“Friends,” whispered Mark.
“Thank Heaven! At last—at last,” came up, with a piteous groan, and they heard a heavy fall.
“Quick, Dummy,” whispered Mark. “We must go down to him.”
“Listen first,” said the boy: “p’r’aps some one heard.”
But as he spoke there was the sound of a hoarse laugh from a long distance off, and Dummy whispered: “Didn’t hear. Been to fetch water, and broke the pitcher. I say, Master Mark, wasn’t I right?”
Mark made no reply, for he was lowering himself down over the edge, and directly after he dropped on to the crystals below.
“Show the light, Dummy,” he whispered, and the boy lay face downward and swung the lantern down as far as he could reach.
As Mark touched the fallen man’s hand he began to recover consciousness.
“Not a dream—not a dream,” he murmured. “Whoever you are, have you come to help?”
“Yes; but hush! Purlrose and his men—are they near?”