Neither of the lads spoke now as they waded on, for each was trying to puzzle out the problem of how it was that they should have journeyed backward; but no light came.
“I shall make it out,” said Fred, “as soon as we get in the sunshine again. Go on a bit faster, Scar.”
But there was no temptation to go faster, and the slow wading was continued, till a glimmering of light cheered them; and then quicker progress was made, for the opening seemed to send down more and more light as they approached, till they could see quite a fringe of roots, which had forced their way through the arch of rugged stones, and at last make out how the roof of the passage had been driven in by the fall of the tree.
“Oh! there is something now,” cried Scarlett, starting.
“What is it?”
“Something did touch my leg.”
“Kick it!” cried Fred, huskily. “Look out, Scar! it’s swimming towards you. Mind, mind!”
The boy had raised up his foot to kick, but placed it down again, for the terror proved to be a piece of rotten wood floating on the surface.
“How easy it is to be frightened!” said Scarlett, drawing a long breath, as they stood once more at the opening.
“Yes, far too easy,” grumbled Fred. “I wish it wasn’t. Shall I go up first, or will you?”