Save the crackling of the burning dwellings and the sharp cries of many who were wounded, poor Tim heard nothing.
He resigned himself meekly and humbly to die.
“If I had only acted bravely,” he thought, “this misfortune wouldn’t have happened to me. But how could I help it? Wildfire Ned is a perfect devil, and don’t care any more for a sword-cut than I would for a flea-bite. This all comes of being a coward,” he groaned. “Curse the Skeleton rascals! D—n this tree which offered me protection! If I could only get out of this stifling hole, I’d give——”
“What! what would you give?” asked a solemn voice near to him.
Tim began to shiver in every limb.
“Was that a voice I heard?” he sighed. “No, it cannot be; it must have been all im——”
“Reality!” interrupted the voice.
For a moment the frightened prisoner dared not move.
“’Tis the devil,” he muttered.
Before he could utter another word Tim felt the earth moving from under him.