“Yes, herr. Ever since I have grown up I have laughed at all the old stories about the dragons in the mountains, and the strange elves, gnomes, and kobolds said to live down in the deep mines; but what can one say to this? Is there an evil spirit to this crystal mine who is angry because we have come, and who seeks to punish us for intruding?”
“No, there is not!” cried Dale, with genuine English unbelief in such legends: “nothing of the kind. The loop slipped off the stone; so now climb up and fasten it safely, if you can.”
There was such a sneer in this that Melchior looked at him reproachfully before reaching round the side of the grotto and then stepping out of sight.
“Rather an upset for you, my lad,” said Dale kindly, as he took Saxe’s hand, while they could hear the rustling and scratching made by Melchior as he climbed up, dragging the rope after him; for he had not stopped to coil it up, but merely threw the loop over his head and put one arm through it.
“Yes, I thought I was gone,” replied the boy.
“It has made your hand feel wet, and set it trembling.”
“Has it?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry; for I want you to get plenty of nerve out here.”
“I’m sorry too, for I hate to feel afraid.”
“That was enough to make any man feel afraid. I’m trembling too, my lad; and my heart felt quite in my throat for a few moments.”