A Prisoner of Morro Part 30

"Why?"

"I told him the story, how you had twice rescued me from the Spaniards.

And he asked--he asked if you were his rival."

The girl stepped abruptly.

"And you said that I was, I hope," said Clif, quietly.

Most women would have been embarra.s.sed by a question such as that. But Bessie Stuart was not.

There was some of the old-time self-possession in her voice as she responded. She turned and looked fairly into Clif's eyes.

"I know you well enough to speak my mind," she said. "Yes, I told him that you were."

And then the two sat perfectly silent, looking at each other. It was a very few words they had said, but they covered a lifetime of feeling.

In that quiet way and under those strange circ.u.mstances Clif had unbosomed his heart; and Bessie Stuart had done the same.

It was the first word that Clif had ever said to indicate how he felt toward her.

For the two sat in silence for a minute or so; and then Clif went on:

"You told this officer that I was his rival," said he; "that you loved me and that I was the only barrier to his hopes?"

"I did," said the girl.

"And he still was willing to save my life?"

"You see what he has done," answered the other. "He said that he loved me, that he would risk his life to make me happy. And here we are."

"But not happy," Clif added, half under his breath.

Then again there was a long silence. One cannot say much when one feels as deeply as those two felt then.

Clif thought of the heroism of that quiet Spanish officer. And his heart went out toward him. He fancied what the man's own feelings must be, the loneliness and the desolation.

He had ruined himself, accepted voluntarily disgrace and a shameful death. And all in order that a woman who had been kind to him might be set free and made happy.

Of the death there could be no doubt. When that officer was caught he would have it to face. And he would face it for the sake of Bessie Stuart.

And moreover, he was aiding Clif, his rival, the one who was robbing him of his heart's desire; he was helping him to freedom so that the cadet, when his work in the war was done, might claim the woman he loved as his reward.

That was heroism; not the noisy kind in the battle, which every one sees and applauds, but the quiet kind that knows it is right and cares for no one else.

Clif felt that he could wors.h.i.+p such a man as that.

And it is needless to say that his conscience troubled him. What right had he to accept such a sacrifice?

But the alternative was a terrible one. The lieutenant might flee with them to the United States; and then----

Clif could not finish the thought; it made him shudder.

Just then Bessie Stuart spoke again.

"Clif," she said, "I have something to say to you. And I shall speak plainly, for there is no time to hesitate. I have told you how I feel toward you; I have told you that I loved you. Neither of us would have declared our feelings, I suppose, if it had not been for this situation.

But I have been with you for months, and I have never known you to do anything I could not admire. And mine is no childish fancy, Clif, for we have been doing the work of men, you and I. Clif----"

The girl choked back a sob--and then went on:

"We must stop," she said, "stop where we are."

Clif knew what was coming, and he felt his blood surging. Bessie Stuart's hand was in his and it was trembling.

For a moment she could not speak; the words would not come.

But then with that terrible self-command she sometimes displayed, she mastered her emotion and turned to look into her companion's face.

"Clif," she said, "you know what I mean. You must let me marry this officer."

Clif had known, and so he did not move when he heard those awful words.

He sat perfectly motionless, almost frozen; he felt the girl's hand turn cold in his.

The carriage rolled on, and for at least one long, long minute there was not a sound. The girl was listening, trembling again; and Clif, half dazed was thinking to himself, thinking again and again of that death knell, "You must let me marry this officer."

And it was true. Clif knew it. It was his duty; and the feeling lingered in his mind that if he had half the heroism of that Spaniard he would have said so long ago.

At last he spoke. His mouth was dry and his voice husky, but he forced the words out.

And they were the right ones.

"Yes," said he, "you must marry him. And we must never meet again."

And then once more came the terrible silence. Bessie Stuart heard him choke down a sob; and her heart was ready to break.

For this cadet was the dearest friend she had. She had been through terrible dangers with him, coming to love him more every day, as she saw the brave man's daring. And no one could ever know now how she felt toward him.

But there was her duty; and though she was nearly ready to faint, she sat perfectly motionless by his side.

And so for two or three minutes they rode on in silence; then suddenly they heard the driver of the carriage stopping his horses.

"We are there," said Clif, in a husky voice.

He turned to look at the girl once more; he found that she was gazing at him, and their eyes met.

There was anguish in both of their faces; Miss Stuart could scarcely see for her tears.

But Clif took her hands in his. All the emotion of his lifetime seemed crowded into that moment. He bent toward her and their lips met in one trembling kiss.

And then with a set look on his face the cadet rose from his seat and opened the door of the carriage, which had stopped.