"Quick!" she whispered, "or it will be too late!"
She flung her pitcher of water in his face and over his head, and poured brandy from her little leather-covered pocket-flask down his throat.
That seemed to revive him, for he sat up on the carpeted floor, mumblingly, and glowered at her. Then he remembered; and as she bathed his bruised head with a wet towel he caught at her hand foolishly.
"Have we lost them?" he asked huskily, childishly.
"No, they are here! See, intact, and safe. But you must take them back. Neither of us can go through that hall with them!"
"Why not?"
"We're watched—we're prisoners here!"
"Then what'll we do?" he asked weakly, for he was not yet himself.
"You must take them, and get out of this room. There is only one way!"
"What is it?"