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No one in the room heard it, for they were all sleeping too soundly. The noise ceased for a time; then it was renewed. It was a rustling, sliding sound, as of some living thing moving there. After this the noise ceased. There was another long pause. Then came a whisper "Assebi!" No one heard. The sleepers were all far away in the land of dreams. The whisper was repeated: "Assebi!"
It is always, Dolores, child, sing that song that Señor Assebi taught you; sing that beautiful, beautiful English song of 'Sweet Home; sing that sweetest, loveliest, most mournful Scottish song of 'Lochaber." And here, in a voice full of exquisite tenderness and pathos, Dolores sang that mournful air, "Lochaber," with Spanish words.
But as he did so a figure came in his way, arms were flung about him, and a low, faint whisper came close to his ear: "Oh, Assebi! I am Dolores; that other is Mrs. Russell. Fly, or you are lost!" Here was a new shock for Ashby, but he did not lose his presence of mind. The new-comer was still at the door. He was not followed.
In another instant he had caught Dolores in his arms, and held her strained close to his wildly throbbing heart. But Dolores struggled away. "Oh no!" she said, in a tone of distress, speaking in her sweet Spanish "oh no, Señor Assebi. This is cruel when I have risked so much for you!" "Forgive me, dearest Dolores," said Ashby; "but you have come to me like an angel from heaven in my darkest hour.
He lay motionless, yet listened with intense watchfulness, peering at the same time into the dark room, where the moonlight struggled through the low, narrow windows. After a little while he thought that he heard the sound again. He listened, without motion. Then there came a different sound. It was a low whisper a whisper which, however, penetrated to his very soul: "Assebi!"
There was no answer. Nor did any of the sleepers awake. Out of such a sound sleep nothing could awaken them that was of the nature of a mere whisper. Of course this moving body was our friend Dolores. There is no need to make a mystery of it. She alone now had access to this room; she alone would come here. She alone, having come here, would utter that one word, "Assebi!" It was Dolores.
She saw, where the moonbeams fell, the outline of figures on the floor and on the bed. The remoter parts of the chamber were hid in gloom. Then she called, in a low and penetrating whisper, "Assebi!" There was no answer. Dolores now felt sure that Ashby was not there; but in order to make assurance doubly sure, she repeated the call.
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