The cousins solemnly shook hands, lingering pathetically. It was like a good-bye to the dying.
“Ar-lane, O Ar-lane,” came from Jez-Riah.
“Have courage, little sister, be brave and follow me.” And before they could say another word, he had swung himself over the edge and had dropped into the foaming water.
The water hissed and roared with fury as it felt the presence of the foreign body—then it quieted a little. Alan’s head appeared, his face deathly pale, and before they realized it, he was out of sight, borne on the swift current.
Jez-Riah was trembling. “Be brave, little sister.” Almost unconsciously Desmond repeated his cousin’s words. She clung to him for a second, and then with a little frightened moan that went as soon as it was uttered, she too dropped into the water below, and was carried out of sight. Suddenly a great fear came over Desmond. He was alone. The cavern seemed to ring with laughter—the laughter of dead men. He hovered at the edge of the little cleft and looked deep into the boiling mass below, but he dared not drop in.
“I can’t, I can’t,” he moaned, and the awful loneliness came upon him and enveloped him in a cloak of terror.
He looked behind him at the yawning chasm below. If he lost his foothold—he shuddered. And then with a mighty spring and a muttered “God help me,” he followed in the wake of his cousin. The water closed over him—he held his breath until his lungs felt as if they would burst with the strain. Relief came at last, the waters had calmed a little, and he was floating gently on the current. He was conscious of intense inky blackness, of icy waters and a fetid air above; of a swiftly moving stream, that, although not rough, was running fast; of strange shapes that seemed to hover about him, and long, clammy hands that tried to pull him out of the water. He knew it was death himself he was fighting, and he fought to evade the fingers that were now so near, almost clasped round his throat. Then his senses forsook him and he was only an atom, tossed about on the bosom of the unknown river, a nothingness in a world of mystery and wonder.
CHAPTER X
THE ESCAPE
And the seventh day was the Sabbath! The Lord rested on the Sabbath! Sabbath! Seventh! Seventh! Sabbath! These words kept ringing in Alan’s ears as he lay quiet and tranquil in the darkness. He wondered where he was, but was too tired to make much effort to find out. His senses were dulled and his whole body ached; he could see nothing, for total darkness surrounded him. Then unconsciousness again overtook him, and he dreamed again of the Marshfielden fields and the rippling brooks.
When he awoke it was with a healthy feeling of hunger, and gradually his senses returned and he wondered where his cousin and Jez-Riah were. He called them by name, but there was no reply. He reached out on either side of him, but could feel nothing—he seemed to be alone. The silence was oppressive, the air heavy, and he found a great difficulty in breathing. He tried to think of the mad plunge for freedom into the swift underground river; he remembered feeling the cold waters close over him, followed by an interminable time under water when he could not breathe, when his lungs were bursting, longing to disgorge the used up air within him. Then he remembered a feeling of relief as he drew in a long breath of air, and afterwards—no more. He seemed to have fallen into a never ending dream. Now at last he realized he was safe again, and in his heart he thanked God for having watched over him and brought him once more to safety.