fleet and the pulverine, the gallery of it fronting on the harbor.
Without warning a shell exploded in the wall, and that side of the building became a wreck.
Bricks and debris flew in every direction, and all who were in the apartment with Leon found themselves on their backs.
Such a chorus of frightened shouts went up—demoralization reigned supreme.