"What news?" asked the old man as he entered the cave.
"It is morning, and it rains; but your friends are still away.—The man is dead," aside to Virginia.
"Heaven grant they be safe somewhere!" said the old man. "And Pomp?"
"He is missing too."
There was a long, deep silence. A painful suspense seemed to hold every heart still, while they listened. Suddenly a strange noise was heard, as of a ghost walking. Louder and louder it sounded, hollow, faint, far-off. Was it on the rocks over their heads? or in caverns beneath their feet?
"Told ye so! told ye so!" said Cudjo, laughing with wild glee.
The fire had burnt low again, and he was in the act of kindling it, when a novel idea seemed to strike him, and, seizing a pan, he inverted it over the little remnant of a flame. In an instant the cave was dark. It was some seconds before the eyes of the inmates grew accustomed to the gloom, and perceived the glimmer of mingled daylight and firelight that shone in at the entrance.
"Luk a dar! luk a dar!" said Cudjo.
And turning their eyes in the opposite direction, they saw a faint golden glow in the recesses of the cave. The footsteps approached; the glow increased; then the superb dark form of Pomp advanced in the light of his own torch. Penn hastened to meet him, and to demand tidings of Stackridge's party.
Pomp first saluted Virginia, with somewhat lofty politeness, holding the torch above his head as he bowed. Then turning to Penn,—