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The obscurity of the place prevented Hippolitus from distinguishing the features of the dying man. From the blood which covered him, and from the surrounding circumstances, he appeared to be murdered; and the count had no doubt that the men he beheld were the murderers. The horror of the scene entirely overcame him; he stood rooted to the spot, and saw the assassins rifle the pockets of the dying person, who, in a voice scarcely articulate, but which despair seemed to aid, supplicated for mercy. The ruffians answered him only with execrations, and continued their plunder. His groans and his sufferings served only to aggravate their cruelty. They were proceeding to take from him a miniature picture, which was fastened round his neck, and had been hitherto concealed in his bosom; when by a sudden effort he half raised himself from the ground, and attempted to save it from their hands. The effort availed him nothing; a blow from one of the villains laid the unfortunate man on the floor without motion. The horrid barbarity of the act seized the mind of Hippolitus so entirely, that, forgetful of his own situation, he groaned aloud, and started with an instantaneous design of avenging the deed. The noise he made alarmed the banditti, who looking whence it came, discovered the count through the casement. They instantly quitted their prize, and rushed towards the door of the room. He was now returned to a sense of his danger, and endeavoured to escape to the exterior part of the ruin; but terror bewildered his senses, and he mistook his way. Instead of regaining the arch-way, he perplexed himself with fruitless wanderings, and at length found himself only more deeply involved in the secret recesses of the pile. “Yes,” he said, “it is wonderful. Centuries of primitive irrigation have furnished the knowledge which has made this dam possible. It is the greatest irrigation scheme ever attempted and I am proud that it is to be my lot to finish it—mighty proud.” His eyes were on the swarming crowd of men, the cable wires humming, the derricks shifting their burdens, all the myriad activities that went to the building of his dam. “It will be a dream fulfilled,” he said almost to himself. Then, suddenly, he knocked the ashes from his pipe and got up. “Come, Bob,” he said. “We must get on the job. We’re not bringing the finish along any quicker by sitting here dreaming of it.” Bob dug in the blades of his oars with all the force he could muster. The boat lost a little headway but the effort came too late. The current had them in its grasp. A quick rush in the blinding spray and the boys found themselves in the icy water. Bob, however, had kept hold of one of the oars of the overturned boat and he thanked his stars that Jerry had had the foresight to tie it to the oarlock..

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