It was Sebert who brought the dragging pace finally to a halt, throwing
himself upon a stone bench to hold his head in his hands. "We cannot drive
them off; that needs no further proof. And I do not see how we can hold out
till the time that chance entices them away, when but one meal stands between
us and starvation, and already we are as weak as rabbits. Naught can profit us
save craft."
The dark head beside him shook hopelessly; but he repeated the verdict with
additional emphasis. "I tell you, craft is our only hope; some artfulness that
shall undermine their strength even as their tricks crept, snake-like, under
our guard." Turning in his seat, he set his face toward the darkness,
clutching his head in renewed effort.
No word came from the page, but a strange look was dawning in his upturned
face. Whether it was a great terror that had shaken his soul or whether a joy
had come to him that raised him to heaven itself, it was impossible to tell,
for the signs of both were in his eyes. And when at last he spoke, both
thrilled through his voice. "Lord," he said slowly, "I think I see where a
trick is possible."
As Sebert turned from the darkness, the boy struggled up and stood before him.
"If they could be made to believe a lie about the food? If they could be made
to believe that you have enough to continue this for a long time? Their
natures are such that already it must have become a hardship for them to
remain quiet.
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