I looked on anxiously as his head and shoulders disappeared, then his whole body; and I was preparing to follow him when he wriggled himself back, to face me with a sad shake of the head.
“No good, Mas’r Harry—a baby couldn’t go through there.”
I took his word, and led the way back till we were clear of the mist shed by the fall, and then I set to and tried if the great problem of our escape could not be solved; and at last when all hope was ready to expire in my bosom the solution came.
We were sitting, sad and dejected, worn by our long toil, when suddenly we were startled by a shriek similar to those which we had heard upon our awaking.
Tom pressed close to me, and I must confess to a strange sensation of awe, as now, one after another, these wild cries came ringing out of the darkness around. Now near, now far-off, and fading away as it were, till one was uttered close by my ear, and I saw a shadowy form sweep past the light shed by our one poor feeble candle; then another and another; when, angry with myself for my superstitious dread, I exclaimed aloud:
“Why, they’re birds!”
“Birds they are!” cried Tom gently. “But are they real birds, Mas’r Harry?”
“Real? yes, Tom!” I exclaimed excitedly. “And there must be some other way of entrance, for I saw one disappear close by the falling water. Yes, and there goes another!” I cried, as I held up the light. “Tom—Tom, they are the messengers of life! There is a way out yet!”