The next moment he had lost all consciousness.
When he came to, he was lying in the guard-room of the Presidio. Among
the group of people who surrounded him he recognized the gaunt features
of the Commander, the sympathetic eyes of Father Esteban, and the
fisherman who had disappeared. When he rose on his elbow, and attempted
to lift himself feebly, the fisherman, with a cry of gratitude, threw
himself on his knees, and kissed his helpless hand.
"He lives, he lives! your Excellencies! Saints be praised, he lives! The
hero--the brave Americano--the noble caballero who delivered me from the
madman."
"Who are you? and whence come you?" demanded the Commander of Hurlstone,
with grave austerity.
Hurlstone hesitated; the priest leaned forward with a half anxious, half
warning gesture. There was a sudden rustle in the passage; the crowd
gave way as Miss Keene, followed by Mrs. Markham, entered. The young
girl's eyes caught those of the prostrate man. With an impulsive cry she
ran towards him.
"Mr. Hurlstone!"
"Hurlstone," echoed the group, pressing nearer the astonished man.
The Comandante lifted his hand gravely with a gesture of silence, and
then slowly removed his plumed hat.
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