And now it was done and there was no undoing it. There was no way of aiding the lieutenant, no way of persuading him, nothing but death for him to face.
But as Clif sat there through the early hours of the morning and gazed upon that silent figure by his side he felt that his love for that girl was consecrated by that hero's sacrifice. There was a light of high purpose in the brave man's eyes; he was accepting his life and hers at the cost of another's, and the terms were such as made him feel the meaning of his existence. It was to be no child's play, no blind hunt for pleasure or wealth or fame, but a life with a purpose and meaning, a struggle for the right.
"I think his face will always be watching me," thought Clif.
And there were moments in his after life when the thought that that quiet Spaniard's eyes were watching made him shrink from the base things of life.
The light that shone in from the eastern sky gradually grew brighter and brighter, and Clif awakened from his solemn reverie to the duty that lay before him then.
He had Bessie Stuart to protect, and to lead from that position of peril.
It would indeed be a frightful calamity, he thought, if that sacrifice of Lieutenant Hernandez should avail nothing. If that girl should fall once more into the clutches of the Spaniards.
"For they are not all like that man," thought the lad.
And so he waited nervously until the light was bright enough. And then very gently he awakened her and assisted her to rise.
The girl was weak and exhausted, but she gathered her strength for this last final effort.