“Sirs, there is something very strange in this,” hollowly whispered Pedro. “I left her here not fifteen minutes since. The torch is where I left it—my hand is upon it; I will strike a light.”
The torch flamed redly out as Pedro, waving it aloft, peered round the chamber.
He could not see her. With the men strangely affected by some unknown influence, with their weapons drawn, he walked slowly about the narrow chamber, making the entire circuit without success.
“Senors,” and his voice, they could perceive, was hollow and quivering—“there have been ugly and strange happenings here, to-day. She is not here.”
All was silence.
“There is still the first chamber—she may be there; we may have missed her; sirs, this way.”
They followed.
In the first chamber again. The torch flickers in the breeze as they walk slowly about after it—a mysterious influence is upon all.
“Sirs—senors—she is not here.”
All is quiet and the torch flares redly. The horses outside are silent—they never stamp, the night breeze is damp, and the torch flickers and flares; all is quiet in the Land of Silence.