For the moment Humphrey, as he bent down there beneath the place on which he had so often slept or lain to think, felt certain that he must have been seen; but the muffled voices came close up, the steps trampled here and there, sounding dull and hollow, and there was no seizing of the great stone, no smiting upon its sides. He held his breath as he stood bending down and listening for some indication of danger; but it seemed as if the men had coursed all over the place, searching in all directions, and were about to go, when, all at once, there was a shout close to the place where he had raised Mary from the altar. The shout was followed by a muffled sound of many voices, and he listened, wondering what it meant. Some discovery had evidently been made, but what? He shuddered, and a chill of horror shot through him, for he knew directly after. It was blood. CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. IN THE VAULT. With the deathly silence which ensued as the heavy echoing steps of the searchers passed away, the men being completely at fault as to why certain drops of blood should be lying near the couch, Humphrey descended the steps once more. "They are gone," he whispered, but there was no reply; and, feeling softly about, his hand came in contact with Mary's arm, to find that she lay back in a corner of the vault, with a kerchief pressed tightly against her breast. He hastily bandaged the wound, firmly binding the handkerchief which she held there with his own and the broad scarf he wore, and, after placing her in a more comfortable position, began to search in the darkness for the food and water which were there. The water was soon found--a deep, cool cistern in the middle of the floor. The food lay close at hand, and with it one of the silver cups he had had in use above. With this he bore some of the cool refreshing liquid to the wounded woman, holding some to her lips and bathing her brow, till she uttered a sigh and returned to consciousness, her first act being to stretch out her hand and lay it upon Humphrey's shoulder to draw him nearer to her. "Don't leave me!" she said feebly. "It is very dark!" "But we are safe," he whispered. "They are gone." "Yes," she sighed; "I heard them. How long is it to day?" "It cannot be long now," he said, as he took her hand. She sighed as she felt the unwonted tenderness and rested her head against his shoulder. "No," she said, softly, "it cannot be long now. It will come too soon!" There was so much meaning in her voice that he felt a cold chill, as if the hand of death had passed between to separate these two so strangely brought together. "Are you in pain!" he said. "Pain! No. Happy--so happy!" she whispered. "For you do love me!" "Love you!" he cried. "And she--at home?" "That was not love," he said, wildly. "But now tell me about this place--shall we see the day when it comes?" "You will," she said, softly. "I shall--perhaps."