His words reawoke me instantly to the unresolved horror of our situation.
“I’m coming,” I answered tremulously. “Which way? Harry, don’t go without me!”
We stumbled a few blind paces, dazzled again for the nonce.
“Look here,” he said; “we must economize these. It won’t do to waste our lights.”
Instantly, in a panic, I blew out my candle, and simultaneously he blew out his. Thus was illustrated the weakness of generalities; and, correspondingly, the value, as you shall see, of accidents. We were plunged, on the breath, into subterranean night; lapped in lead and buried beyond hope of release. At least, so it seemed for the moment; and moments make the sum of time.
We stood rigid, paralysed, too dumb-stricken for speech or movement. And, in that pass, if you will believe me, the most unearthly horror of a voice hard by came to complete our demoralization. It rose between a hiss and bark, a swinish indescribable thing that tailed off into a bubbling snarl; and I thought it was the dead man caught by the legs struggling to rise and get at us.
I could not have survived and kept my reason, I think, had not Harry at this instant scattered all shadows with a jubilant shout—
“Daylight! Look up there, Dicky! We’ve found the way.”
I shook with the cry, and raised my despairing eyes. Sure enough, at a good height before and above us, a gleam of blessed dawn filtered down through the superincumbent soil. The accident of darkness had revealed it to us so soon as our pupils had forgotten the false glare of the candles.
“O, Harry!” I cried, half hysterical. “O, Harry! what was that noise?”