"Talbot," said he, "you don't want to eat--in fact, at this moment you hate food. But while I am with you I'm your master, and I now command you to eat. Moreover, let me add that it is necessary to eat, or else you may grow faint; and then, when there comes a chance of escape, you won't be able to walk, and I shall have to carry you, don't you see? And now won't you eat, just for the sake of saving me from unnecessary fatigue?" "I will eat if you will," said Talbot. "Eat!" exclaimed Brooke. "What! I eat? Oh, well, I don't mind. For that matter, I'd just as soon eat a pair of boots as not." He broke off a fragment of bread and ate it. Talbot did the same, and thus both forced themselves to eat, and each did this for the sake of the other. They said nothing while thus forcing themselves to eat. The thought that was present to each was enough to occupy the mind, and it was one which could not be put in words. Brooke saw Death awaiting himself, and, worse than that, he saw Talbot--alone, friendless, despairing, in the hands of remorseless fiends. Talbot, on the other hand, saw Death awaiting Brooke, and never could shake off the torturing thought that his death was owing to her, and that he was virtually dying for her. Had it not been for her he might still have been safe. And it seemed to her to be a very hard and bitter thing that such a man as this should have to die in such a way, and that she should be the cause. Ah! it became very hard for her to keep her promise to maintain her coolness, and to force back those tears and those cries that were ready to burst forth beyond control. Yet such was this girl's high nature that she could crush down her weak woman's heart, and turn toward Brooke a face in which there was not a trace of emotion, and speak in a voice without a tremor. Soon a man appeared once more, thrusting his head up into the loft, and in a stern voice he ordered them to come down. Brooke rose. He did not look at Talbot. He walked toward the ladder, droning out in a nasal whine, to a most extraordinary tune, the following words: "Come on, you tarnal Mingo, I'll make you walk your chalks; D'ye think I care, by jingo! For all yer tomahawks! I'm more of Salamander And less of mortal man: You cannot shake my dander, I'm a rale American!" At the opening he paused, and looked back at Talbot's pale face. "Did you ever hear the death-song of Mullins Bryan?" he asked. "No," said Talbot. "H'm! I suppose not," said Brooke. He then went down, and Talbot followed. CHAPTER XXII. HOW TALBOT HAS LIFE AND FREEDOM OFFERED, AND HOW SHE DECLINES THE OFFER.