CHAPTER XLIV.
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF DON CARLOS.
"Stand back!" commands Navarro, as his men start
forward to the enraged Alvarez, whose fingers have
twined about the insurgent leader's neck. "Back, I say!
I can handle this gentleman without assistance."
Alvarez is as a child in the steely arms of El Terredo. The latter tears the clutching fingers from his throat, sweeps the Spanish captain off his feet and dashes him to the ground.
Half-stunned and crazed by passion, Alvarez struggles to his knees and whips out a pistol. It is knocked from his grasp before his arm straightens, as half a dozen watchful Cubans pounce upon him.
"Away with them!" orders Navarro, with a sweep of his arm, and as Alvarez and Barker are hustled off in the darkness he turns to Don Carlos, who has been a silent and trembling witness of the conflict.
"In heaven's name, my brother, what brings you on this errand? Don Manuel must be mad."
"Ah, Emilio, do not blame Don Manuel," gently protests Carlos, as he embraces Navarro. "The matter was urgent, a courier was required, and I myself suggested that I be that courier. To see you again I would have dared the perils of the journey, even were nothing more at stake."
"Brave heart," murmurs Navarro, brushing back the ringlets from his brother's brow. "But let this be your last commission, Carlos. I would not jeopardize your life for a thousand Cubas. But come, is the news you bring me verbal or written?"
For answer Carlos places a letter in Navarro's hands, and the latter reads it by the light of the lantern. It is brief, and as he thrusts it into his pocket Jack steps forward.
"Ah, Ashley," cries Navarro, grasping him by the hand;
