Short as the distance was, Scarlett had to take the greatest precautions, for, as he tried to get foothold, something gave way beneath him, and he hung by the hazel, feeling as if all the blood in his body had rushed to his heart, for there was a loud hollow splash, which went echoing horribly away, and he found himself with his eyes on a level with the old crumbling masonry forming an arch.
He recovered himself though directly, for he could stretch out a hand and touch Fred.
The touch had instant effect, for the lad opened his eyes, stared at him wildly, and then said quickly—
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing much, if you are careful. You have fallen, and are hanging here. Now—”
“Fallen? Oh yes, I remember; the tree,” cried Fred. “Oh, my head, my head!”
“Never mind your head,” whispered Scarlett. “Now listen.”
“I say, what hole’s this? Is it a well?” said Fred, eagerly.
“Don’t, pray don’t talk. Now, can you reach up and get hold of the hazel above my hands?”
“Dare say I can,” said Fred, coolly. “Yes. There!”