Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  Sabina tapped the ground impatiently with her foot.

  “Why ‘may’ you have to go, then?” she asked a little sharply.

  “Volterra may be able to drive me away. He will try, because he is afraid I may wish to get a share in the discovery.”

  “Oh! Then you will not leave Rome, unless you are driven away?”

  Malipieri tried to see her eyes, but she looked steadily down at the statue.

  “No,” he said. “Certainly not.”

  Sabina said nothing, but her expression changed and softened at once. He could see that, even in the play of the shadows. She raised her head, glanced at him, and moved to go on. After making a few steps in the direction of the aperture she stopped suddenly as if listening. Malipieri held his breath, and then he heard, too.

  It was the unmistakable sound of water trickling faster and faster over stones. For an instant his blood stood still. Then he set the lamp down, grasped Sabina’s wrist and hurried her along, carrying only the lantern.

  “Come as fast as you can,” he said, controlling his voice.

  She understood that there was danger and obeyed without losing her head. As he helped her up through the hole in the vault, she felt herself very light in his hands. In a moment he was beside her, and they were hurrying towards the inclined passage, bending low.

  CHAPTER XIV

  A BROAD STREAM of water was pouring down, and spreading on each side in the space between the vaults. In a flash, Malipieri understood. The dry well had filled, but the overflow shaft was covered with the weighted boards, and only a little water could get down through the cracks. The rest was pouring down the passage, and would soon fill the vault, which was at a much lower level.

  “Stay here! Do not move!”

  Sabina stood still, but she trembled a little, as he dashed up through the swift, shallow stream, not ankle deep, but steady as fate. In a moment he had disappeared from her sight, and she was all alone in the dismal place, in darkness, save for a little light that forced its way up from below through the hole. It seemed five minutes before his plashing footsteps stopped, up there in the passage; then came instantly the noise of stones thrown aside into the water, and of heavy pieces of board grating and bumping, as they floated for a moment. Almost instantly a loud roar came from the same direction, as the inflowing stream from the well thundered down the shaft. Sabina heard Malipieri’s voice calling to her, and his approaching footsteps.

  “The water cannot reach you now!” he cried.

  It had already stopped running down the passage, when Malipieri emerged, dripping and holding out the lantern in front of him, as his feet slipped on the wet stones. Sabina was very pale, but quite quiet.

  “What has happened?” she asked mechanically.

  “The water has risen suddenly,” he said, paler than she, for he knew the whole danger. “We cannot get out till it goes down.”

  “How soon will that be?” Sabina asked steadily.

  “I do not know.”

  They looked at each other, and neither spoke for a moment.

  “Do you think it may be several hours?” asked Sabina.

  “Yes, perhaps several hours.”

  Something in his tone told her that matters might be worse than that.

  “Tell me the truth,” she said. “It may be days before the water goes down. We may die here. Is that what you mean?”

  “Unless I can make another way out, that is what may happen. We may starve here.”

  “You will find the other way out,” Sabina said quietly. “I know you will.”

  She would rather have died that moment than have let him think her a coward; and she was really brave, and was vaguely conscious that she was, and that she could trust her nerves, as long as her bodily strength lasted. But it would be very horrible to die of hunger, and in such a place. It was better not to think of it. He stood before her, with his lantern, a pale, courageous, strong man, whom she could not help trusting; he would find that other way.

  “You had better get down again,” he said, after a little reflection. “It is dry below, and the lamp is there.”

  “I can help you.”

  Malipieri looked at the slight figure and the little gloved hands and smiled.

  “I am very strong,” Sabina said, “much stronger than you think. Besides, I could not sit all alone down there while you are groping about. The water might come down and drown me, you know.”

  “It cannot run down, now. If it could, I should be drowned first.”

  “That would not exactly be a consolation,” answered Sabina. “What are you going to do? I suppose we cannot break through the roof where we are, can we?”

  “There must be ten or fifteen feet of earth above it. We are under the courtyard here.”

  Sabina’s slight shoulders shuddered a little, for the first time, as she realized that she was perhaps buried alive, far beyond the possibility of being heard by any human being.

  “The water must have risen very soon after we came down,” Malipieri said thoughtfully. “That is why my man could not get to us. He could not get into the well.”

  “At all events he is not here,” Sabina answered, “so it makes no difference where he is.”

  “He will try to help us from without. That is what I am thinking of. The first thing to be done is to put out that lamp, for we must not waste light. I had forgotten that.”

  Sabina had not thought of it either, and she waited while he went down again and brought the lamp up. He extinguished it at once and set it down.

  “Only three ways are possible,” he said, “and two are out of the question. We cannot get up the old shaft above the well. It is of no use to think of that. We cannot get down the overflow and out by the drains because the water is pouring down there, and besides, the Tiber must have risen with the rain.”

  “Which is the third way?”

  “To break an opening through the wall in the highest part of the passage. It may take a long time, for I have no idea how thick the wall may be, and the passage is narrow. But we must try it, and perhaps Masin will go to work nearly at the same spot, for he knows as much about this place as I do, and we have often talked about it. I have some tools down here. Will you come? We must not waste time.”

