Just then there was a faint rustling, a hand was laid upon his arm, and Dummy whispered:
“Hear that, Master Mark?”
“Yes. Don’t talk,” whispered Mark, and the two lads, who were well upon the alert, listened in perfect silence, till all at once there was a faint gleam of light, so feeble that it could hardly be distinguished, but there it was, close to the roof, and Mark was satisfied that it must come over the top of their defensive wall.
Then all was still for a minute or two, till the two mentally saw what was taking place—some one was passing his hands over the built-up stones, and trying whether one of them could be dislodged.
Then all was still again, and the light died out.
It was not till hours after that any further sound was heard, and this time Sir Edward was awake and about, passing from the dark chamber where the sentries were on guard to the light outside, and back again.
Mark went with him, and Sir Edward had just happened to say in a whisper:
“All quiet enough now,” when a voice, apparently close to his elbow, said hoarsely:
“No. I’m not going to walk into a trap.”
There was a good deal in those few words, for to Mark, among other things, they meant that if the speaker was not going to walk into a trap, it was because he must have food enough to last him for some time longer, and was not willing to lay down his arms.