There were excited voices, too, although no words could be understood. It seemed to the two prisoners that the old mansion was being deserted, and their impression was that the thieves were removing their plunder because their hiding-place had been intruded upon. In that case, they thought, they might soon be released.
After what seemed a whole day, food was pushed into the room, and the boys ate heartily of the fresh pork sausages, corn pones, and sweet potatoes given them.
“You’re all right on the feed!” Alex. called back in the direction of the corner where for an instant the old man had been seen.
There was no answer, but, somehow, the boys were convinced that there was some one there in the room with them. It does not always require the eyes, or the hands, or the ears, or the sense of smell, to show one that others are close by.
There is a tingling of the nerves which warns of the presence of hostile elements, and this it was which showed the prisoners that they were still under guard.
That was a long afternoon. For the most part there were no sounds in the old house; still, now and then, there came the jar of heavy burdens on the floors, and the sharp and angry voices of men, speaking in a tongue the boys did not understand.
When the cracks in the boards at the windows began to darken, they knew that night was falling. They thought of the comfortable cabin of the Rambler, and of the companionship of the other boys with spasms of anger and regret. As the darkness became more complete outside, they arose and walked up and down the floor of their little room.
“Say, Mister!” Alex. called out to their invisible guard, directly, “how many acts are there in this drama? When do the persecuted c-h-e-i-l-d-s return to their agonized and heart-broken parents?”
“I’m as weary of it as you are!” was the remarkable answer, still in that calm voice they had heard before.
“Then why don’t you cut it out?” asked Jule.