"Well, it'll put some courage into you."
He picked up the two pannikins, and stepped out again.
"I'm glad we took it," said Denham. "It's better than looking ready to
show the white feather."
"I don't think we should have faltered even without the food," I
replied.
We both relapsed into silence now, for talking seemed to be impossible.
We had to think of the past and of the future. One minute I felt in
despair, and the next I was filled with a strange kind of hope that was
inexplicable.
It was during one of these oft-recurring intervals, as the time wore on,
that Denham turned to me suddenly and said, just as if in answer to
something I had said, for his thoughts were very much the same as mine:
"There, I can't make anything else of it, Val: we were doing our duty,
and trying to save the lives of our friends."
"Yes," I said quietly; then, both shrinking from speaking again, we sat
listening to the sounds outside. From time to time one or other of the
men on guard looked in to see that we were safe, though for the matter
of that we had hardly thought of stirring, as escape seemed to be quite
impossible.
It was about midday, after a very long silence, when Denham suddenly
remarked, "It went against the grain at first, Val; but I won't attempt
to fire at that brute. He'll get his deserts one of these days. You're
right; we don't want to go out like that. I want us to be able to stand
up before the enemy quite calm and steady. We must show them what
Englishmen can do."