“But we might take a wrong turning, and never find our way out.”
“There are no turnings,” replied Fred, stolidly. “Come along.”
“Listen! Wasn’t that something?”
“I don’t hear anything, only the echo. Hoi!”
Fred half shouted the last word, and as they listened it seemed to run right away in an echoing, hollow way, to die at last in quite a whisper.
“What a horrible place!” faltered Scarlett. “Let’s make haste back. I say, don’t you feel scared?”
“I don’t know,” whispered back Fred. “I feel as if I do. I’d give anything to be out in the sunshine again, and I wish we had not come. Let’s make haste.”
Scarlett needed no further urging, but pressed on so closely behind his companion that they seemed to move as one, Fred passing his hand along the cold stone wall as they went on, up and up the apparently endless flight of steps, till the landing was reached, and the leader grasped the door.
“There!” he cried, as they passed into the little room, Scarlett closing the door behind them, the hinges creaking dismally. “Now for the other door. I don’t seem to mind so much now.”
“I don’t think I do; but it seems very queer. What’s that?”