"The hope of deliverance is too strong to let me sacrifice another moment in idleness," replied Dalhousie, without ceasing from his labors.
"But, Francois, you will kill yourself, if you work so hard."
"That would be an honorable death, at least."
"And leave me to linger here?—No, let us die together, if die we must. Perhaps I can help you,"—and she strove to rise.
"Do not rise, Delia,—keep quiet; I am strong, and will yet deliver you from this dungeon. Lay quiet, dear; do not add to my distress."
"I fear I must lay still,—I cannot rise," said she, sinking back with the exhaustion of the effort.
Dalhousie threw down his shovel, and hastened to her side.
"Do not attempt to rise again, dear," said he. "Let me get you some more water."
He again filled the rude cup at the pit, and, after she had taken a long draught of it, he laved her head, an operation which appeared to refresh her.
"Do you feel better?"