Part 52 (1/2)
Stretching out his trembling hands, he felt in the black darkness for the lanthorn, touched it after two or three ineffectual trials, and s.n.a.t.c.hed it back, feeling his fingers burnt, just as the light gave a final flare, the jar of his touch upon the lanthorn being sufficient to quench the tiny flame.
In the horror of the moment Gwyn uttered a loud cry, and the result was a quick movement close at hand, followed by a voice saying,--
”Yes, father, all right. I'll get up and fetch it. Is the pain so bad?”
Gwyn tried to speak, but no words came.
”Did you call, father?”
There was perfect silence in the stifling place, and Joe Jollivet spoke again, drowsily now.
”Must have dreamt it. But--hallo--Oh, my back! What ever's the matter with it, and--here! hallo! What does it all mean? I must have been walking in my sleep.”
”Oh, Joe, Joe!” cried his companion.
”Ydoll! You there? I say--what--what--where are we?”
”Don't you understand?--where we lay down when we could get no farther.”
There was the sound of some one drawing a long gasping breath, and then silence again, till Joe spoke in a piteous voice.
”I was dreaming that father was taken ill in the night, and he called me. Oh, Ydoll, old chap, my head feels so queer. Then we haven't found them? I don't feel as if I could recollect anything. It's all black like. We came down to find them, didn't we?”
”Yes,” said Gwyn, ”and walked till you stumbled and fell.”
”I did? Yes, I recollect now. I was regularly beaten. We came such a long way for hours and hours. Then we've both been to sleep?”
”I suppose so.”
”But why is it so dark?”
”The candle I set up burned out.”
”Well, light another. You have some more.”
”What am I to light one with?” groaned Gwyn.
”Oh! I'd forgotten,” cried Joe, piteously, ”you've no matches.”
”No, I've no matches.”
”But you had some, I know--you had a box; feel in your pockets again.”
There was a faint rustling sound as in obedience to his companion's imperative words, Gwyn felt in each pocket vainly, and then uttered a sigh like a groan.
”No, no, no!” he cried, ”there is a hole in my pocket, and the box must have gone through.”
”Oh,” cried Joe, angrily; ”how could I be such a fool as to trust you to carry them?”
”You mean how could you be such a fool as to come without a box yourself,” said Gwyn, bitterly.