The moment ended, and the little yacht, with Philip and Lucy and the parrot and the two dogs, plunged headlong over the edge into the dark unknown abyss below.
'It's all right, Lu,' said Philip in that moment. 'I'll take care of you.'
And then there was silence in the cavern—only the rushing sound of the great waterfall echoed in the rocky arch.
CHAPTER X
THE GREAT SLOTH
You have heard of Indians shooting rapids in their birch-bark canoes? And perhaps you have yourself sailed a toy boat on a stream, and made a dam of clay, and waited with more or less patience till the water rose nearly to the top, and then broken a bit of your dam out and made a waterfall and let your boat drift over the edge of it. You know how it goes slowly at first, then hesitates and sweeps on more and more quickly. Sometimes it upsets; and sometimes it shudders and strains and trembles and sways to one side and to the other, and at last rights itself and makes up its mind, and rushes on down the stream, usually to be entangled in the clump of rushes at the stream's next turn. This is what happened to that good yacht, the Lightning Loose. She shot over the edge of that dark smooth subterranean waterfall, hung a long breathless moment between still air and falling water, slid down like a flash, dashed into the stream below, shuddered, reeled, righted herself and sped on. You have perhaps been down the water chute at Earl's Court? It was rather like that.
'It's—it's all right,' said Philip, in a rather shaky whisper. 'She's going on all right.'
'Yes,' said Lucy, holding his arm very tight; 'yes, I'm sure she's going on all right.'
'Are we drowned?' said a trembling squeak. 'Oh, Max, are we really drowned?'