The captain tried to utter some angry appeal, but a fierce struggle had commenced, and the great stony place seemed to be full of whispers, of hoarse sighs, the catching of breath, harsh expirations as the contending pair swayed here and there--the captain, lithe and active as a panther, baffling again and again Humphrey's superior weight and strength. Twice over the latter tripped and nearly fell, but he recovered himself and struggled on, seeking to wind his arms round the buccaneer and lift and throw him with a west country wrestling trick. But try how he would, his adversary seemed to twist like an eel and recover himself, till suddenly, as they swayed here and there, with the thick rugs kicked on one side, there was a low, jangling noise as a sword escaped from its scabbard and fell upon the stony floor. It was a trifling incident, but it attracted the buccaneer's attention for a moment--just long enough to put him off his guard--the result being that he was thrown heavily, Humphrey planting his knee upon his breast, and as he thrust out a hand it encountered the fallen sword, which he snatched up with a shout of triumph, shortened in his hand, and held to the buccaneer's throat. "Now," he cried, fiercely, "I have the upper-hand, my lad. You are my prisoner. Make but one sound, and it is your last." The buccaneer uttered a low moan, and snatched at the blade, but the intervening hand was thrust away, and the point pressed upon the heaving flesh. "Do you give in?" "No!" cried the buccaneer, fiercely. "Strike, Humphrey Armstrong; strike, and end my miserable life! Then go and say, I have slain the woman who loved me with all her heart!" "What!" cried Humphrey, starting back, as the sword fell from his nerveless hand, and a flash, as of a revelation, enlightened him as to the meaning of much that had before seemed strange. "Well, why do you not strike? Did I not speak plainly? I am Mary Dell!" CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. A FRESH ALARM. "Yes; who called?" cried Humphrey, starting up. "Hist! Be careful. It is me." Humphrey sprang front his couch, and was about to speak, when the curtain was thrown roughly aside, and Bart entered quickly. "What's the matter!" he said, roughly. "Matter!" said Humphrey. "I--I--must have been dreaming." Bart looked at him sourly, and then gave a suspicious look round. "What time is it?" said Humphrey, hastily. "Time! What do we know about time here? 'Bout four bells." Humphrey gazed excitedly at the dimly-seen figure, visible by a faint light which streamed in beside the curtain, and then as the curtain fell he advanced slowly till he could peer through and see that Bart had gone right to the far end of the corridor, where he had a lantern set in a stone recess, beside which he ensconced himself, and played sentry once again. "Escape is impossible unless I choose the gates of death," muttered Humphrey, as he stole back cautiously, and then in a low voice said-- "Hist! Did anyone call?"