"Well?" asked Jack.
"All cellars, massa, goin' along—oh, miles and miles under de earth, all dark, 'cepting a bit of light that comes here and there through little holes in de roof. Plenty of room to hide all of us, sar. Oh, golly, won't de nasty Turks go mad?"
"Hurrah! down you go immediately," said Jack. "Now then, ladies first. Harry, I commend Thyra to your care. Take her down."
"I can not, will not leave you, dear Jack," she cried, desperately clinging to our hero.
"No, no; I will soon be with you. For Heaven's sake. Thyra, do not hesitate now, or we shall all be lost. Go quietly; it is my wish."
Thyra resisted no more, but with Harry's assistance descended the steps into the vault.
"Now, Mr. Mole, down you go," said Jack. "Here, Figgins, you take his legs and go first, or they'll be running away with him again. Tinker, follow behind, supporting his head."
But Mr. Mole objected to this arrangement.
"What! do you think I'm an infant, to need carrying?" he said, with offended dignity. "No, though I have got patent self-controlling cork legs, I can walk down by myself."
And to prove this, he began jauntily descending the steps.