"The fault is mine," said the guide. "I should have asked my brother to remove the stone at the entrance before he went, in case of any mishap. I forgot to do so. I ask forgiveness."
"There is nothing to forgive," said the boy. "In such a country as this, encompassed upon every hand by death and dangers of all kinds, there are a thousand things to think of. I would be the last to blame you."
"You are generous," said the man. "The English, with all their faults, are the most generous race on earth; and because they are just, I honour them. We have food and water to last for some days. We can but put our trust in Providence."
Of the days that followed it is unnecessary to tell in detail. In the gallery, shut out from the outside world, from the pure air of the mountains and the sunlight, existence was a living death. For all that, it was wonderful for how long they retained their strength. Indeed, it is a remarkable fact that a man can go for many days with little food, if he has water to drink and is not asked to undergo great physical exertion. But at last Peter Klein grew so weak, and the beating of his heart so slow, that Harry feared he was dying.
It was during these days that the boys came to love the wizened half-caste in whose hands was their fate. Fernando's courage knew no bounds; it was as if his will-power was invincible. Never once did a word of despair or hopelessness leave his lips.
They longed for the open air, for freedom. Days and nights were all the same to them, except that sometimes the sunshine, sometimes the moonshine, invaded the depths of their prison through the great fissures in the wall. As time went on it was difficult not to give up hope.
At last, one night, Fernando rose to his feet and approached Harry, who found it impossible to sleep.
"My friend," said he, "the sands are running down, but I think that I can save you."
"How?" asked the other.
"Look at me!" cried the man. "I am little better than a skeleton. I think I can creep through the opening in the wall."