“All right, Master Mark,” said the boy, with a good-humoured laugh. “I only did it o’ purpose to wake you up, and it has. I don’t mind what you did. Don’t feel sleepy now, do you?”
“No, no, I’m quite awake. The drowsy feeling has gone off. Come, light the candle.”
“Shan’t now,” replied Dummy. “We’re only a little way off now, and I can manage.”
“But are you sure?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure enough, Master Mark. Wait a minute.”
“Yes. What are you going to do?”
“Only unloose a few rings of this line we brought.”
“What for? If you play me any tricks now we’re in the dark, I’ll—”
“Who’s going to play any tricks?” grumbled the boy. “Men don’t play tricks. Here, kitch holt: now you can follow me, and feel me, if you keep the rope tight, and won’t go hitting yourself again the wall.”
Mark grasped the end of the rope handed to him, and they started forward in the intense blackness, the novelty and sense of shrinking soon passing off, and the lad feeling more and more confidence in his leader.