Frank had arisen. Bruce followed him from the spot.
They did not climb the rise and again enter the glade that contained the mysterious grave, but Frank led the way down through the woods till they came out to the rocky shore of the island, along which ran the path they had left some time before. Now they struck into this path and followed it round the island.
Not a word passed between them till they came to the old granite quarry. There on their right the bluff of rock rose nearly a hundred feet in the air, with cedars growing away up on the heights. There were drill marks on the face of the rock. A weed-grown railroad ran into the quarry, and on the track sat a flat car, loaded with granite.
"By jingoes!" exclaimed Browning. "It's plain enough there was some business done here some time."
Frank looked at the face of the broad wall of granite.
"I wonder why they ceased quarrying it?" he speculated.
"I suppose the fishermen would say it was because the island was haunted."
"More likely because the granite was not of the best quality. Now that stone does not look to me as if it is first class. It seems to me it is poor granite, and that is why the quarry was abandoned."
"Guess you are right," nodded Bruce.