“Not at all,” returned Jack. “You owe them to your son Harry, when he had the good sense to accept my invitation to Irvine.”
“And not to go, isn’t that it?” interrupted Harry, grasping his comrade’s hand. “No, Jack, it is to you, scarcely healed of your wounds—to you, who did not delay a day, no, nor an hour, that we owe our being found still alive in the mine!”
“Rubbish, no!” broke in the obstinate fellow. “I won’t have that said, when it’s no such thing. I hurried to find out what had become of you, Harry, that’s all. But to give everyone his due, I will add that without that unapproachable goblin—”
“Ah, there we are!” cried Ford. “A goblin!”
“A goblin, a brownie, a fairy’s child,” repeated Jack Ryan, “a cousin of the Fire-Maidens, an Urisk, whatever you like! It’s not the less certain that without it we should never have found our way into the gallery, from which you could not get out.”
“No doubt, Jack,” answered Harry. “It remains to be seen whether this being was as supernatural as you choose to believe.”
“Supernatural!” exclaimed Ryan. “But it was as supernatural as a Will-o’-the-Wisp, who may be seen skipping along with his lantern in his hand; you may try to catch him, but he escapes like a fairy, and vanishes like a shadow! Don’t be uneasy, Harry, we shall see it again some day or other!”
“Well, Jack,” said Simon Ford, “Will-o’-the-Wisp or not, we shall try to find it, and you must help us.”
“You’ll get into a scrap if you don’t take care, Mr. Ford!” responded Jack Ryan.
“We’ll see about that, Jack!”