Part 59 (1/2)

”Stop! What are you going to do?” cried Gwyn, angrily.

”This,” said Joe; and he let himself sink down on the rocky floor, and laid his head on his hand.

”No, no; get up! You sha'n't turn coward like this. Get up, I say!”

”I--can't,” said Joe. ”I'm dead beat. You go on, and if Grip takes you out try and find me again. If you can't, tell father I did my best.”

”I won't; I sha'n't,” cried Gwyn, furiously. ”Think I'm going to leave you?”

”Yes. Save yourself.”

”You get up,” cried Gwyn; and stooping down, he caught one of his companion's arms, dragged at it with a heavy jerk, and found that he had miscalculated his strength, for he sank upon his knees, felt as if the lanthorn was gliding round him, and then subsided close by where Joe lay, while just then the dog gave a furious tug at the leash, freed itself, and dashed off into the darkness, barking apparently with delight.

”It's of no good, Joe; I'm as bad as you,” said Gwyn, slowly; ”I can't get up again.”

”Never mind, Ydoll; we have done our duty, old chap, as the dads said we ought to as soldiers' sons. We have, haven't we?”

”No, not quite,” cried Gwyn. ”Let's have one more try--I will, and you shall.”

He made an effort to rise, but sank back and nearly fainted, but recovered himself to feel that Joe had got hold of his hand, and he uttered a piteous sigh.

”Light's going out, Jolly, and if they don't find us soon our lights'll go out, too. I wouldn't care so much if it wasn't for the mater, because it will nearly kill her,” he continued drearily. ”She's ever so fond of me, though I've alway been doing things to upset her. Father won't mind so much, because he'll say I died like a man doing my duty.”

”How will they know that?” mused Joe, whose eyes were half-closed.

”Let's write it down on paper.”

Gwyn was silent for a few moments as he lay thinking, but at last he spoke.

”No,” he said; ”that would be like what father calls blowing your own trumpet. He used to say to me that if he had gone about praising himself and telling people that he was a great soldier and had done all kinds of brave deeds, he would have been made a general before now; but he wouldn't. 'If they can't find out I've done my duty, and served my Queen as I should, let it be,' he said. And that's what we ought to do when we've fought well. If they don't find out that we've done what we should, it doesn't much matter; let it go. I'm tired out and faint, as you are, and--so's the candle, Joe. There, it has gone out.”

Joe uttered a low, long, weary sigh, as, after dancing up and down two or three times, the light suddenly went out.

”Frightened?” said Gwyn, gently, as the black darkness closed them in.

”No, only sleepy,” was the reply. ”Good-night.”

”Good-night,” said Gwyn, softly; and the next minute they were sleeping calmly, with their breath coming and going gently, and the dripping of water from somewhere close at hand sounding like the beating of the pendulum of some great clock.

Once more the loud barking of a dog, long after the boys had lain down to rest, and Grip was dragging first at Gwyn, then at Joe, seizing their jackets in his teeth and tugging and shaking at them, but with no greater effect than to make Gwyn utter a weary sigh.

The dog barked again and tugged at him, but, finding his efforts of no avail, he stood with his paws resting on his master's breast, threw up his head, and uttered a dismal long-drawn howl which went echoing along the pa.s.sages, and a faint shout was heard from far away.

The dog sprang from where he stood, ran a few yards, and stood barking furiously before running back to where Gwyn lay, when he seized and shook him again, and howled, ending by giving three or four licks at his face. Then he threw up his head once more, and sent forth another prolonged, dismal howl.

This was answered by a faintly-heard whistle, and the dog barked loudly over and over again, till a voice nearer now called his name.

All this was repeated till a gleam was seen on the wall, and now the dog grew frantic in his barking, running to and fro, and finally, as voices were faintly heard, and the gleaming of lights grew plainer, he crouched down with his head resting on Gwyn's breast, panting heavily as if tired out.

”Here, Grip! Grip! Grip! Where are you?” rang out in the Colonel's voice; and the dog answered with a single bark, repeated at intervals till the lights grew plainer, shadows appeared on the walls, there was the trampling of feet, and a voice said,--