"Scat! you rascal!" exclaims a voice, and there is heard a great threshing sound, as though some one endeavors to intimidate by the swinging of arms as well as by sound.
"What! is that you, Professor Sharpe?" demands the doctor, amazed, delighted, not because he has a companion in misfortune, but on account of the dissipation of his fears respecting an assault.
In another minute the two are embracing; there is nothing like danger to bring men together and make them brothers.
There is strength in union, and both of them feel better since the meeting.
Of course their thoughts are wholly bent on escape, and the talk is of this. Sharpe has not been so thoroughly searched as his companion, and soon produces a few matches, with which they proceed to examine their dungeon.
It is a gloomy prospect.
The walls are heavy and of stone; there is no opening beyond a mere slit in the corner through which comes wafts of the sweet air without.
As to the door, it would withstand the assault of giants.
Hopeless indeed does it all appear, and yet little do we poor mortals know what the next minute may bring forth.
While they are seated there, seeking to cheer up each other, it is John's keen ears that detect the presence of some one at the door.