“Is it easy?”
“Yes, quite.”
“Then I shall come down now.”
“No, no,” cried Scarlett; “the rope is not strong enough for two.”
“Make haste, then. I want to see what there is. Found anything good?”
“No,” said Scarlett, as he glided slowly down into the darkness, with his companion’s words buzzing in his ears, just as if they were spoken close by, and listening as he descended to the peculiar, trickling, rushing noise of the scraps of disintegrating slate which he dislodged in passing, and which fell rapidly before him.
“Keep talking,” said Fred from above.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” cried Scarlett. “I’m only sliding down a slope, and—yes, now I’m hanging clear, and turning round. Hold the rope: it’s twisting so.”
“I am holding it tight,” came back; “but I can’t help its turning round. What’s it like now?”
“Just like day beginning to break, and I can see something shining down below.”