Aleck stooped down and found that it was the missing lanthorn.
“It’s lucky it did not roll into the water. Now, then, all right. Keep hold of hands, and let’s feel our way to where I left the tinder-box. Hold up; don’t stumble again.”
“I can’t help it,” said the middy, with his teeth chattering. “It feels as if all the strength had gone out of my legs. Here, Aleck, it’s of no use to be a sham; hold on tightly by my hand and help me along. I’m afraid that was all brag about making the dive. I suppose I must be a horrible coward, after all.”
“I’m afraid I am too,” said Aleck bitterly, as he held the other’s hand tightly and tried to progress cautiously in the dark. “I feel horrible, and as if the next step I take will send us both into the water.”
“Ugh! Don’t say that,” whispered the middy, huskily. “I remember what that fellow said about the seals; but it’s my belief that a dark piece of water like this must swarm with all kinds of terrible creatures.”
“And yet you wanted to dive into it for a swim?”
“Yes, when the candle was alight.”
“I didn’t feel anything attack us when we bathed,” said Aleck, quietly.
“Oh, don’t talk about it,” said the middy, shuddering. “I bathed then, but I don’t feel as if, feeling what I do, I could risk another plunge in.”
Aleck felt no disposition whatever to talk about the venture his companion in misfortune had proposed, for he was intent upon getting to the spot where the light-producing implement had been bestowed, and twice over he nearly lost his calmness, for the horrible idea attacked him that he had wandered quite away from the spot in the darkness.