When Sirayo left, Webster, chafing at the narrow limits of the stifling den, knocked away the loose stone and wriggled through into the inner chamber, where they had passed the previous night in a stupor of sodden sleep. The Gaika presently glided to his side, and Laura soon struggled out to drink in the fresher air. The two men went along the passage, still bearing its ghastly burdens.
She leant against the rough wall, with her white face to the stars, weary in body and mind, worn out by the unequal struggle against the accumulating horrors and dangers, in which there was no wild dash of romance. She was beaten. Her courage had lost its resolution; her pride had been burnt out.
“Where have you gone?” asked Hume, with a touch of reproach in his tones.
She shuddered, but did not move or speak.
“It is very dark,” he muttered, as he groped about with his hands until he came upon the opening, when he thrust his head through, moving it helplessly from side to side.
“Don’t!” she gasped; “you frighten me.”
“I am sorry,” he said.
“For heaven’s sake!” whispered Webster as he hurried up, “keep quiet, man. Someone has entered, and is coming along the passage.”
With a low cry, Laura placed her hands before her face.
“I will protect you!” murmured Webster passionately, and Hume silently withdrew his head, a feeling of fierce despair at his heart.