man I loved! Phillip! Phillip," sobs Isabel, sinking on one knee beside him, "I told you that some day you would realize how much I loved you!"
But Van Zandt, with a shudder and expression of utter aversion, turns away.
"Ah, I see I am too late," remarks a quiet voice, and Van Zandt looks up to see the friendly soldier with the scar.
"To the consul's if you would save the American girl," says the latter. "I'll look after these obsequies. Come, be off," as Van Zandt stares at him in surprise. "A plot is afoot, headed by that precious Lieut. Sanchez, and you have no time to lose."
"But the consul"
"The consul was at his office in the city two hours ago, and is doubtless there yet. Ah, you are too late." The clatter of departing hoof-beats is borne upon their ears. "No; you can reach the consul's ahead of them, by the short-cut down the hillside. Here! Take my revolver! You may need more than one. And mind, don't waist any ammunition," shouts the soldier, as Van Zandt dashes off.
Then he turns to the scene of the tragedy. He kneels beside Felton's body and makes a brief examination. Then he straightens up.
"Go!" he says sternly, to Mrs. Harding. "Your work is done!"
She stares at him a moment, with her glittering eyes; then, with a little shudder, tosses the revolver into the bushes, turns and walks slowly away.
The caballero watches her out of sight and again turns to the body of the Spanish captain.
"Humph!" he grunts, as he lifts the limp form from the ground. "He is worth a dozen dead men, or my name isn't John Barker."
