A murmur of human voices, too, had reached their ears; but only as of men engaged in an ordinary conversation; or, at all events, not exhibiting excitement beyond what might be expected at the finale of such a scene as had there transpired.
All at once abruptly breaking upon this comparative tranquillity—at the same time interrupting the dialogue of the lovers—were heard utterances of a far different import: the cries of men, the screaming of women, shots, and loud shouting!
All these sounds appeared to proceed from the spot that but a few hours before had echoed to the clangour of a chorus equally diabolical in its accents.
Cubina, who had been moving some paces in advance, sprang instantly back upon the path; and, with troubled look, stopped in front of the lovers.
“What can it mean?” asked Herbert, equally showing signs of apprehension.
“The robbers! Master Vaughan! They have returned; but for what purpose I cannot guess. It must be they. I know that voice, louder than the rest. Do you hear it? ’Tis the voice of the brigand Adam! Crambo! I’ll silence it some day ere long—maybe, this very night. Hark! there’s another, still louder and wilder. Ho! that, too, I can distinguish. It’s the hellish shriek of Chakra!”
“But why should they have come again? They took everything a robber would care for. What can have brought them back? There is nothing—”
“There is!” cried Cubina, with a quick gesture, as though the solution had just then presented itself to his mind. “There is Yola!” As he said this he faced around, as if about to rush towards the fray, still strepitant—its noise rather on the increase.
For an instant he appeared to be undecided; though not from any fear of going forward.
No, it was another thought that had caused that indecision; which was soon made manifest by his words.