In another instant all the pictures were blotted out, and his whole world was gulfed by a rush of water in which he sank to fathomless depths.
After an endless space of time he began slowly to rise, until at length, to his infinite amazement, he found himself still alive and gasping for a breath of the blessed air into which he had once more emerged.
Although his ankles were still bound, his arms were free, and, with the instinct of self-preservation strong within him, he began, awkwardly and feebly, to swim. Dazed, fettered, and weighted by clothing as he was, his utmost efforts would not have carried him more than a few feet, and then he must have sunk forever in that black flood. But the strength given him was sufficient, and ere it was exhausted his hands struck a shelf of rock upon which he finally managed to drag himself.
On the flinty platform that he thus gained he lay weakly motionless, chilled to the bone, dimly conscious that he had for a time been granted a respite from death, but without a hope that it would be much longer extended.
After a while the sense that he still lived became stronger, and with it grew the desire for life. Animated by it he sat up and made an effort to loosen the cord that still bound his ankles. It was tightly knotted, and the knot was so hardened with the water that for a long time his trembling fingers could make no impression on it. Still he persevered, and his exertions infused him with a slight warmth. Finally the knot yielded and his limbs were free, though so numbed that it was several minutes before he could stand up.
Knowing nothing of his surroundings he dared not move more than a step or two in any direction for fear of again plunging into that deadly water. Nor could he with outstretched arms touch a wall on any side.
"Oh, for a light!" he groaned, "that I might at least see what my tomb looks like!"
Then he remembered that he actually did possess both matches and a candle, it having been impressed upon him by old Mark Trefethen that a miner should never be without those necessities. So he had always carried them in a pocket of his canvas mining-suit. But were they not rendered useless by the double wetting he had received that day?
With trembling eagerness he drew forth the silver match-safe that Tom Trefethen had insisted on presenting to him in token of his gratitude. It had been called water-tight. Would it prove so in this time of his greatest need? A match was withdrawn, and he struck it against a roughened side of the safe. There was a splutter of sparks, but no flame. That, however, was more than he had dared hope for, and, sitting down, that he might not run the chance of dropping his precious box, he rubbed it briskly in his hands until it was thoroughly dry before making another attempt.
This time there was no result, the head of the match having evidently flown off. With breathless anxiety he tried a third, and was thrilled with joy by having it burst into flame. Tom Trefethen's gift had redeemed its promise.