“Vince! Vince, old chap, don’t leave me here all alone!”
That appeal went home to Vince’s heart at once.
“Who’s going to?” he cried rather huskily. “Come on. This way, old obstinate. Mr Deane’s quite right: he always said you would have your own way, even if you knew you were wrong.”
“But I am so sure, Cinder—I am indeed,” cried the lad, piteously. “It is this way—it is indeed! Oh, do strike a light!”
“There now! I’m going to show you how wrong you are,” said Vince triumphantly.
“Not now: let’s get out of this dreadful place.”
“’Tisn’t a dreadful place; it’s only you scaring yourself about nothing, same as I did. It’s this way. Come along.”
“Yes, I’ll come,” said Mike meekly; “only don’t go far, and then let’s get back. But do strike a light.”
“What for? There’s no need. Come along, close up to me.”
Mike came, blindly feeling his way, till he touched his companion, and his hands closed tightly upon Vince’s shoulder and arm.