"Do what, Martin!"
"Look at the candle-flame and hark!"
And now, the booming of the wind dying down somewhat, we heard a strange and dismal wailing and therewith a sound of water afar.
"O Martin!" she whispered, clasping her hands and coming nearer to me, "What is it?"
"Nought to fear, comrade. But somewhere in this larder of ours is an opening or fissure, the question is—where? And this I go to find out."
"Aye, but how?" she questioned, coming nearer yet, for now the wailing had sunk to a groan, and this gave place to a bubbling gasp mighty unpleasant to hear.
"With smoke," says I, setting the candle in a niche of rock, "I will light a fire here."
"But we have no fuel, Martin."
"There is plenty in my bed."
"But how will you sleep and no bed?"