“Well,” said Lance, as cheerily as he could, “the first thing I intend to do is to light a match and take a glance at our surroundings. It was stupid of me that I did not think of doing so before.”
He drew a box of matches from his pocket—being a smoker he was never by any chance without them—and the next moment a sharp rasping noise was heard, and a tiny flame appeared. The light, however, was too feeble to penetrate that Egyptian darkness; they saw nothing but each other’s faces; hers pale, with wide-open, horror-stricken eyes; and his, with contracted brow and firmly compressed lips, indicative of an unconquerable determination to struggle to the last against this dreadful fate which menaced them.
“This will not do,” said he; “we must improvise a better torch than this.”
He fumbled once more in his pockets, and presently found a sheet or two of paper on which he remembered jotting down some notes relative to matters connected with the construction of the battery. These he folded very carefully; so loosely as to burn well, yet tightly enough to burn slowly and so give them an opportunity for at least a momentary glance round them. Then he struck another match, applied it to one of the tiny torches, and raised the light aloft.
As he did so, Blanche uttered a piercing shriek, and seizing him by the arm, dragged him back against the rocky wall of the passage. Then, pointing before her, she gasped—
“Look, Lance; look!”
Lance looked in the direction toward which she pointed, and grew faint and sick as he saw that they had been standing on the very verge of a precipice. A stone, dislodged by Blanche’s hasty movement had rolled over the edge, and they now heard it bounding with a loud echoing clang down the face of the rock, down, down, down, the sound, loud at first, growing fainter and fainter, until at last a dull muffled splash told that it had reached water more than a hundred fathoms below.