"Maister," said he, "how long have we been here?"
"Six days and more," said Hope.
"Six days," said Grace, faintly, for her powers were now quite
exhausted--"and no signs of help, no hope of rescue."
"Do not say so, Grace. Rescue in time is certain, and, therefore, while
we live there is hope."
"Ay," said Burnley, "for you tew but not for me. Yow telt the men that I
fired t' mine, and if one of those men gets free they'll all tear me limb
from jacket. Why should I leave one grave to walk into another? But for
yow I should have been away six days agone."
"Man," said Hope, "can not you see that my hand was but the instrument?
it was the hand of Heaven that kept you back. Cease to blame your
victims, and begin to see things as they are and to repent. Even if you
escape, could the white faces ever fade from your sight, or the dying
shrieks ever leave your ear, of the brave men you so foully murdered?
Repent, monster, repent!"
Burnley was not touched, but he was scared by Hope's solemnity, and went
to his own corner muttering, and as he crouched there there came over his
dull brain what in due course follows the horrible meal he had made--a
feverish frenzy.
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