Fred did as he was told, the rusty hinges giving forth another dismal groan, which seemed to echo hollowly and then to die away.
“Come along,” said Scarlett, in a low voice; and, holding the candle well before him, he began to descend the narrow steps, the distance from side to side being precisely the same as before.
“Smells cold and damp,” whispered Fred, when they had descended about twenty steps; “just like a wine cellar.”
“Perhaps it is one when we get to the bottom, and full of old wine.”
“Are there many more steps?”
“Can’t see. Shall we go any farther?”
“Oh yes; we’ll go to the bottom, as we are here.”
“Stop a moment. What was that?”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Yes; there it is again.”