“We’d never have found it in a thousand years,” he declared. “Besides, why should we ever hunt for the bed of a lake on the top of an island?”
“Mr. Walker would have evolved a reason for it in the course of time,” Margaret said, in a voice charged with profound respect for the sage.
“Yes, I believe Billy would have worked it out—in time,” Saxe agreed. “But,” he added, with a smile, “perhaps not in time—according to the terms of the will.”
“There’s another entrance, on one of the ridges near the shore,” Margaret explained. “Cousin Horace stumbled on that first. He showed it to me. But he found this way out, and it is better. He said the other was very hard climbing.”
The two had gone forward, and now they were close to the cliff, beside the bushes. Here, Margaret thrust aside the branches, and, advancing a step behind them, showed the entrance to the cave, which was a slit less than a yard in width at the base, narrowing to the apex a rod above. It yawned blackly. Saxe was reminded that he had taken no thought as to the need of candles or lantern. He began the confession of his carelessness, but the girl stopped him.
“I brought a pocket-torch,” she said. “See!” As she spoke, she drew the tube from a pocket of her sweater, pressed the spring, and lighted up the entrance to the cave.
“What a girl you are!” Saxe cried. There was that in his voice which set Margaret a-tremble.
“Come!” she commanded hastily. With the word, she walked forward into the cavern. Behind her in the narrow passage, Saxe followed obediently.