I turned to obtain possession of it only to find that the same thought had occurred to another, for Hildegarde already had it in her hand and was tripping toward me.
As I took the lantern from her I could not help from throwing a quick glance under the hood of her face—it was very white and looked, yes, a little pinched with excitement and fright.
“Courage,” I said, involuntarily, just as I might have addressed a strange lady thus thrown upon our protection.
Then I sprang to where Robbins, still on his hands and knees, was groping about among the grass and bushes, bent on finding that elusive key.
It seemed to take a fiendish delight in mocking our search, and as the seconds crept by I began to tremble with apprehension lest, after all, we might be cornered like rats, and eventually fall into the hands of our enemies, or be cut down.
A cry from Hildegarde made me spring erect and turn like a tiger—I could hardly tell why I had such a thrill, save that it was caused by the thought that ruffianly hands might have been laid upon her.
She stood with only little Carmencita at her side, and both were pointing.
“See! the gardener—he escapes!” was what I made out.
Then I saw a moving object—it was the fellow I had shot in the leg, for having discovered that he was not yet quite dead, and no longer menaced by the frowning Robbins, he had rolled to one side and was now pulling himself away very much as I have seen a wounded hare, with both hind legs shattered, drag itself to a burrow.
What mattered it?—the key was what we wanted now most of all; let the poor devil seek safety after his own fashion.