  “I can hold the lantern,” said Sabina. “That may be of some use.”

  Malipieri gave her the lantern and took up the crowbar and pickaxe which lay near the hole in the vault.

  “You will wet your feet, I am afraid,” he said, as they went up the passage, and he was obliged to speak in a louder tone to be heard above the steady roar of the water.

  He had marked the spot where he had expected that a breach would have to be made to admit visitors conveniently, and he had no trouble in finding it. He set the stones he had taken off the boards in a proper position, laid one of the wet boards upon them, and then took off his coat and folded it for a cushion, more or less dry. He made Sabina sit down with the lantern, though she protested.

  “I cannot work with my coat on,” he answered, “so you may as well sit on it.”

  He set to work, and said no more. The first thing to be done was to sound the thickness of the wall, if possible, by making a small hole through the bricks. If this could be done, and if Masin was on the other side, a communication could be established. He knew well enough that even with help from without, many hours might be necessary in order to make a way big enough for Sabina to get out; it was most important to make an opening through which food could be passed in for her. He had to begin by using his pick-axe because the passage was so narrow that he could not get his crowbar across it, much less use it with any effect. It was very slow work at first, but he did it systematically and with steady energy.

  Sabina watched him in silence for a long time, vaguely wondering when he would be tired and would be obliged to stop and rest. Somehow, it was impossible to feel that the situation was really horrible, while such a man was toiling before her eyes to set her free. From the fi
rst, she was perfectly sure that he would succeed, but she had not at all understood what the actual labour must be.

  He had used his pickaxe for more than half an hour, and had made a hollow about a foot and a half deep, when he rested on the shaft of the tool, and listened attentively. If the wall were not enormously thick, and if any one were working on the other side, he was sure that he could hear the blows, even above the roar of the water. But he could distinguish no sound.

  The water came in steadily from the full well, a stream filling the passage beyond the dark chasm into which it was falling, and at least six inches deep. It sent back the light of the lantern in broken reflections and shivered gleams. Sabina did not like to look that way.

  She was cold, now, and she felt that her clothes were damp, and a strange drowsiness came over her, brought on by the monotonous tone of the water. Malipieri had taken up his crowbar.

  “I wonder what time it is,” Sabina said, before he struck the wall again.

  He looked at his watch.

  “It is six o’clock,” he answered, trying to speak cheerfully. “It is not at all late yet. Are you hungry?”

  “Oh, no! We never dine till eight.”

  “But you are cold?”

  “A little. It is no matter.”

  “If you will get up I will put my waistcoat on the board for you to sit upon, and then you can put my coat over your shoulders. I am too hot.”

  “Thank you.”

  She obeyed, and he made her as comfortable as he could, a forlorn little figure in her fawn-coloured hat, wrapped in his grey tweed coat, that looked utterly shapeless on her.

  “Courage,” he said, as he picked up his crowbar.

  “I am not afraid,” she answered.

  “Most women would be.”

  He went to work again, with the end of the heavy bar, striking regularly at the deepest part of the hollow, and working the iron round and round, to loosen the brick wherever that was possible. But he made slow progress, horribly slow, as Sabina realized when nearly half an hour had passed again, and he paused to listen. He was much more alarmed than he would allow her to guess, for he was now quite convinced that Masin was not working on the other side; he knew that his strength would never be equal to breaking through, unless the crowbar ran suddenly into an open space beyond, within the next half-hour. The wall might be of any thickness, perhaps as much as six or seven feet, and the bricks were very hard and were well cemented. Perhaps, too, he had made a mistake in his rough calculations and was not working at the right spot after all. He was possibly hammering away at the end of a cross wall, following it in its length. That risk had to be taken, however, for there was at least as good a chance of breaking through at this point as at any other. He believed that by resting now and then for a short time, he could use his tools for sixteen or eighteen hours, after which, if he were without food, his strength would begin to give way. There was nothing to be done but to go on patiently, doing his best not to waste time, and yet not overtaxing his energy so as to break down before he had done the utmost possible.

  He would not think of what must come after that, if he failed, and if the water did not subside.

  Sabina understood very imperfectly what had happened, and there had been no time to explain. He could not work and yet talk to her so as to be heard above the roaring of the water and the noise of the iron bar striking against the bricks. She knew that, and she expected nothing of him beyond what he was doing, which was all a man could do.

  She drew his coat closely round her and leaned back against the damp wall; and with half-closed eyes she watched the moving shadows of his arms cast on the wall opposite by the lantern. He worked as steadily as a machine, except when he withdrew the bar for a moment, in order to clear out the broken brick and mortar with his hand; then again the bar struck the solid stuff, and recoiled in his grasp and struck again, regularly as the swinging of a pendulum.

  But no echo came back from an emptiness beyond. Ignorant as Sabina was of all such things, her instinct told her that the masonry was enormously thick; and yet her faith in him made him sure that he had chosen the only spot where there was a chance at all.

