“Bah! You’re mad as a hatter. I knew you’d bring it on.”
“There, it’s of no use. I want to tell you all about it.”
“If you think I’m going to stop here and listen to a long rigmarole about that dreadful hole, you’re mistaken; so hold your tongue.”
“There’s no long rigmarole, Bob. You know how the corporal yelled out and clutched at me.”
“No; I only guessed at something of the kind,” replied Dickenson unwillingly. “We could not see much.”
“Well, in his horror at finding himself lifted he completely upset me. It was all in a moment: I felt myself gliding over the slimy stone, and then I was plunged into deep water and drawn right down.”
“But you struck out and tried to rise?” said Dickenson, overcome now by his natural eagerness to know how his comrade escaped.
“Struck out—tried to rise!” cried Lennox, with a bitter laugh. “I have some recollection of struggling in black strangling darkness for what seemed an age, the water thundering the while in my ears, before all was blank.”
“But you were horror-stricken, and felt that you must go on fighting for your life?”
“No,” said Lennox quietly. “I felt nothing till the darkness suddenly turned to bright sunshine, and I have some recollection of being driven against stones and tossed here and there, till I dragged myself out of a shallow place among the rocks and up amongst the green growth. Then a curious drowsy feeling came over me, and all was blank again. That’s all.”