Stillness had fallen in the
quadrangle. There was no sound except the faint moaning of some wounded
animal that lived and suffered. Then came a pounding on the roof, not in
one, but in two or three places. It was as if men worked furiously, with
pickaxes; and somehow Stephen was sure that Maieddine, despite his
wounds, was among them. He would wish to be the first to see Victoria's
face, to save her from death, perhaps, and keep her for himself. Still,
Stephen was glad he had not killed the Arab, and he felt, though they
said nothing of it to each other, that Victoria, too, was glad.
They must have help soon now, if it were to come in time. The knocking
on the roof was loud.
"How long before they can break through?" Victoria asked, leaving Nevill
to come to Stephen, who guarded the door.
"Well, there are several layers of thick adobe," he said, cheerfully.
"Will it be ten minutes?"
"Oh, more than that. Much more than that," Stephen assured her.
"Please tell me what you truly think. I have a reason for asking. Will
it be half an hour?"
"At least that," he said, with a tone of grave sincerity which she no
longer doubted.
"Half an hour. And then----"
"Even then we can keep you safe for a little while, behind the screen.
And help may come."
"Have you given up hope, in your heart?"
"No. One doesn't give up hope."
"I feel the same. I never give up hope. And yet--we may have to die, all
of us, and for myself, I'm not afraid, only very solemn, for death must
be wonderful.
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