“Oh, I am so frightened, Alice,” cried Mabel, drawing back her hands. “And the room is so cold! It seems so unholy! It feels like witchcraft! And all his old tools looking at us!”
“Witch or wizard, or necromancer, I am not going to leave off now,” answered Alice the resolute. “You may run away, if you like. But I mean to get to the bottom of this, if I—if I can, at least.”
She was going to say, “if I die for it.” But she had been so close to Death quite lately, that she feared to take his name in vain.
“How slowly it moves! How it does resist!” cried Mabel, returning to the charge. “I thought I was pretty strong—well, it ought to be worth something for all this work.”
“It is fire-proof! It is lined with asbestos!” Alice answered eagerly. “Oh, there must be an enormous lot of gold.”
“There can’t be,” said Mabel; why a thousand guineas is more than you or I could carry. And you carried this easily in one hand.”
“Don’t talk so!” cried Alice; “but work away. I am desperately anxious.”
“As for me, I am positively dying of curiosity. Lend me your pocket-handkerchief, dear. I am cutting my hands to pieces.”
“Here it comes, I do believe. Well, what an extraordinary thing!”
The dome of the cone had yielded sulkily to the vigour and perseverance of two good young ladies. It had slidden horizontally, the key of course sliding with it, upon a strong rack of metal, which had been purposely made to go stiffly; and now that the cover had passed the cogs, it was lifted off quite easily. All this was the handiwork of the man, the simple-minded Eastern sage, who loved the shepherds and the sheep; and whose fine spirit would have now rejoiced to see the result of good workmanship.