But what was that? Surely it was a sound. It could not have been the wind, for the air was perfectly still. The sound was repeated. It was like the moaning of a human voice far away in the dark. Could it be some one in distress, some poor unfortunate, banished being, like himself? Again he heard the sound, and this time, it was like the voice of some one talking.
“Hello!” shouted the American, and a cold shudder went over him at the sound of his own husky voice. There was a dead silence, then, like an echo of his own cry, faintly came the word, “Hello!”
Filled with superstitious fear, the American cautiously groped toward the sound. “Hello, there, who are you?”
“Help, help!” said the voice, and it was now much nearer.
Johnston plunged forward precipitately. “Where are you?”
“Here,” and a human form loomed up before him.
For a moment neither spoke, then the strange figure said: “I thought at first that you were some one sent to rescue me, but I see you are alone—damned like myself.”
“It looks that way,” replied Johnston.
“When did they bring you?”
“Only a moment ago.”