“I—I daren’t go down,” groaned Mr Solomon. “Man, man, what shall we do?”
“It scares me,” growled Ike hoarsely; “but I’ve got no wife and no bairns; and if Master Grant here says, ‘Go,’ I’ll go, though,” he added slowly, “it’s going down into one’s grave.”
“Can you see him, Grant?” cried Mr Solomon.
“Yes; down on the wood,” I said in a hoarse whisper; “he’s lying across a beam with his head down. What shall we do?”
As I asked this piteously I raised my head, to see Philip close by me kneeling on the gravel, his eyes half closed, his face of a yellowish grey, his hands clenched, and his teeth chattering.
No one spoke, and as I looked from one man to the other every face was pale and stony-looking, for the men felt that to go down into that carbonic acid gas was to give up life.
I felt horribly frightened, and as if I were sinking somewhere. I glanced round, and there was the beautiful garden all flowers and fruit, with the glorious sunshine over all. Below me that terrible pit with the falling whispering water, and a chill seeming to rise out of its depths.
As I looked I saw Shock coming towards us at a run, as if he divined that something was the matter, and the sight of him made me think of Mr Brownsmith’s garden and my happy life there, and I gave a low sob as my eyes filled with tears.
I tell you I felt horribly frightened, and all this that has taken so long to describe seemed to pass in a flash—almost as I started from gazing down the well to my feet.
“Tie the rope round me,” I said huskily. “You can pull me up if I fall.”