"I—I think this is the one," he faltered, pointing to a passage.
"My God! don't you know? Then we are indeed lost!" groaned Duplin, the cold sweat dripping from his brow.
"We have walked in every direction—I am bewildered. We can do nothing, only trust in Providence."
"And so we will! I don't believe we are to perish in this manner. Cheer up—'twill all turn out for the best," cried Duplin, rallying his courage.
"I'm willing enough to hope for the best, but these events follow close after that man's warning of last night. There may have been more in it than we cared to admit."
"Come—no more o' that, Wythe. You only unnerve us both. Mark this tunnel. We will first explore the one next upon its right—remember that. In time we must strike the right one."
Entering the low-arched passage, Duplin led the way, holding the torch so low that it fell full upon the floor. Leaving all other matters to Wythe, he closely and thoroughly scrutinized the passage in search of the blood-drops that had already guided their course so far.
"I'm afraid we're wrong, Burr," muttered Paley, after several minutes. "I can find no traces."
He had just rounded an acute corner in the passage, and thus cast Wythe in the gloom. Stepping forward, Burr abruptly paused.
"My God! look yonder!" he gasped rather than spoke, one hand extended over Duplin's shoulder.