He shuddered, and a chill of horror shot through him, for he knew directly after.
It was blood.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
In the Vault.
With the deathly silence which ensued as the heavy echoing steps of the searchers passed away, the men being completely at fault as to why certain drops of blood should be lying near the couch, Humphrey descended the steps once more.
“They are gone,” he whispered, but there was no reply; and, feeling softly about, his hand came in contact with Mary’s arm, to find that she lay back in a corner of the vault, with a kerchief pressed tightly against her breast.
He hastily bandaged the wound, firmly binding the handkerchief which she held there with his own and the broad scarf he wore, and, after placing her in a more comfortable position, began to search in the darkness for the food and water which were there.
The water was soon found—a deep, cool cistern in the middle of the floor.