Burning with a desire to see the last of the passage which had almost become their tomb, Edgar lifted Jeannette without a word, grasped Beatrice by the hand, and stumbled back along the tunnel, Peter going on ahead. A faint light could be seen gleaming in the distance, and full of hope that the way lay open to the sky, they pressed on faster and faster.
Two-thirds of the length of the passage had been traversed when they encountered great heaps of fallen earth and masonry, over the top of which the gleam of daylight dimly struggled. Crawling and scrambling on all-fours as best they could, they made their way onward still, until at last they emerged into the open air in the midst of a great pit torn in the earth by the force of the explosion.
The air was still sultry with the heat of the fires, burning embers and blackened branches lay strewn about in all directions, and a thin veil of smoke lay over all. But not a sign of life was there, save upon the walls of the castle, where one or two figures could be seen peeping fearfully over the battlements.
Clambering up the side of the pit, the little party plunged hurriedly into the woods. The fate of the soldiery who had revelled about the fires they knew not, but they had no mind to be recaptured after all the terrors and privations they had endured. Even when well within the shelter of the woods, they still pressed breathlessly onward until they met a party of the peasants approaching the scene of the strange explosion with slow and timid steps. At the sight of Edgar's party they stopped and made as though to flee.
"Where is Father Armand?" cried Edgar quickly. "Fear not--we are flesh and blood. Take us to Father Armand--if he still lives."
With their fear changed into amazement the peasants clustered about the fugitives with every manifestation of joy and gladness. Then, at Edgar's repeated request, they led the way for a few hundred yards through the woods to where a larger number of the peasantry were gathered, doubtless awaiting the report of their scouts before venturing to approach the scene of the explosion. In their midst, supporting himself against the trunk of a tree, was Father Armand. At the sight of Edgar and his companions he gave a cry of pleasure, and, wounded as he was, made shift to stumble towards them with hands eagerly outstretched.
"All hope had I given up of seeing you again," he cried in a voice trembling with emotion. "I feared that you had stayed to fight on, and had been beaten down at last. Thank God you are safe!"
"Thank God indeed!" replied Edgar reverently, "for were it not for a strange discovery at the last moment we must have met a dreadful fate. Almost we were spent."
"That dread noise and quaking of the earth was it then thy doing?"
"Aye, Father; but of that I will tell thee later. Canst now have these maidens taken to a place of calm and safety, where some of the peasant women may minister to them? They have been through a trial this day that might well shake the courage of men used to facing death in many forms."