"A quarter after three," he said. "By four o'clock they will be at work—Blackton and twenty men. They will have us out in time for supper."
"A quarter after three," repeated Joanne, and the words came steadily from her lips. "That means——"
He waited.
"We have forty-five minutes in which to live!" she said.
Before he could speak she had thrust the lantern into his hand, and had seized his other hand in both her own.
"If there are only forty-five minutes let us not lie to one another," she said, and her voice was very close. "I know why you are doing it, John Aldous. It is for me. You have done a great deal for me in these two days in which one 'can be born, and live, and die.' But in these last minutes I do not want you to act what I know cannot be the truth. You know—and I know. The wires are laid to the battery rock. There is no hope. At four o'clock—we both know what will happen. And I—am not afraid."
She heard him choking for speech. In a moment he said:
"There are other lanterns—Joanne. I saw them when I was looking for the scarf. I will light them."
He found two lanterns hanging against the rock wall. He lighted them, and the half-burned candle.
"It is pleasanter," she said.