"Thank you, sir. It's an awful job."
"Hark!" said Sylvie. "There's the man with the trunks."
"I forgot all about him," said Rodney.
"That's a fact," said the teamster. "Turn down here, to let him by. Hallo!"
"Hallo! Come to grief?"
"We just have, then. Go ahead, will you, and bring back—something to shoot with," he added, in a lower tone, and coming close,—remembering Sylvie. "I had a crow-bar, but it's lost in the jumble. I'll stay here, now."
The wagon drove by, rapidly. The man led his horse down by the wall, to wait there. Sylvie and Rodney, hand in hand, walked on.
Sylvie shivered with the horrible excitement; her teeth chattered; a nervous trembling was taking hold of her.
Rodney put his arm round her again. "Don't tremble, dear," he said.
"O, Rodney! What were we kept alive for?"