That was too much. Clif had held himself back, for he did not wish those cruel men to know he could torment him.
But at that last remark he could no longer restrain his anxiety. He sprang toward the Spanish captain with a pleading look on his face.
"Tell me!" he cried. "Tell me—where is she?"
The other's lip curled sneeringly as he stared at him.
"You are very much interested," said he. "Well, to be sure, the girl is pretty—pretty as I ever saw, unfortunately for her. But you may see her again. I expect—she is likely to be in the same prison with you."
Every drop of blood left Clif's face at those terrible words. Bessie Stuart in prison!
"Merciful providence!" he gasped.
And then once more he sprang toward the Spaniard, a look on his face, a look of agony that would have touched a heart of stone.
"For Heaven's sake, sir," he gasped, "tell me!"
"Tell you what?"