I stayed where I was, and the next moment a fresh voice cried to me, as if pitying my condition:
“Cob, lad.”
“Yes,” I cried.
“There is a horrible precipice. Don’t stir.”
It was Uncle Bob who said this to comfort me, and make me safe from running risks, but he made me turn all of a cold perspiration, and I stood there shivering, listening to the murmur of voices that came to me in a stifled way.
At last I could bear it no longer. It seemed so strange. Only a minute or two ago we were all together on the top of a great hill admiring the prospect. Now we were separated. Then all seemed open and clear, and we were looking away for miles: now I seemed shut-in by this pale white gloom that stopped my sight, and almost my hearing, while it numbed and confused my faculties in a way that I could not have felt possible.
“Uncle Jack!” I cried, as a sudden recollection came back of a cry I had heard.
“He is not here,” cried Uncle Bob. “He is trying to find a way down.”
“Where is Uncle Dick?”
“Hush, boy! Don’t ask.”