All that passed away, and silence resumed her reign till night fell. The light in the lantern burned down almost to the socket. No meat, no drink, had been brought to the prisoner; and he began to ask himself if it could be their intention to starve him there in darkness. His feelings were not pleasant. Just about that time there was some noise and bustle heard from without,--probably on the drawbridge or at the gate,--the tramp of horses, and voices speaking. Then for a few minutes all was silent again. Then there were sounds just above, more distinct and clear than any he had hitherto heard,--people speaking, and others moving slowly about,--evidently penetrating to the cell which Edward tenanted by the broken parts of the vault on which the flooring of the upper chamber rested. "Oh!" cried a voice, with a groan, "you have got me by the shoulder just on the wound! Do not do that! Put your hand lower down: not there, not there!--lower still. That young devil! he does not miss his mark, indeed!" "Lay him on the bed,--flat on his back," said another voice. "Now, Brin, is not that easier for you?" And then followed several sentences in a language Edward did not understand at all. "The two blacksmiths," said Edward to himself. "They have just brought in the wounded man." For some half-hour various sounds succeeded, some distinct, others confused, to which the young prisoner did not pay much attention; and then there was a sort of lull,--not quite silence, but still much less bustle. Even slight sounds were easily distinguishable in the dungeon; for the roof was so far dilapidated that here and there the rays of light from above found their way through a chink in the flooring and traced a yellow line upon the pavement. He could hear the wounded man groan and ask in a faint tone for drink. "He is badly hurt, it seems," said Edward Langdale to himself: "if the horse had not shied away, it would have gone through his head and served the traitor right." Edward wanted a little more softening to make him a real sentimental hero; but I can only paint him as I find him. He did not feel the slightest remorse for what he had done. He thought it but right,--but just; and he would have done it over again the next minute. It is true, the groans of the wounded man did somewhat annoy him. He felt no pleasure in his pain; but, as to the mere fact of having shot him because he had betrayed his lord, Edward was as hard as a stone.