“Let’s walk towards it with the lanthorn,” said Aleck.
“Why, my lad?”
“I want to see the daylight again.”
“But we couldn’t get far along there with the tide up, and even if we could you wouldn’t see the mouth of the cave.”
“Why not?” asked Aleck.
“Because it’s under water.”
“Never mind; hold up the lanthorn, and let me see what I can.”
“Then I’d better hide it or shut it,” said Eben, and, setting the lanthorn down upon the rocky floor, he slipped off his rough jacket and covered the lanthorn so that not a ray of light could be seen escaping through the panes of thinly-scraped horn.
To the lad’s wonderment, no sooner was the lanthorn hidden than instead of the place being intensely dark, it was lit up by a soft translucent twilight, which seemed to rise out of the water where it was disturbed. This light, where the water was wreathing and swaying softly, was of a delicious, transparent blue, and by degrees, as he gazed in awe and wonder, a low archway could be made out spanning a considerable space, but beautifully indistinct, festooned as it was by filaments and ribands of seaweed and wrack, all apparently of a jetty black, seen through water of a wondrous blue. But the whole archway was in motion, as it seemed, and constantly changing its shape, while the sea growth swayed and curved and undulated, and at times lay out straight, as if swept by some swift current.
“Is it always like this?” said Aleck, in a whisper, though he could not have explained why he spoke in such awe-stricken tones.