"I can't help it, sor. I've a faling upon me that Black Mazzard has got her again, and I'm going to fetch her away." "You are going to your death; and it will be through me, man!" "Make your moind aisy, sor, about that. It would be all the same if ye were not here. Sure, and I'd be a poor sort of a boy if I towld a woman I loved her, and thin, when the darlin' was in difficulties, jist sat down quietly here, and left her in the lurch." "She would not have you stir, Dinny, if she knew." "What of that, sor! Let 'em hang me if they catch me; and if they do, sor, Oi'll doie like a Kelly. And not a word will I shpake of where ye are; and I wish ye safe away to your swateheart--for ye've got wan, I'm thinking, or ye wouldn't be so aiger to get away." "Well, promise me this, Dinny--you'll wait a few hours and see if we have news." "Faix, and for your sake, sor, I'll do that same," said Dinny. He went to the window-opening and leaned there, listening; while Humphrey seated himself upon the edge of the couch to watch the opening above his head, in the expectancy that Mistress Greenheys might arrive and put an end to the terrible suspense as to her silence. The still, sultry heat was terrible, not a leaf moved outside, and the darkness came on more obscure than usual; for as Humphrey looked out of the window from time to time, to gaze along the forest arcade, there was not a firefly visible, and the heavy, oppressive state of the air seamed to announce a coming storm. Dinny's figure had long been invisible, but he made his presence known by crooning over snatches of the most depressing minor-keyed Irish melody he could recall; but after a time that ceased, and the silence grew heavy as the heat. "How long have I been asleep?" he muttered, starting up and listening. "Dinny!" No answer. "Dinny! Hist! Are you asleep?" He dare call no louder, but rose from the couch. "Dennis Kelly, the traitor, has gone, Humphrey Armstrong!" cried a hoarse voice, and he felt himself driven back into the great tomb-like place. "Commodore Junk!" cried Humphrey in his surprise. "Yes, Commodore Junk. Hah! I have you. My prisoner once again." "Your prisoner! No, not if I die for it!" cried Humphrey, passionately; and he struggled to free himself from the tightening grasp. "I tell you it is madness. You have proved it yourself, and, weary with your folly, you have returned." "Returned!" cried Humphrey, fiercely; "yes, but only to be free."