“O Walda Nagasta,” he cried, throwing himself at her feet, “you have called me a brave man, but I am only brave where the sun and the stars shine.  Here in the dark amongst so many angry spirits, and with hunger gnawing at my bowels, I am a great coward; Joshua himself is not such a coward as I. Let us go out into the light while there is yet time.  Let us give ourselves up to the Prince.  Perhaps he will be merciful and spare our lives, or at least he will spare yours, and if we die, it will be with the sun shining on us.”

But Maqueda only shook her head, whereon he turned to Orme and went on: 

“Lord, would you have the blood of the Child of Kings upon your hands?  Is it thus that you repay her for her love?  Lead her forth.  No harm will come to her who otherwise must perish here in misery.”

“You hear what the man says, Maqueda?” said Orme heavily.  “There is some truth in it.  It really does not matter to us whether we die in the power of the Abati or here of starvation; in fact, I think that we should prefer the former end, and doubtless no hand will be laid on you.  Will you go?”

“Nay,” she answered passionately.  “A hand would be laid on me, the hand of Joshua, and rather than that he should touch me I will die a hundred deaths.  Let fate take its course, for as I have told you, I believe that then it will open to us some gate we cannot see.  And if I believe in vain, why there is another gate which we can pass together, O Oliver, and beyond that gate lies peace.  Bid the man be silent, or drive him away.  Let him trouble me no more.”

The lamp flame sank low.  It flickered, once, twice, thrice, each time showing the pale, drawn faces of us six seated about it, like wizards making an incantation, like corpses in a tomb.

Then it went out.

How long were we in that place after this?  At least three whole days and nights, I believe, if not more, but of course we soon lost all count of time.  At first we suffered agonies from famine, which we strove in vain to assuage with great draughts of water.  No doubt these kept us alive, but even Higgs, who it may be remembered was a teetotaller, afterwards confessed to me that he has loathed the sight and taste of water ever since.  Indeed he now drinks beer and wine like other people.  It was torture; we could have eaten anything.  In fact the Professor did manage to catch and eat a bat that got entangled in his red hair.  He offered me a bite of it, I remember, and was most grateful when I declined.

The worst of it was also that we had a little food, a few hard ship’s biscuits, which we had saved up for a purpose, namely, to feed Maqueda.  This was how we managed it.  At certain intervals I would announce that it was time to eat, and hand Maqueda her biscuit.  Then we would all pretend to eat also, saying how much we felt refreshed by the food and how we longed for more, smacking our lips and biting on a piece of wood so that she could not help hearing us.