  Sometimes she almost forgot the danger for a little while. It pleased her to watch him, and to follow the rhythmic movements of his strong and graceful body. It is a good sight to see an athletic man exerting every nerve and muscle wisely and skilfully in a very long-continued effort; and the woman who has seen a man do that to save her own life is not likely to forget it.

  And then, again, the drowsiness came over her, and she was almost asleep, and woke with a shiver, feeling cold. He had given her his watch to hold, when he had made her sit on his waistcoat, and she had squeezed it under her glove into the palm of her hand. It was a plain silver watch with no chain. She got it out and looked at it.

  Eight o’clock, now. The time had passed quickly, and she must have really been asleep. The Baron and his wife were just going to sit down to dinner, unless her disappearance had produced confusion in the house. But they would not be frightened, though they might be angry. The servants would have told them that Signor Sassi, whose card was there to prove his coming, had asked for Donna Sabina, and that she had gone out with him in a cab, dressed for walking. Signor Sassi was a highly respectable person, and though it might be a little eccentric, according to the Baroness’s view, for Sabina to go out with him in a cab, especially in the afternoon, there could really be no great harm in it. The Baroness would be angry because she had stayed out so late. The Baroness would be much angrier by and by, when she knew what had really happened, and it must all be known, of course. When Sassi was sure that Masin could not get the two out of the vault himself, or with such ordinary help as he could procure, he would have to go to the Baron, who would instantly inform the authorities, and bring an engineer and a crowd of masons to break a way. There was some comfort in that, after all. It was quite impossible that she and Malipieri should be left to starve to death.

  Besides, she was not at all hungry, though it was dinner time. She was only cold and sleepy. She wished she could take the crowbar from Malipieri’s hands and use it for a few minutes, just to warm herself. He had said that he was too hot, and by the uncertain light she fancied she could see a little moisture on his white forehead.

  She was right in that, for he was growing tired and knew that before long he must rest for at least a quarter of an hour. The hole was now three feet deep or more, yet no hollow sound came back from, the blows he dealt. His arms were beginning to ache, and he began to count the strokes. He would strike a hundred more, and then he would rest. He kept up the effort steadily to the end, and then laid down the bar and passed his handkerchief over his forehead. Sabina watched him and looked up into his face when he turned to her.

  “You are tired,” she said, rising and standing beside him, so as to speak more easily.

  “I shall be quite rested in a few minutes,” he answered, “and then I will go on.”

  “You must be very strong,” said Sabina.

  Then she told him what she had been thinking of, and how it was certain that the Baron would bring a large force of men to set them free. Malipieri listened to the end, and nodded thoughtfully. She was right, supposing that nothing had happened to Sassi and Masin; but he knew his own man, and judged that he must have made some desperate attempt to stop the inflowing water in the outer chamber, and it was not impossible that poor old Sassi, in his devotion to Sabina, had made a mad effort to help Masin, and that they had both lost their lives together. If that had happened, there was no one to tell Volterra where Sabina was. Enquiries at Sassi’s house would be useless; all that could be known would be that he had gone out between four and five o’clock, that he had called at the house in the Via Ludovisi, and that he and Sabina had driven away together. No doubt, in time, the police could find the cab they had taken, and the cabman would remember that they had paid him at the Palazzo Conti. But all that would take a long time. The porter knew
nothing of their coming, and being used to Malipieri’s ways would not think of ringing at his door. In time Toto would doubtless break out, but he had not seen Sabina, for Malipieri had been very careful to make her walk close to the wall. He did not tell Sabina these things, as it was better that she should look forward to being set free in a few hours, but he had very grave doubts about the likelihood of any such good fortune.

  “You must sit down,” said Sabina. “You cannot rest unless you sit down. I will stand for a while.”

  “There is room for us both,” Malipieri answered.

  They sat down side by side on the board with the lantern at their feet, and they were very close together.

  “But you will catch cold, now that you have stopped, working,” Sabina said suddenly. “How stupid of me!”

  As she spoke she pulled his coat off her shoulders, and tried to throw it over his, but he resisted, saying that he could not possibly have time to catch cold, if he went back to work in a few minutes. Yet he already felt the horrible dampness that came up out of the overflow shaft and settled on everything in glistening beads. It only made him understand how cold she must be, after sitting idle for two hours.

  “Do you think we shall get out to-night?” Sabina asked suddenly, with the coat in her hand.

  “I hope so,” he answered.

  She stood up, and looked at the cavity he had made in the wall.

  “Where will that lead to?” she enquired.

  He had risen, too.

  “It ought to lead into the coach-house, so far as I can judge.”

  Instinctively, he went forward to examine the hole, and at that moment Sabina cleverly threw the coat over his shoulders and held it round his neck with both her hands.

  “There!” she cried. “You are caught now!” And she laughed as lightly as if there were no such thing as danger.

  Malipieri wondered whether she realized the gravity of the situation, or whether she were only pretending to be gay in order to make it easier for him. In either case she was perfectly brave.

  “You must not!” he answered, gently trying to free himself. “You need it more than I.”