Let them hunt—the garden lay before us, and after that the street and safety.
Just as my foot crossed the threshold there arose a strange sound; it was the wild clang of a bell, harsh and discordant, and there seemed to be concentrated alarm and terror in its brazen throat, just as the peal of the fire bell at dead of night awakens the liveliest anticipations of dread.
To me it seemed to go with the rest—I was so thoroughly aroused that a thousand bells could not have added another thrill; but Carmencita uttered a wail of anguish as she cried aloud half in Spanish:
“It is the alarm bell! Oh, dear lady, the holy mother protect us now—they will have fastened the door in the wall by the time we reach it. We are lost!—he will kill us all!”
CHAPTER VII.
THE LOST KEY.
What Carmencita wailed may have struck dumb terror to the heart of her mistress, but for my part I saw as yet no reason to despair. The association with such a man as Robbins was in itself quite enough to inspire confidence; and besides, there were other good reasons why I should scorn to show the white feather.
We had already started to traverse the gardens, while that infernal alarm bell kept up its fearful clatter, loud enough to awaken the dead.
“Don’t be anxious, we will surely find a way out, door or no door,” I managed to say, close to the hooded head.
Hildegarde turned as if to look at me, but made no attempt at replying, for with such a din it must have been quite useless.