They stood peering by the flickering and waning light at some dim forms stretched upon the floor, at two spots of light at the far end through which the air came, at a double row of shining objects on either side the narrow end of the wedge, and at an object in the centre from which there came a wreath of smoke, spreading the odour that had so disturbed them.
As Hume hesitated, with a sharp fear at his heart, one of the figures moved, then rose up, swaying to the side for support.
“Thank God!” he cried; and at the sound of the voice the figure started back, moved his head from side to side as though he tried in vain to pierce the gloom behind the spark of fire, and then cried hoarsely:
“Quien es?”
“Ah, it is you! Surrender; we are armed.”
The man made no answer; but, stooping, he appeared to grope among the prostrate forms; then with a fierce growl of satisfaction lifted one, and by the light that filtered through the two openings they caught the sheen of steel in his hand; they saw, too, the face of Laura, white and deathlike.
“I will not surrender!” he said slowly; “and if I die she dies also.”
“Don’t!” cried Hume hoarsely. “Give her to me, for Heaven’s sake!”
“Not I,” he growled, and placed her face in the stream of light, so that Hume could see the closed eyes and white cheeks.
Hume trembled and went faint with terror. “For mercy’s sake, take her out of this, into the fresh air.”