They stood fast, listening to the strange murmuring noise that came whispering along.
“It’s the water running,” said Joe, in awestricken tones.
“Yes, it’s the water dripping, and running along by the walls. Why, there must be hundreds of streams.”
“And you’re standing talking like that,” cried Joe, angrily. “We know all about the streams. Do something.”
Gwyn stood frowning for a few moments.
“You lead on now,” he said, “and try again. I’ll come close behind you.”
“But it gets deeper this way.”
“Perhaps only for a short distance, and then it may rise. Go on.”
Joe started at once, for he felt, as if he must obey, but before they had gone a hundred yards the water had risen to Gwyn’s waist.
“Back again,” he said; “it gets deeper and deeper.”