Again that thrilling cry vibrated through the silence, like the wail of a lost soul.
Mervyn paused irresolute, glancing anxiously at his comrades.
“Need we return?” he asked of Seymour. He was longing to penetrate further into this unknown land, yet his natural discretion suggested a speedy return to the safety of the vessel.
“It’s no use turning back now,” Seymour answered, “if the brutes have scented us, they’ll be down upon us before we can reach the boat. So forward, and let each of us keep a sharp look-out for a place where we can stand at bay if necessary.”
For the third time that wolfish howl broke upon the ears of the three comrades, then a grim silence fell once more upon the land.
[CHAPTER VII.]
A REMARKABLE DISCOVERY AND ITS SEQUEL.
BUT the mood of the adventurers had changed. No longer did this underworld appear to them as the paradise of beauty they had first thought it. Its very silence seemed full of menace, and Mervyn found himself repeatedly listening to imaginary rustlings among the fungi.
Garth’s interest flagged, too, as time went on, and he longed to retrace his steps, yet, while his comrades held on, he could not for shame suggest return. The boy—for he was little more—was brave enough, but these ghostly jungles were so weird, so unnatural, in their stillness, that it was scarcely to be wondered at that he felt nervous.
And, added to this, was the knowledge that somewhere in these wilds lurked wolves or, at least, some beast with the voice of a wolf.