"No, I don't know," said Dot. "We—parted—a long time ago."
"How odd you are!" said Adela. "Why, what is the matter? Are you going to faint?" She went to the girl and bent over her, frightened by her look. "What is the matter, Dot? What has happened to you? You haven't been hurt?"
"I am—all right," Dot said, with an effort. "Did Mr. Harley bring you here?"
"Yes. And you? How did you get here?"
"He—brought me most of the way—Mr. Warden," Dot said. "He has gone now to save—Fletcher Hill."
"To shoot him, more likely," said Adela. "He has posted sentinels all round the mine to catch him. I wonder if we are safe here! Mr. Harley said it was a safe place. But I wonder. Shall we make a bolt for it, Dot? Shall we? Shall we?"
"I shall stay here," Dot answered.
Adela was not even listening. "We are only two defenceless women, and there isn't a man to look after us. What shall we do if—Ah! Heavens! What is that?"
A fearful sound had cut short her speculations—a fiendish yelling as of a pack of wolves leaping upon their prey. Dot sat up swiftly. Adela cowered in a corner.
The terrible noise continued, appalling in its violence. It swept like a wave towards the building, drowning the roar of the stream below. The girl at the table rose and went to the closed door. She gripped a revolver in her right hand. With her left she reached for the latch.