“Yes, sir. What would your mother say, if I let you go straight into danger like this, with me here?”
“Will you recollect that you are a soldier, sir?”
“Of course I will, Master Fred. How is a man to help it, with an iron pot on his head rubbing him bald? Ready, sir?”
“Ready? Yes.”
“Then here goes!” said Samson. “Can’t expect a man to obey orders when he’s underground.”
Samson strode on with the candle in his left hand and his sword now in his right, leading the way, with his young master close behind, and their shadows following and seeming to dance on the floor and walls, which glistened here and there with moisture.
They proceeded slowly, Samson twice over hazarding a remark on the dampness, but only to be sternly told to proceed, till at last the little flight of steps appeared leading into the vault, where they came to a sudden halt, for something suddenly flashed in the light of the candle, and a harsh voice cried—
“Stand!”