Nash comforted her as best he could, but she seemed dazed, and unable to understand. Her first coherent words were:
“What—time—is—it?”
Nash showed her his watch. She bent down to it, holding it between her hands, gazing steadily upon the white dial.
“Twenty-five minutes after seven,” she murmured. Nash nodded. Suddenly she lurched to her feet.
“We—we can’t die—like rats in a hole!” she exclaimed hysterically. “Why don’t you do something? Why do you stand like that? I’ll help you! We’ve only thirty-five minutes left!”
A swift throb of pity surged into Nash’s heart. He fancied that horror and fear had driven the girl out of her right mind. Perhaps it was just as well, he reasoned dully, for when the time came——
He steeled himself against the fear that was slowly mastering him. He must not give up until the last minute of the precious thirty-five.
“I’ll try again,” he said aloud. “I feel—stronger now. Hold those candles higher—higher. There—that’s right!”
Once more he tore at the pitiless barrier of stone that shut them in from the stars. His new strength was not imaginary; he moved huge rocks which, a few minutes before, he could not budge. But the struggle was not for long. A great slab of granite met his fingers, and although he exerted every ounce of his strength—until all the muscles in his tired body seemed to tear themselves asunder—the cold, slippery rock refused to give.
He sank down in the mire of the cleared space, breathing heavily. “It’s useless,” he panted. “Might as well tackle a sheet of armor plate.”