“Humphrey Armstrong!”
The hand that had grasped his throat dropped nerveless, and the weapon fell from his breast as the shouting of men increased.
“Well,” said Humphrey, bitterly, as if he were forcing himself to say words that he did not mean, “why do you not strike? I was escaping. Call up your gang of cut-throats and end it all.”
“Hush! For Heaven’s sake, hush! You will be heard.”
“Well,” said Humphrey, aloud, and as if in defiance; but a warm soft hand was placed over his lips, and its owner whispered—
“You were trying to escape, or did you know?”
“Know!” said Humphrey, involuntarily speaking lower. “Know what? I was escaping.”
“To the old temple! No, no, they are going there.”
“Your hounds!”
“Silence, man, for your life!” was whispered close to his ear, and the hand once more sought his lips.