“Won’t go through here, Sam?” said Gwyn.
“Much the nighest, sir; but we don’t want to be soaked. Would you mind going a little way down here?”
“Not I,” said Gwyn; and the man led on, Joe following without a word.
“Don’t look like that, Jolly,” whispered Gwyn. “I suppose everyone gets scared at some time in a place like this. It’s Sam’s turn now. Hallo!”
“Can’t go any farther, sir,” said Hardock, huskily. “The water’s right up to here, and farther on it must reach the roof.”
Gwyn needed no telling, for the reflection of their lights was glancing from the floor, and he knew perfectly well that no water ought to be there.
A chill ran through him—a sensation such as he would have experienced had he suddenly plunged neck deep in the icy water, and he turned a look full of agony at Joe, who caught at his arm.
“The sea has broken in—the sea has broken in!” he cried; and quick as lightning Gwyn bent down, scooped up some of the black-looking water, and held it to his lips.
It was unmistakably brackish.
“It can’t have broke in, my lads—it can’t,” cried Hardock. “Come on, and let’s go round by the pillar place and get to the men as quick as we can. There must be some spring burst out; but they’ll set the pumps at work as soon as they know, and soon pull it down again. Come on.”