Part 31 (1/2)

”Stop a minute,” said Scarlett, in the same smothered voice, which sounded faint as a whisper. ”Let me see if I can move any of them.”

Fred waited, and, peering through the twigs, he could see that Nat was patiently waiting for him to come in sight again.

”Some of them seem loose,” came from within; ”but I can't get them out.”

”Don't stop to try now,” said Fred. ”Let's come another time; we can't make any mistake, now. Oh!”

The cry was involuntary, for all at once a patch of ivy just above the level of the water seemed to be driven outward, and several stones about the size of his head fell with a splash down among the alder roots, followed by a heavy gush of water, which poured forth fiercely into the woody edge of the lake, and continued to pour as if a fresh lake was discharging its waters into the old one.

So near was the edge of the boat, that the water nearly rushed in; but though it was afterwards slightly drawn toward it, a s.n.a.t.c.h at a bough drew it back, and Fred stood gazing wonderingly at the rush which foamed in.

Then he looked across the lake, wondering whether Nat could hear and see. But he was too far distant to see more than a little ebullition which might have been caused by the movement of the oars and boat, for the water that poured in was discharged in quite a dense thicket of moisture-loving growth.

”I say, Scar,” cried Fred, at last, alarmed by the silence, and after listening to the surging noise of the water for a few minutes.

”Yes.”

”Are you all safe?”

”Yes, of course.”

”What does all this water mean?”

”I was pus.h.i.+ng against the wall high up, and slipped, and my knees struck against the bottom, driving out some of the stones.”

”Then--Stop a minute; Nat's going away.”

The lad held some of the twigs aside, and could see that the gardener was moving off, apparently tired of waiting, and, once he was out of sight, there was no occasion to be so particular about shouting, and a conversation was painfully carried on above the rus.h.i.+ng noise of the water.

”I can't understand it, Scar,” cried Fred. ”There must be a stream running through that pa.s.sage.”

There was no reply; but the willow wand was withdrawn, and the next minute it appeared through the hole where the water was rus.h.i.+ng.

”I say, Scar.”

”Yes.”

”Haven't you done some harm, and oughtn't we to let them know up at the house?”

”I don't know. I couldn't help it.”

”I thought the pa.s.sage was partly under the water,” said Fred to himself, ”and so it ran in; but it couldn't have been meant to be wet like that. I say, Scar,” he cried aloud, ”whereabouts is the bottom where your feet are?”

”Eh?”

”I say, where are your feet?”

”Where this stick is,” came back more clearly now.

And it suddenly struck Fred that the water was not pouring out in quite so great a volume. But for the moment he could not see the stick for the foam. Directly after, though, he made out where it was being moved to and fro, exactly on a level with the surface of the lake.