After that nothing was said for an hour or more. Their fate stared them in the face with all its awful realism.
But even under these circumstances they grew drowsy, and dropped off one by one among the rugs, except Guy, who declared his intention to stay awake and be on the lookout for any danger that might threaten.
His was a solemn and lonely vigil. He envied his companions their power to sleep, as the canoe drifted on through the gloom. The torch burned slowly out, and he replaced it with a fresh one. His loaded rifle lay within reach, but nothing happened to arouse his fear.
Sad and bitter were the reflections that surged into his mind. As the events of his life rose up before him with wonderful clearness time passed unheeded, and at last his brain grew weary, and rolling over on the rugs he fell instantly into a deep slumber.
Strangely enough he was the first to awake. He had slept a long while, he saw at a glance, for the torch was burnt almost to a cinder. The rest were still sleeping.
"We must have been drifting for at least twelve hours," he said half aloud. "We should be across the lake by this time."
He picked up a fresh torch and lit it from the expiring flame of the other. As he stuck it in the crevice the glare suddenly revealed a wall of rock a few yards distant, and in a very short time the raft struck the shore with a harsh rattle that proved the impulse of the current beyond a doubt.
The concussion failed to rouse the sleepers, and Guy was hesitating whether he ought to do so or not when a faint sound came indistinctly to his ear.
At first he could scarcely believe the evidence of his own senses. He fancied it must be a delusion, a buzzing in his ears. The strangest part of it was that the sound actually resembled running water.
He listened a while longer, and then quietly woke the Greek, who sat up, rubbing his eyes.