"There is no need to fatigue ourselves through the darkness," he said. "Till daylight shows our flag again, we had better rest, to be strong for to-morrow. Shall we sleep?" She looked at him curiously, and then answered with a little nod. "Sleep," she agreed. "You are tired, tired. And wake strong; your strength--God knows--has been tried enough." There was something restrained in her voice; something which again escaped his comprehension, but his fatigue was overmastering. He stretched himself upon a couple of flags. Sleep overcame him instantly. Was it a moment later that he awoke in answer to her cry? So he believed, but as a matter of fact midnight was long past. She had lit a match; she was holding it to the wick of the lantern. Her eyes were wide and bright with excitement. She pointed towards the pipe. "I could not rest!" she cried. "No, I could not sleep and know that rescue might be passing by. I have worked at the staff ceaselessly and now! Now it is gone!" He sprang towards her. "Gone!" he repeated. "Gone!" "They are there--above us--men--men who know we are here. They pulled it up, out of my hands!" She made a gesture which pled for silence. "Listen!" she cried. "Listen!" A tinkling sound came from the pipe and then a tiny bottle sank into view, dangling from a string. He seized it. It was warm. "Soup!" he cried. "Food! That is their first thought for us! And I had forgotten that I was starving. I had forgotten it absolutely!" He held it to her lips. She put out her hand in protest, but his gesture was inexorable. She gave a queer little laugh, shrugged her shoulders, and drank. He took the half she left him and drank in his turn. He tied the bottle again to the string and shook it. It disappeared and was lowered again, this time with wine. And half a dozen little rolls dropped at their feet. They ate, they waked the child and fed him, they sat, and from above the sound of pick and mattock in the hands of men who toiled furiously thundered down to them. They speculated how and whence the first sight of rescue would appear. They laughed in high, excited tones. Expectancy had them in its grip to the exclusion of all other emotions. And then, with a sudden roar and crash, an avalanche of rubble poured into the hole which they had dug into the mass of debris. And with it came a man in sailor uniform who mixed anathema and congratulation in excited but fluent French. He wept, he fell upon Aylmer's neck and embraced him, he kissed the child and Claire's hand. Slowly they toiled at his heels, helped by a dangling rope, out into the red glare of a dozen torches which were held by seamen of the French Marine. And one of the two officers who directed them called upon the name of God and all His saints to emphasize his amazement.