Then, lest he should grow stiff, who was sorely bruised beneath his mail, they began to walk up and down the cave from where the horses stood to where the two dead Assassins lay by the door, the faint light gleaming upon their stern, dark features. Ill company they seemed in that silent, lonely place.
The time crept on; the moon sank towards the mountains.
“What if they do not come?” asked Wulf.
“Let us wait to think of it till dawn,” answered Godwin.
Again they walked the length of the cave and back.
“How can they come, the door being barred?” asked Wulf.
“How did Masouda come and go?” answered Godwin. “Oh, question me no more; it is in the hand of God.”
“Look,” said Wulf, in a whisper. “Who stand yonder at the end of the cave—there by the dead men?”
“Their spirits, perchance,” answered Godwin, drawing his sword and leaning forward. Then he looked, and true enough there stood two figures faintly outlined in the gloom. They glided towards them, and now the level moonlight shone upon their white robes and gleamed in the gems they wore.
“I cannot see them,” said a voice. “Oh, those dead soldiers—what do they portend?”