"It is too late; I am so worn out that I have no life left in me. I care not to live, I am so weary—only to die in peace."
"You shall rest awhile; you may do it safely now; in fact a rest will be of service to us all."
He laid her gently down, and, almost in a moment, she had fallen asleep. Meanwhile St. Just and Mahmoud sat and watched. Sleep would have been everything to them also, but they durst not yield to it. How much further should they have to go, St. Just wondered wearily, before they would be free. He had now every confidence that they would escape, provided that their strength held out; but would it? That depended on the distance they had still to go; and there was Halima.
He let her sleep for about an hour, and then he roused her.
"Oh! let me be," she cried. "I am too weak to move, I was happy; it was cruel of you to disturb me."
"Dearest," he said, "it had to be; but I and Mahmoud will carry you while we can."
They took her up between them and staggered on. Their progress was now slow indeed, and they had to make frequent stoppages to rest. Oh! for a drink of water to moisten their parched tongues and throats! Still onward and upward they stumbled with their almost unconscious burden.
They reached the limit of the road and were there faced by an arched gateway cut in the solid rock. It had been guarded by a pair of bronze gates, one of which still hung on its hinges; the other lay prone before them. The gateway gave on to a tunnel, whose length they could not ascertain, for no light showed through it; it was black as night. They would have to relight their torches; so far, the crater's glare had served them. They put down Halima, and St. Just got out a tinder box and the torches were rekindled. He turned to Halima.
"Can you walk a little, do you think?" he asked. "It will be difficult to carry you with torches in our hand."
He could scarce speak, and felt that to carry her at that moment was beyond him.