“I say, Scar,” cried Fred, at last, alarmed by the silence, and after listening to the surging noise of the water for a few minutes.
“Yes.”
“Are you all safe?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What does all this water mean?”
“I was pushing against the wall high up, and slipped, and my knees struck against the bottom, driving out some of the stones.”
“Then— Stop a minute; Nat’s going away.”
The lad held some of the twigs aside, and could see that the gardener was moving off, apparently tired of waiting, and, once he was out of sight, there was no occasion to be so particular about shouting, and a conversation was painfully carried on above the rushing noise of the water.
“I can’t understand it, Scar,” cried Fred. “There must be a stream running through that passage.”
There was no reply; but the willow wand was withdrawn, and the next minute it appeared through the hole where the water was rushing.