CLIF FARADAY'S SACRIFICE.
It is needless to say that Clif stared at the man in amazement. But an
instant before he had heard him state that he was willing to assume
responsibility for them as prisoners.
And now he was saying that they were free!
But there was no time to ask any questions. Bessie Stuart was clinging
to Clif's arm and urging him on.
"Have you got some place to hide us?" she inquired anxiously of the
officer.
"It is hardly likely that I would leave you here," was the other's quiet
answer. "Come."
He led them away from the prison. A short distance off there was
standing a small closed carriage.
"Here it is," said the Spaniard. "Step in."
Clif helped the girl inside; and then entered himself. He expected the
officer to follow, but he did not; he clambered up with the driver.
And the carriage rattled off down the road.
Clif saw his chance then. He turned eagerly toward the girl.
"Bessie!" he cried, "for Heaven's sake, tell me what this all means. Who
is this man? And why is he setting us at liberty?"
The girl sank back weakly in the seat.
"I will tell you the story, Clif," she said. "There is plenty of time,
for we have a long ways to go."
"He is ruining himself for us!" Clif exclaimed. "For you! Why he will be
court-martialed and shot if he lets us get away."
"I know it," groaned the girl, choking down a sob. "I know it. We talked
it all over beforehand. But it was a question of his life or mine."
"Are you sure he is not tricking us?" gasped Clif--"kidnapping us?"
The girl smiled sadly.
"You do not understand the circumstances," she said. "Wait, and let me
tell you."
Clif missed in his friend the old self-reliant manner that she had
always had; she was nervous and weak, and it was plain that she was not
well.
And Clif was trembling all over with anxiety as he watched her.
"Go on!" he cried. "Tell me. How did you get here, in the first place?"
"You left me with Gomez," began the girl, taking a deep breath. "I did
not stay very long, for he was marching about, and I could not stand the
strain. He wanted me to go to one of the Cuban villages in the interior
where his family was; but I was anxious to get back to the United
States. And so I came here to Havana----"
"To Havana!"
"Yes, for I thought no one would know me."
"And Ignacio saw you?"
"Yes, and recognized me. But that was only the other day."
"Where were you meanwhile?"
"I had a letter to the British consul, and I stayed at his home. There
was so much suffering in this city that I couldn't stay idle. I used to
go to the hospitals to take care of the poor people, the Cubans. And
that was how I met Lieutenant Hernandez."
"Who is he?"
"He is the man who has rescued us. He had been hurt in the Matanzas
bombardment, and one of his arms was terribly cut. I took care of
him--he was there because the military hospitals were crowded. And,
Clif, I--I--I guess he fell in love with me."
The girl flushed as she said that.
"I should not tell, perhaps," she went on, hastily. "But it is your
right to know this, and you would not understand if I didn't tell you.
Clif, he asked me to marry him."
Clif started and turned pale.
"Bessie!" he exclaimed in horror.
The thought of that girl's marrying the Spanish officer was terrible. It
flashed over him that that was the reason why the rescue had been
attempted.
"Oh, Bessie!" he cried again.
Clif had never breathed a word of love to her in his life. But all
through their trying journey through Cuba he had protected her, fairly
worshiped her. And he had thought she understood his feelings.
And now he thought that he had lost her--she had promised to be that
officer's wife! It was no wonder that he felt his hands grow icy.
His heart fairly stood still as he waited for the girl to go on.
"I will tell you," said Bessie. "You must know in the first place that
this man is a gentleman, a hero in fact. You will understand it when I
tell you what he has done."
"Go on."
"When he left the hospital, as I say, he begged me to marry
him--declared he would resign from the army if I would."
The girl was breathing hard as she continued; it was evident that the
subject pained her.
"I felt so sorry for him," she said, in a low, trembling voice. "For I
think it has nearly broken his heart. I refused him. I told him that I
liked him, but I did not, I could not marry him. I had been kind to him
because he was ill. He swore that he would die for me--and, Clif, I
think he has nearly carried out his promise."
Bessie Stuart choked down a sob.
"I refused him," she said again. "And then came the horrible Ignacio. He
saw me on the street. That was three days ago; and that same day I was
placed under arrest."
"What for?"
"Why, Ignacio knew that I had been fighting with Gomez; you know we had
a fight with some Spaniards when he was along. And so there was no
chance for me. The British consul did all he could for me, but there was
no hope. I could not deny the charges. And, oh, Clif, I have had a
frightful time. I was taken over to those horrible dungeons in Morro.
And I was sentenced to death. I was to be taken out and shot to-morrow."
The girl stopped for a few moments to recover her composure.
"And how did you find out about me?" asked Clif.
"I will tell you," said Bessie. "But first I must go on about this
Lieutenant Hernandez. I did not know it, but he was stationed over here.
And when he found out what had happened to me he managed to come in to
see me."
And then Clif felt able to complete that story.
"I suppose," said he, "that he offered to free you if you would marry
him."
Bessie Stuart smiled sadly.
"You do not know the man," said she. "I will tell you what he did say. I
can almost hear him saying it."
"What?"
"'Miss Stuart,' he said, 'you have said you do not love me. And I think
you love some one else--I do not know whom; but I will not make you
unhappy by urging you any more. I might take advantage of your present
position to get you to promise to marry me. But I will not. If you will
be ready to-night I will help you to escape, and prove what I said about
dying for you.'"
The girl stopped and sat silent, too much moved to speak. And Clif was
too astonished.
That was indeed the act of a noble nature. The cadet saw it all then,
why the man had freed them and why he and the girl were both so quiet
and sad. Lieutenant Hernandez had given his life for hers.
It was fully a minute before anything more was said. Then Bessie Stuart
began again, in a low voice:
"About you," she said. "It was the lieutenant who told me, quite by
accident. He said there were five Americans captured, one a cadet, and
that he was to be killed. When I asked the name and he told me, I
fainted dead away. And I think that hurt the lieutenant more than
anything."
"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 embarrassed 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 circumstances 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 worship 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.