They stood waiting, till Heywood raised his head from the dust.
"Those noises have stopped, down there," he said to Rudolph; and rising, gave his orders briefly.

The coolies were to dig, strike into the sappers' tunnel, and report at once: "Chop-chop .-- Meantime, Rudie, let's take a holiday.

We can smoke in the courtyard." A solitary candle burned in the far corner of the inclosure, and cast faint streamers of reflection along the wet flags, which, sluiced with water from the well, exhaled a slight but grateful coolness.

Heywood stooped above the quivering flame, lighted a cigar, and sinking loosely into a chair, blew the smoke upward in slow content.
"Luxury!" he yawned.

"Nothing to do, nothing to fret about, till the compradore reports.