“Kennybol does not come,” said an impatient voice.
“What can detain him?” repeated the same voice, after a brief pause.
“No one knows, Mr. Hacket,” was the reply.
“He intended to spend the night with his sister, Maase Braal, in the village of Surb,” added a different voice.
“You see,” rejoined the first speaker, “I keep my promises. I agreed to bring Hans of Iceland for your leader. I have brought him.”
An indistinct murmur followed these words. Ordener’s curiosity, already aroused by the name of Kennybol, who had so astonished him the night before, was redoubled at the name of Hans of Iceland.
The same voice continued:—
“My friends, Jonas, Norbith, what matters it if Kennybol is late? There are enough of us; we need fear nothing. Did you find your standards at Crag ruins?”
“Yes, Mr. Hacket,” replied several voices.
“Well, raise your banners; it is high time! Here is gold! Here is your invincible chief! Courage! March to the rescue of the noble Schumacker, the unfortunate Count Griffenfeld!”