"Yes, wonderfully composed. I feel quite ready to suffer for the faith."
"Dear Mrs. Earle," said the young man, gently, "there ought to be no
need. Nobody shall suffer, if we can prevent. I think we can."
Under the orange trees, he laid an unsteady hand on Rudolph's arm, and
halting, shook with quiet merriment.
"Poor dear lady!" he whispered, and went forward chuckling.
Loose earth underfoot warned them not to stumble over the new-raised
mound beside the pit, which yawned slightly blacker than the night.
Kempner's grave had not been quieter. The compradore stood whispering:
they had found the tunnel empty, because, he thought, the sappers were
gone out to eat their chow.
"We'll see, anyway," said Heywood, stripping off his coat. He climbed
over the mound, grasped the edges, and promptly disappeared. In the long
moment which followed, the earth might have closed on him. Once, as
Rudolph bent listening over the shaft, there seemed to come a faint
momentary gleam; but no sound, and no further sign, until the head and
shoulders burrowed up again.
"Big enough hole down there," he reported, swinging clear, and sitting
with his feet in the shaft.
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