“The white breath of the wizard, sieur!”
Hume stood by Klaas, and looked up just as from a point about fifty feet above a puff of white darted from the rock, followed by the now familiar wail. He laughed at the sight.
“Here is our tormentor,” he cried; “a blast of wind blowing through a natural funnel,” and he pointed to the spot.
They gathered near him, and Webster, with a quick glance at the rock, began to climb. From point to point he went with seeming ease, until, reaching a ledge, he stood before the aperture.
“By Jove,” he cried, “there’s a gale of wind blowing through!” then, after a pause, while his face was at the opening: “A light! I can see through. Hume, suppose this is the way after all.”
“Is the opening large enough for a man to pass through?”
“I will see.”
They saw dimly his body disappear, and waited anxiously while the moments slipped swiftly by.
“He is a long time,” muttered Hume.
“He is in danger,” said Laura, in a low voice, coming close to his side; “I feel it.”