“Then why not make for the shore? A boat! Give me a boat and let me go!”
“Half the men who were faithful to me are dead, treacherously burned to death in their quarters. I cannot explain; but the doorway was blocked by those fiends. The landing-place is guarded by a portion of his bloodthirsty gang. To go to the shore is to seek your death. Will you not trust me now?”
“It is to keep me here!” he cried fiercely.
“To keep you here when I would gladly say go! Trust me. Give me time to think. I was coming to save you when we met. Will you not believe?”
“Yes!” cried Humphrey, hoarsely. “I will trust you!”
“Hah!”
That was all. His hand was gripped more tightly; and, as he yielded it to his companion, he felt himself led with unerring decision in and out among the mouldering ruins of the edge of the clearing to the side of the old amphitheatre, a faint metallic clink from time to time indicating that a sword was being struck upon the stones to make sure of the way.
“You are going back there?” said Humphrey.
“Yes,” came back hoarsely. “Do not speak. We may be heard.”
Humphrey was conscious that his guide had led him to the old altar and sunk upon it with a moan; but she still tightly clung to his hand.