"Well?" answered Joe, roughly, as soon as he had pointed out the bread-trays and desired her to get them in order. "What's wrong with you now? You are always groaning and calling out."
"Water!" asked Benito, piteously. "This place is like a furnace. I am suffering torments from raging thirst and this cruel wound. Accursed Englishman! may I live to repay him!"
"You will have to hurry and get well, or the Russians will save you the trouble," remarked Joe.
"That is my only consolation. It was I who gave him to them."
Although bending busily over her task, Mariquita felt her heart beat faster and faster. These words, which she now overheard through such a strange chance, clearly referred to her lover.
"Will they hang him, do you think?" asked Benito.
"As sure as the sun breeds flies. We have done our business too well to give him a chance of escape."
"Would that I might hold the rope, that I might see his agony, his last convulsions! That I might myself revenge the tortures he has made me bear!"
And Benito sank back upon his miserable bed, groaning with pain.
"Don't whine like that, you miserable cur!" said Joe, brutally. "It's bad enough to have you here at all, without your disturbing the whole place. Why did you come here?"