Colonel John rose sharply from his seat; such patience, as a famished man has, come to an end.
"Sir," he said, "if this is all you have to say to me, I have your message, and I prefer to be alone."
Morty grinned at him a moment, then, with an Irish shrug, he gave way. "As you will," he said.
He withdrew himself suddenly, and the sunset light darted into the room through the narrow window, dimming the candle's rays. The Colonel heard him laugh as he strode away across the platform, and down the hill. A moment and the sounds ceased. He was gone. The Colonel was alone.
Until this time to-morrow! Twenty-four hours. Yes, he must tighten his belt.
Morty, poking his head this way and that, peering into the chamber as he had peered yesterday, wished he could see Colonel John's face. But Colonel John, bending resolutely over the handful of embers that glowed in an inner angle of the room, showed only his back. Even that Morty could not see plainly; for the last of the candles had burned out, and in the chamber, dark in comparison with the open air, the crouching figure was no more than a shapeless mass obscuring the glow of the fuel.
Morty shaded his eyes and peered more closely. He was not a sensitive person, and he was obeying orders. But he was not quite comfortable.
"And that's your last word?" he said slowly. "Come, Colonel dear, ye'll say something more to that."
"That's my last word to-day," Colonel John answered as slowly, and without turning his head.