Fantastic dreams came into their minds, yet there was not so much as the scuffling of a rat or the squeaking of a mouse to awaken them. All was silent and still, with a stillness that cannot be expressed by words.
Desmond woke first—the light did not seem so dim—or had they become used to it? His eyes rested on Alan sleeping soundly by his side, and a tear dropped on his cousin’s brow as he leant over him. It was a tear not to be laughed at, nor to be ashamed of, but the tear of a strong man shed in the bitterness of his oppression.
He rose to his feet, stretched his limbs, and wandered round the place where he found himself. It was a cavern, very similar to the numberless others he had passed through on the further side of the rapid river. Its floor was rugged, but was covered with the purple moss, and a few bushes which bore fruit were growing there. Round and round he walked, but the cave seemed to have no outlet at all. Alan woke and watched Desmond in silence for a short while, and then said, “Don’t worry, Dez, I’m sure we shall find a way out. This must lead somewhere.” But although he too, examined the cave very carefully, there seemed to be no outlet.
How long they stayed there they did not know—fortunately they found some roots which were edible, and whose long bulb-like ends were filled with a pleasant fluid which quenched their thirst. They played games with each other, did everything in fact to prevent the madness they were afraid would come over them.
Nearer and nearer it crept like a beast of prey waiting to spring and devour his victims. With their forced inactivity their limbs became cramped and although the air was pure, their lips were dry and their throats parched. They began to give up speaking aloud; they would sit for hours in silence, only uttering occasionally a croaking whisper, one to the other, as if they were afraid of being overheard. Then the day—but no, it cannot be called that—the time came when Desmond lay quiet and still, and Alan awoke to the consciousness that something was radically wrong with his cousin. He bent over the inanimate figure, and touched him gently with his hand. The eyes were closed and the fists clenched and had he been able to see clearly, he would have noticed the purple lines round the cold mouth, and a pinched look upon the face, that boded nought but ill.
“I must do something,” he muttered wearily, and then he burst out into a paroxysm of weeping. That saved his life, for when he came to himself it was as a fresh man.
Plucking some of the purple foliage, he squeezed the stalks and let the cool liquid pour gently on Desmond’s brow, then tenderly chiding and imploring him, he managed to bring back a sign of life to his cousin’s face. Nor did he stop then, but continued, until Desmond woke to reason and called him by his name.
When Desmond had fallen into a refreshed and tranquil sleep, Alan wandered round and round the little cave, looking still for some weak spot.
Suddenly there came a sound in the distance—a thud that shook the very ground upon which he was standing. With every nerve wound up to concert pitch he waited—listening intently to see if he could hear again the sudden sound that had broken the stillness.
“It’s my fancy,” said he aloud, but even as he spoke the noise began again with greater fury. The cavern shook—pieces of rock came hurtling down, broken off from their parent wall by the vibrations. Then suddenly came a sound almost like an explosion, and a piece of rock, larger than the rest came tumbling down, and revealed behind it a small passage.