“A woman’s!” muttered Stonor grimly.
Again it shattered the stillness, this time more dreadful, for they heard words in their own tongue. “Don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me!” Then a horrible pause, and with added urgency: “Help! Help!”
“By God! English words!” cried Stonor, astounded.
“Go to her! Go to her!” cried Clare, urging him with her hands.
On the other hand, Mary, falling to her knees, clung to him, fairly gibbering in the extremity of her terror.
Stonor was suspicious, yet every instinct of manliness drew him towards these cries. Under that pull it was impossible to think clearly. He shook Mary off, and started to run. He took three steps and pulled himself up short.
“Look at Imbrie,” he muttered. “Strange he hasn’t wakened.”
It was true the prisoner still lay motionless, entirely covered with his blanket.
“It’s a trick!” said Stonor. “There could be no English woman near here. It’s a trick to draw me out of camp!”
“But none of the Kakisas could speak English,” said Clare.