Her heart beat wildly. What could it mean? Why had the Indian girl become so suddenly joyous? Was it a token, this ticking or dripping? Was it a sign that all would be well? It was all very strange, all so unreal that she found herself all but overcome.
On her wrist Jean wore a small watch. In her idle hours she had amused herself by teaching the Indian girl to tell the time of morning, noon or evening by it. Now, to her astonishment, she found the girl alternately pointing to the three o’clock mark on the dial, then away at the stone door.
“It’s one o’clock,” said Jean. “What can she mean?”
“Probably means that at three the door will open of its own free will,” said Roderick, who with his usual skepticism placed little faith in the native girl.
“I’m starved,” he grumbled. “Let’s get out of this vile place and find something to eat. Thompson’ll get out of that hole some way. Leave it to him. Any way, we can’t help any.”
“We can’t be sure of that,” said Jean soberly.
“You may leave if you wish. As for me, I will stay here as long as this native girl does. I’m not going to be shamed by such a little brown one as she.”
Roderick sauntered sulkily up and down the corridor for a moment, then sank down upon a rock with a sigh.
As for the Indian girl, after listening once more at the door, with the look of joyous satisfaction on her face she sat down in composure to wait. Wait for what? What was to happen in two hours? Jean could not so much as guess. So, without trying, she sat down beside the native girl.
To her surprise she found after a time that by listening intently she could catch the faint tap-tap-tap. It was weird, mysterious, fascinating, that steady continuous sound that was so much like the ticking of a clock, yet somehow so different.