“Ah!” came again in the faint whisper, “That you, Dal?”
“Yes, yes. How are you now?”
“Then it isn’t all a delirious dream?”
“No, no; we have been brought together almost miraculously.”
“Thank God—thank God!” came feebly. “I thought I had been off my head. Have I been asleep?”
“Yes, and I fell asleep too. My wound made me feverish, and we must have been lying here ever so long in the dark.”
“Your wound, Dal?”
“Yes; I had almost forgotten it in what we had to go through, but one of the scoundrels shot me. It is only a scratch, but my arm seems set fast.”
“Ah! Do you think they were buried alive too?” came in an eager whisper.
“Who can say, old fellow? But never mind that. How do you feel? Think you can help me?”