“I want to go away, Tyltyl! I want to go away!”
“Not now, Mytyl; I am going to turn the diamond.”
“No, no,” cried Mytyl. “Don’t! I’m so frightened, Brother! I want to go away.”
Tyltyl tried vainly to lift his hand; he could not reach the diamond with Mytyl clinging to him.
“I am so frightened.”
Poor Tyltyl was quite as frightened as she, but at each trial his courage had grown greater.
The eleventh stroke rang out. “The hour is passing. It is time,” and, releasing himself from Mytyl’s arms he turned the diamond.
A moment of suspense followed for the poor children, Mytyl hid her face in Tyltyl’s breast.
“They’re coming,” she cried. “They’re coming.”