“Only it wouldn’t do,” he added. “We can’t tell what’s at the bottom. Might mean a bad fall. Had enough of it?”
“Yes, ever since we started,” replied Mike.
“Then you want to go back?”
“Oh no, I don’t,” retorted Mike. “One can’t help feeling that one must keep on and see where it goes to, even if it does make you turn creepy. Doesn’t it you?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so,” replied Vince thoughtfully; “and I wouldn’t go on, only it’s so easy to climb back, and the air feels fresh and sweet, so that except that it’s dark there’s nothing to mind.”
“But suppose the candle went out. How much is there left?”
As Mike spoke, he opened the door of the lanthorn and looked at the light anxiously, but they had not burned an inch.
“We could easily get another light,” said Vince; “and we must go on now. Here, shall I go down first?”
“No; I’ll keep to it,” cried Mike. “I’m not going to have you jeering at me afterwards and telling me I was afraid. But look here, Cinder: you can’t walk down—it really is too steep.”
“Let’s try the rope: I’ll fasten it, and then you can hold on.”