A lantern was obtained, and matches, and they were soon down upon the shore, climbing along the rough path towards the promontory upon which, just dimly seen against the sky-line, stood out the dark, weird-looking engine-house. The foam that broke upon the rocks at the promontory’s base was all aglow now with phosphorescent light, which rose and fell, and flashed with a wondrous brilliancy.
“Poor night for the fisher lads, sir,” said Pengelly.
“Indeed! why?”
“Their nets will be all a-light with the brime, sir, and every thread will stand out in the deep water, as if afire, and not a fish will go near.”
They clambered on, higher and higher, till they reached the engine-house, into which they proposed to go, and there light the lantern.
“If they see us from the harbour, what will they think?” said Geoffrey.
“That we are ghosts or demons, the weak creatures,” cried Pengelly, scornfully. “It will keep them away: not a man will come near if they see our light. Keep this way, sir, you are getting too near the shaft.”
Geoffrey hastily altered his position, and closely following Pengelly he entered the great engine-house behind him, and then stood waiting while the lame miner struck a match, which blazed up, and then he dropped it, for there, plainly seen in the momentary glare, stood a dark, strange-looking figure, within a few feet of a heap of stones.
In spite of his manhood, Geoffrey felt a chill run through him, for seen in that momentary light the aspect of the figure was so weird and strange.
“It’s only a man!” exclaimed Pengelly, rapidly striking a second match, and holding it to the candle in the lantern. “Hey, Master Prawle! what are you doing here?”