"We shall have light enough. Fortunately, you snapped the lid of the box tightly before striking your match—an action that effectually screened the remaining two from the flame of the fire-damp."
"Two matches will not help us much."
"There you're wrong. We will take some of this brushwood inside and light a bonfire: and the sooner we make a beginning the better. It's two o'clock now. In another hour or so day will be dawning."
Inwardly groaning at the perversity of his friend, Godfrey lent a hand in collecting the materials necessary for the fire: and, not without some trepidation, carried them through the dark passage into the mortuary chamber, the atmosphere of which, as his nostrils assured him, had become considerably clarified since his previous visit.
Fearing that the two matches when kindled might expire before he could fire the twigs, which were damp with the afternoon's rain, Idris drew forth a small book, a pocket edition of Hamlet, and proceeded to detach leaf after leaf, twisting them into spirals. These he handed to Godfrey, enjoining him to keep a flame alive by kindling one from another till the twigs should have fairly caught.
"Now to strike the fateful match!" he said. "Pray heaven the Asas do not give us another pyrotechnic display!"
He cautiously struck the match. Godfrey instantly kindled one of his paper-spirals from the flame.
"No fireworks this time, you see," remarked Idris, as all remained quiet. "This is what may be called making light of Shakespeare," he added, as, taking the kindled papers one after another from Godfrey's hand, he applied them to the leaves and twigs, endeavouring to force them into a blaze.
The pale, bluish glare that sprang up made the chamber faintly visible. Idris, intent on his task of ignition saw nothing but the brushwood before him, but Godfrey could not refrain from casting a timid glance around, even at the risk of extinguishing the lighted paper in his hand.