“Must I go?” said Joe, dolefully.
“Yes, if you want to see the poor Major again.”
“Ah!” sighed Joe, and taking the lanthorn, he crawled up to where Gwyn had been, while the latter searched eagerly round to try and find out some other opening. But, saving that by which they had come, and up which the whistling, roaring and gurgling increased in intensity, and sounded as if some writhing mass of subterranean creatures were fighting their way through the dark passage to escape from the flood, there was not the smallest crack, and he turned again to where Joe was passing out of sight, his boot soles alone visible as he slowly crawled up the narrow chimney-like place.
Then they disappeared, and Gwyn turned to where Hardock was lying on his face.
“Sam,” he said.
There was no reply.
“Sam!” he cried, angrily now; and the man slowly raised his face and gazed at him reproachfully.
“Might let me die in peace,” he groaned.
“You rouse up, and try and help us,” said Gwyn, firmly; and his will being the stronger, the man began to raise himself slowly into a sitting position, shuddering as he listened to the furious hurricane of sounds which came up the narrow rift.
“It’s only a noise, Sam,” said Gwyn. “I say, there has never been any mining done up here, has there?”