and thrilling scene that will live forever in the minds of all Americans present. A finer stage setting for a dramatic episode it would be difficult to imagine. The palace, a picturesque old dwelling in the Moorish style of architecture, faces the Plaça de la Reina, the principal public square. Opposite rises the imposing Catholic cathedral. On one side is a quaint, brilliantly painted building, with broad verandas— the club of San Carlos; on the other a building of much the same description-Café de la Venus.

Across the plaza was drawn up the Ninth Infantry, headed by the Sixth Cavalry band. In the street facing the palace stood a picked troop of the Second Cavalry with drawn sabers, under command of Captain Brett. Massed on the stone flagging, between the band and the line of horsemen, were the brigade commanders of General Shafter's division.

On the red-tiled roof of the palace stood Captain McKittrick, Lieutenant Miley, and Lieutenant Wheeler; immediately above them, upon the flagstaff, the illuminated Spanish arms, and the legend, "Viva Alfonso XIII." All about, pressing against the veranda rails, crowding to the windows and doors, and lining the roofs, were the people of the town, principally women and non-combatants.

As the chimes of the ancient cathedral rang out the hour of twelve, infantry and cavalry presented arms, every American uncovered, and Captain Mc

Kittrick hoisted the Stars and Stripes. As the brilliant folds unfurled in a gentle breeze against a fleckless sky, the cavalry band broke into the strains of "The StarSpangled Banner," making the American pulse leap, and the American heart throb with joy. At the same instant the sound of the distant boom

the music ceased,

and the echoes of

the shots had died

away, from all directions around the American lines

FOR A MOMENT HE there came floating

across the plaza

the strains of the regimental bands and the muffled,

hoarse cheers of the troops.

While the soldiers were making the welkin ring with glad shouts, a man was wandering slowly from house to house and every haunt that had once been

familiar to him. His face was the most abject picture of wo one could behold. Tho he wore the uniform of the conquerors, his was the countenance of the conquered.

Fernando Stevens had suffered the keenest mental agony since that night he captured Colonel Constellino. Had the man told him a falsehood, or was what he said literally true? The letter which the Cuban had brought him was so inconsistent with the idea of her marriage that he could not believe it true. She had expressed the tenderest solicitude for himself, and the utmost contempt and loathing for the Spanish colonel.

"My poor dove, they have wronged you, I know they have wronged you," he declared, hurrying frantically about the city. The old cathedral bell rang out the hour of twelve, the American flag went up, and the Spanish banner came down, cannon thundered, bands played, and the whole army cheered; but so intent was he upon finding Viola, that he scarce heard them, and certainly did not heed them.

At last he paused at the door of the great cathedral. It had been partially wrecked by one of the shells from the Yankee ships. He crossed over a fallen beam, the broken masonry, and a shattered door, and entered the vast hall. A somber twilight and weird gloom seemed to have settled within the cathedral. Those vast columns rising from the twi

light of the interior were lost in the gloom overhead. It was some moments before his eye became sufficiently accustomed to shadows to discover a form kneeling before the altar. Two wax candles burning in golden candlesticks at the rear of the altar gave forth but a feeble glow which at first was hardly perceptible. As the soldier gazed, objects in the interior became more plain, and he discovered that the figure kneeling at the altar before an image of the crucifixion was a woman. She was slender and graceful. Her back was partially toward him, so that he could not see her features, but, nevertheless, there was something about her which seemed familiar, and he felt himself instinctively drawn toward her. A strange, holy, solemn awe seemed to come over him, and for a moment he stood spellbound. It was only natural that his own pious instincts and regard for others would prompt him to retire as quietly as possible. But the impulse to go forward, to know who that fair worshiper was, prevailed, and he strode down the great aisle.

CHAPTER XXI.

ON TO PUERTO RICO.

LIEUTENANT STEVENS was aware that his act was ungenteel if not sacrilegious. Perhaps the unfortunate woman in black, kneeling before the sacred image and counting her beads, was offering up a prayer for the soul of husband, father, or brother slain in the siege. There are times in our lives when we seem wholly controlled by powers not within ourselves, and it was some such impulse that moved Lieutenant Stevens to approach the figure at the altar and say:

"Pardon, señora, but are you in great distress?"

At the sound of a voice so near the figure suddenly sprang to her feet and turned upon him a face marvelously white, eyes large, dark, and lustrous, and hair that fell in masses and folds about her fair shoulders. She was clothed in black, and the strange, agonized pallor of her face made a striking contrast. Had the intruder and worshiper both suddenly received an electric shock they could not have been more startled. For the space of thirty