“It pains me—this wounded hand!” he cried—“But Aldarin my friend will reward me for the pain, some day or other.”
A murmuring sound now met his ears; it was the sound of running waters. Onward and onward the bold yeoman dashed, and louder and yet louder grew the sweet sound of waters in motion.
In a moment he felt a sudden change, from the dull leaden stillness of a stagnated pool, to the quick flow and wild careering of waves in motion. And now he was carried onward with arrowy fleetness, while high above, the roaring of the subterranean stream was returned in a thousand echoes. Now tossed against the sharp, rough points of rocks; now plunged in whirling gullies; now borne on the crests of swelling waves, in darkness and in terror, bold Robin swept on in his career.
CHAPTER THE SECOND.
ROBIN ALONE IN THE EARTH-HIDDEN CAVERN.
Thus was he carried onward for the space of a quarter of an hour, when, bruised, shattered and bleeding, he was thrown by the swell of a wave, high out of the water upon a mass of rocks.
Here he lay for a long while, without sense or feeling. When he recovered from this swoon, it was with difficulty that he made the attempt to collect his thoughts; all was vague, indistinct, and like a dream.
“St. Withold!” at last he whispered, as if communing with himself; “St. Withold! but this Aldarin is, in good sooth, a most pestilent knave!”
He paused a moment, and then, as if to redouble his private assurance of Aldarin’s villany, he resumed:
“Aye—a pestilent knave—ugh!”
This last interjection was a suppressed growl, which he forced through his fixed teeth, as, extending his arms, with the hands clenched, he made every demonstration of being engaged in shaking some imaginary Aldarin, with great danger to his victim’s comfort and life.