But a few moments transpired, after the forming of the line, before an aid-de-camp approached and transmitted an order to the first-lieutenant, now commanding the company, and the first file of twelve men were marched away to the rear of the barracks, while the rest of the company were sent to the prison to do guard duty in escorting the prisoner to the ground.  It seemed to them as though this additional insult might have been spared to the prisoner-that of being guarded by his late command, in place of any other portion of the regiment being detailed for this service.  But this was General Harero’s management, who seemed to gloat in his own diabolical purposes.

In the meantime the prisoner had risen that morning from his damp, rude couch, and had completed his simple toilet with more than usual neatness.  After offering up a sincere prayer, and listening to the words of the priest who had been sent to prepare him for the last hour, he declared calmly that he was ready to die.  He had looked for Ruez Gonzales, and wondered not a little that the boy had not come to bid him farewell that morning-a last, long farewell.

“Perhaps his young heart was too full for him to do so,” said the doomed soldier; “and yet I should have felt happier to see him again.  It is strange how much his purity and gentleness of character have caused me to love him.  Next to Isabella Gonzales, surely that boy is nearest to my heart.  Poor Ruez will miss me, for the boy loves me much.”

As he mused thus to himself, the steady and regular tread of armed men was heard approaching his prison door, and the young soldier knew full well for what purpose they came.  In a few moments after, he who had formerly been his second in command entered the cell and saluted the prisoner respectfully.

“Captain Bezan,” said the lieutenant, “I need not explain in detail to you the very unpleasant business upon which I have been at this time sent, nor add,” continued the officer, in a lower tone of voice, “how much I regret the fate that awaits you.”

“Nay, Ferdinand,” answered Captain Bezan, calmly, “say nothing of the matter, but give me your hand, my friend, and do your duty.”

“Would to God I could in any way avoid it, Lorenzo,” said his brother officer, who had long been associated with him, and who had loved him well.

“Regrets are useless, Ferdinand.  You know we all have our allotted time, and mine has come.  You shall see that I will die like a soldier.”

“Ay, Lorenzo; but in such a way; so heartlessly, so needlessly, so in cold blood; alas! why were you so imprudent?  I am no woman, comrade.  You have fought in the same field, and slept in the same tent with me oftentimes, and you know that I have laid the sod upon my companion’s breast without a murmur, without a complaint; but this business is too much for me!”

“Fie, fie, man,” said the prisoner, with assumed indifference; “look upon it as a simple duty; you but fulfil an order, and there’s the end of it.”