But he saw nothing of the kind, save in the workings of his own disordered imagination. What he did see was Ram’s frank-looking rustic face close up, and a hand was reached over the edge.
“You may get hold of me anywhere if you like,” said the boy, “and give a hand. That’s your style, orficer! Pull away, and up she comes. That’s it!” he said, as he crept over the edge. “Thank’ee. I aren’t smuggled.”
They both sat down for a few minutes, while Ram untied the rope from his waist and from round the big block of stone, before beginning to coil it up.
“I say,” he said, as he formed ring after ring of rope, “that rock isn’t very safe. If I’d slipped, and the rope hadn’t snapped, that big stone would have come down atop of me, and what a mess you’d have been in, if father had said you pitched me off!”
“Let’s get back,” said the midshipman, who felt sick at heart; and he moved toward the place where he had been down and up three times.
“Wait a moment,” said Ram, securing the end of the rope, and throwing the coil over his shoulder. “That’s right. I’ll go first. Know the way?”
“Because you don’t trust me,” said Archy angrily.
“That’s it,” said Ram. “Door’s open, and you might get out.”
Archy’s teeth grated together, but he said nothing, only began to climb, following the boy patiently till they were nearing the opening, when he started so violently that he nearly lost his hold.
For a voice came from above his head,—