"They're coming!" she gasped, in a tone of horror. "They're coming—at last. They won't wait!"
"Pooh!" said Brooke, whose voice by this time had regained its old careless ring; and he whined on:
"Cats don't come at half-past eight
Tap-tap-tappiug at the garding gate!"
Talbot gave a sigh that sounded like a groan. The sounds below subsided, and all was still once more.
So the night passed.
Morning came.
A man brought up bread and wine; but now there was no thought of eating, even for the sake of saving strength. Neither one spoke, nor did either venture to look at the other.
At length they were summoned outside. Lopez was there, with half a dozen men around him. Farther away were the rest of the men, watching the scene. On the right were a dozen men with rifles. Brooke was as cool as usual. Talbot was calm, but deathly pale.
"Señor Brooke," said Lopez, "I am a man of but few words, and few need now be said. I have given you a long respite—longer than I said. What is your decision? Will you go with us and show us where the Carlists took the English ladies?"
"Señor Captain," said Brooke, calmly, "I am quite unable to give you any information about the ladies. I don't see what I can do."