Part 81 (1/2)

”There,” cried Gwyn, sticking up the fresh candle in the tin sconce, and waiting till the fat around it had congealed. ”Now you go on up, and see what you can do. Keep the door side of the lanthorn away from the wind.”

”Must I go?” said Joe, dolefully.

”Yes, if you want to see the poor Major again.”

”Ah!” sighed Joe, and taking the lanthorn, he crawled up to where Gwyn had been, while the latter searched eagerly round to try and find out some other opening. But, saving that by which they had come, and up which the whistling, roaring and gurgling increased in intensity, and sounded as if some writhing ma.s.s of subterranean creatures were fighting their way through the dark pa.s.sage to escape from the flood, there was not the smallest crack, and he turned again to where Joe was pa.s.sing out of sight, his boot soles alone visible as he slowly crawled up the narrow chimney-like place.

Then they disappeared, and Gwyn turned to where Hardock was lying on his face.

”Sam,” he said.

There was no reply.

”Sam!” he cried, angrily now; and the man slowly raised his face and gazed at him reproachfully.

”Might let me die in peace,” he groaned.

”You rouse up, and try and help us,” said Gwyn, firmly; and his will being the stronger, the man began to raise himself slowly into a sitting position, shuddering as he listened to the furious hurricane of sounds which came up the narrow rift.

”It's only a noise, Sam,” said Gwyn. ”I say, there has never been any mining done up here, has there?”

”Never, sir. It's all natural rock. Look at the crystals.”

”That's what I thought. But look up there at Joe.”

”Eh? Where's Mr Joe Jollivet?”

”Clambering up that hole where Grip must have gone. He must have got up to the surface.”

Hardock shook his head.

”Why not?” continued Gwyn, eagerly. ”The wind rushes up there.”

”Ay, but wind will go where even a mouse couldn't.”

”But if Grip hadn't got up there, he'd have come back.”

”If he could, sir--if he could. But don't, don't ask me questions; I'm all mazed like, and can't think or do anything. I only want to go to sleep, sir, out of it all, never to have any more of this horror and trouble.”

”Look here, Sam,” continued Gwyn; ”this noise of the wind coming up means the water filling up the pa.s.sages and driving it out, doesn't it?”

”I s'pose so, sir.”

”How long will it be before the mine is quite full of water?”

”Who knows, sir? Tends on how big the hole is. Maybe hours, for it's a vasty place--miles of workings.”

”Then the water won't come up to us till the pa.s.sages are all full.”

”No, sir, and maybe not come to us at all. We may be too high.”