ter Rayburn!" cried Mark wildly. "Oh! you must not--you shall not
let the brave fellow die."

"I'd give my poor old life to save his," said the old man sadly. "We
can only wait and hope."

And as Mark sat in the dark natural chamber formed in the old limestone
hill, he recalled Ralph's white, fire-scarred face, looking pale and
unnaturally drawn, and wondered that he should feel so low-spirited
about one who was an enemy and almost a stranger, till his musings were
interrupted by a dull sound on the other side of the wall--a sound which
came after the long period of utter silence which had succeeded to the
noise made by forcing out and rolling down stones.

No one else heard the faint sound, and setting it down to fancy, Mark
was thinking again about the prisoners within, and wondering what
treatment they were receiving from the enemy.

It seemed hard enough for Sir Morton Darley, but Mark could not help
feeling how terrible it must be for a delicately sensitive girl.

Then once more he heard that sound, which he felt sure could only be
caused by a foot kicking against a stone.

Just then there was a faint rustling, a hand was laid upon his arm, and
Dummy whispered:

"Hear that, Master Mark?"

"Yes. Don't talk," whispered Mark, and the two lads, who were well upon
the alert, listened in perfect silence, till all at once there was a
faint gleam of light, so feeble that it could hardly be distinguished,
but there it was, close to the roof, and Mark was satisfied that it must
come over the top of their defensive wall.

Then all was still for a minute or two, till the two mentally saw what
was taking place--some one was passing his hands over the built-up
stones, and trying whether one of them could be dislodged.

Then all was still again, and the light died out.

It was not till hours after that any further sound was heard, and this
time Sir Edward was awake and about, passing from the dark chamber where
the sentries were on guard to the light outside, and back again.

Mark went with him, and Sir Edward had just happened to say in a
whisper:

"All quiet enough now," when a voice, apparently close to his elbow,
said hoarsely:

"No. I'm not going to walk into a trap."

There was a good deal in those few words, for to Mark, among other
things, they meant that if the speaker was not going to walk into a
trap, it was because he must have food enough to last him for some time
longer, and was not willing to