Part 8 (2/2)

”Mind!” cried Uncle Bob, catching him by the arm.

It was well he did, for that was the rustling scrambling noise again falling on my ears, with a panting struggle, and two voices in the dense fog seeming to utter e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of horror and dread.

CHAPTER FIVE.

A NIGHT OF ANXIETY.

I looked in the direction from which the sounds came, but there was nothing visible, save the thick white fog, and in my excitement and horror, thinking I was looking in the wrong direction, I turned sharply round.

White fog.

I looked in another direction.

White fog.

Then I seemed to lose my head altogether, and hurried here and there with my hands extended, completely astray.

It only took moments, swift moments, for all this to take place, and then I heard voices that I knew, but sounding m.u.f.fled and as if a long way off.

”Cob! Where are you, Cob?”

”Here,” I shouted. ”I'll try and come.”

”No, no!”--it was Uncle Jack who spoke--”don't stir for your life.”

”But,” I shouted, with my voice sounding as if I was covered with a blanket, ”I want to come to you.”

”Stop where you are,” he cried. ”I command you.”

I stayed where I was, and the next moment a fresh voice cried to me, as if pitying my condition:

”Cob, lad.”

”Yes,” I cried.

”There is a horrible precipice. Don't stir.”

It was Uncle Bob who said this to comfort me, and make me safe from running risks, but he made me turn all of a cold perspiration, and I stood there s.h.i.+vering, listening to the murmur of voices that came to me in a stifled way.

At last I could bear it no longer. It seemed so strange. Only a minute or two ago we were all together on the top of a great hill admiring the prospect. Now we were separated. Then all seemed open and clear, and we were looking away for miles: now I seemed shut-in by this pale white gloom that stopped my sight, and almost my hearing, while it numbed and confused my faculties in a way that I could not have felt possible.

”Uncle Jack!” I cried, as a sudden recollection came back of a cry I had heard.

”He is not here,” cried Uncle Bob. ”He is trying to find a way down.”

”Where is Uncle d.i.c.k?”

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