“Why?” said Mark, half mockingly.
“Because—because,” replied his cousin, with something like a shiver, “uncle and the doctor would be so uneasy.”
Mark gave his companion an arch look, and there was a faint smile upon his countenance as his eyes seemed to say—“Oh, Dean, what a humbug you are!”
The boy read it as meaning this, and he said hastily, “Don’t laugh at me, old fellow. Hope I am not going to have a touch of fever, but I do feel very queer.”
“Let’s get back, then, old chap,” said Mark, clapping his companion on the shoulder. “But don’t you fancy that. It’s damp and cold here, and no wonder. Come along. I think I can find my way back; don’t you?”
“Don’t know. I am not at all sure. It must be getting late, and in here it will be as dark as pitch as soon as the sun’s down. I say, don’t you think we were rather foolish to come so far?”
“Well, yes, it was rather stupid, but one was led on by a feeling of excitement. For it would be horrible if we sent those two poor fellows to where they may get into trouble and never come back.”
It was about an hour later that, after forcing their way through the almost impenetrable bushes, climbing over stones and round them, and losing themselves again and again in what had become, as it seemed to them, more and more a horrible maze, Dean made a snatch at his cousin’s arm as he slipped and fell, dragging Mark, till the lad checked his descent by a desperate snatch at the trunk of a gnarled climber.
“Oh, I say,” cried Mark, “don’t say you are hurt!”
A low, half stifled gasp or two came from some distance down.