“Yes, sir, and I thought it had swallowed you. I say, is it all over with us?”
“I hope not,” said Jack quietly. “But listen, Ned; can you hear the blacks?”
“Hear ’em! No, sir. My ears seem full of the shrieks and cries of those things as they tore out of the place, and you would stick out that they were bats. Phew, can’t you smell ’em?”
“Yes, plainly enough; but it was not the bats made those noises, it must have been the blacks.”
“No, no, sir, it was those horrid things. I felt ’em hitting me with their wings as they swooped by.”
“Nonsense, nonsense. They were scared by the noise of the stones falling, and the echoes, and it seems to me that they scared the blacks as well as us, and they have run out again.”
“What!” cried Ned. “You don’t mean that, Mr Jack?”
“But I do. Ned, they’ve gone.”
“Well! and I was only just before thinking that I was getting over being so shaky and nervous, and not so queer about myself, and then for me to break down like that. Of all the cowardly cranks I ever did come across! Oh, I say, Mr Jack, sir, ain’t you ashamed of me?”
“I’m quite as ashamed of myself, Ned. I don’t know who could help being frightened; my heart’s beating tremendously still. But they’ve gone, Ned, I feel sure.”