What if Rita should be concealed somewhere up there!
Such was the awful thought that suddenly occurred to him and made him quail.
The idea suggested itself of going back to Harry and getting his aid. But no, that would never do. He would let it be supposed that these bonds had been taken from him. If he were to tell his secret to Harry, all would be lost. No; he must go, and alone.
Once more he went to the door and listened. All was still.
He now nerved himself up for a supreme effort. If he were to delay any longer, some of them would be sure to return. Now or never.
He struck a match against the stone floor. It kindled.
In another moment the torch was blazing brightly; and, holding this in one hand, Russell used his other hand to clamber up the projecting stones.
Up he went, higher and higher.
And now he reached the opening, and his knee was resting upon it, and he was just about to raise the torch so as to peer in.
At that instant there was a sudden rush, and a spring, that sent a thrill of sharp agony to his heart. A pair of strong arms were flung about him.
The torch fell, and the smoke blinded his eyes. He felt himself dragged forward helplessly into the gloomy hole, while a fierce whisper hissed into his despairing ears words that made him almost die out of sheer fright--
"Hah! base traidor, I haffa you! I haffa you! You salla not scappar from Rita again!"
At this Russell gave a wild, long, piercing yell, and fainted.
CHAPTER LVII.
IN WHICH BROOKE AND TALBOT PREPARE TO BID EACH OTHER AN ETERNAL FAREWELL.
On turning away from that eventful meeting with old friends, both Brooke and Talbot felt very greatly depressed, and neither could say a word. This feeling was experienced by both to an equal degree; and neither of them could see any possible way out of this new difficulty that could commend itself to an honorable mind.
The conversation with Harry had quite overwhelmed Talbot. He had been so eager to explain, and the explanations had shown such fidelity on his part, he had seemed so true, and his vindication had been so complete, that she had not one word to say. For the fact remained plain before her mind that the cause of his failing to receive her at Barcelona was his very eagerness to meet her which had sent him flying in all haste to England. If he had ever been in fault, the fault was one which had arisen from excess of love. To a generous mind like Talbot"s this was a most distressing thought.
Still, there was another thought which was worse, and that was this--namely, that Harry could no longer satisfy her. Whether she had ever really loved him or not she did not now stop to inquire, nor was such an inquiry worth making. It was only too evident now that Harry had declined to nothingness, and less than nothingness, in her heart, and that in the course of the tragical events of the last few days Brooke had grown to be more than all the world to her.
The feelings and thoughts of Brooke were of the same description. It had seemed to him that Dolores had been faithful; and as he had all along felt firmly convinced of her pa.s.sionate love for himself and unalterable fidelity, it never entered into his head now to suspect any change in her.
At the same time, he felt that, whether he had ever loved her formerly or not, he certainly had no feeling of love for her now; for Talbot had utterly effaced that former image, and all the world would now be as nothing to him without Talbot.
For some time they devoted themselves to the wounded men, and then, having finished this task, they retreated to the farthest end of the room. Here there was a rude bench, upon which they seated themselves, and remained thus for a long time in utter silence.
"You saw my meeting with--with that--young lady," said Brooke, at last.
"Did you understand who it was? It was--Dolores."
"I know," said Talbot, with a heavy sigh. "And did you observe my meeting with that gentleman? Did you understand that?"
"What!" cried Brooke, in amazement at the suggestion which was conveyed by Talbot"s words. He had not had leisure to notice or think of any one except Dolores.
"It was Mr. Rivers," said Talbot.
"The devil!" cried Brooke, with a groan.
At this Talbot very properly said nothing.
"Well," said Brooke, after a long pause, "I didn"t know that things could possibly be more infernally embarra.s.sing or more confoundedly complicated than they were; but this is certainly a little beyond what I dreamed of.
And--and--"
He turned with a despairing look and took Talbot"s hand.
"What, Brooke?"
"Am--am I--to--to--congratulate you--and all that?" he stammered.
"What!" said Talbot, reproachfully.
Brooke was silent.
"Oh, Brooke," said Talbot, "what are we to do?"
"Give it up," said Brooke, in a dismal voice.
"This," continued Talbot, "is worse than when we were prisoners, and dying by turns for one another."
"I wish," said Brooke, "that I had died when I wanted to."
"And must we now give one another up?" sighed Talbot.
"Don"t see what else we can do," said Brooke. "We"ve got to keep our confounded promises."
"Which promises, Brooke?"
"I don"t know."
"Brooke!"
"What?"
"What ought I to do?"
"I don"t know."
"Ought I to keep my promise?"
"Which promise?"