They were merely hoping against hope.
"It's worse than the underground city of gold," said Ned in hollow
tones, as he staggered on. "Worse--much worse." His head was feeling
light. No one answered him.
It was, as they learned later, just about two days after the time when
they entered the mine that they managed to get out. Forty-eight hours,
most of them of intense suffering. They were burning their last candle,
and when that was out they knew they would have the horrors of darkness
to fight against, as well as those of hunger and thirst.
But fate was kind to them. How they managed to hit on the right gallery
they did not know, but, as they made a turn around an immense pillar of
salt Tom, who was walking weakly in advance, suddenly stopped.
"Look! Look!" he whispered. "Another candle! Someone--someone is
searching for us! We are saved!"
"It may be the police!" said Ned.
"That is not a candle," spoke the Russian in hollow tones as he looked
to where Tom pointed, to a little glimmer of light. "It is a star.
Friends, we are saved, and by Providence! That is a star, shining
through the opening of the mine. We are saved!"
Eagerly they pressed forward, and they had not gone far before they knew
that the exile was right. They felt the cool night wind on their hot
cheeks.
"Thank heaven!" gasped Tom, as he pushed on.
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