'No, in the chasm. I am not a fool; why should you consider me one?'
'When we reach the place——.'
'We are almost there now. Walk cautiously. If one were to fall over it would be worse than falling into the hands of the guard. Bid them halt.'
Jack elevated both his arms, and the convoy stood still.
With precaution, observing every yard of ground in front of her, Winefred advanced.
All at once she stopped dead, looked back and said—'Hist! Here is the crack. Do not come to the edge lest it break away.'
Jack Rattenbury stepped up to her, and she showed him the mouth of the rent. He could see a black irregular stain; in the feeble light it did not show as a gulf. It might have been ink run over the turf—but ink in floods. How deep it was he could not conjecture, for it showed no depth, only level blackness.
'How far down?' he asked.
'To the very level of the beach,' she answered, 'except at the end where the tear begins, and there it is choked with earth and stone that has crumbled and tumbled in. You will not be able to carry the kegs down; the slope is steep as a spire, and is broken in places by bits of rock, and in others soft as dough. You must lower the tubs.'
'Rope!' ordered Jack, turning to the man nearest. Then, 'Some one will have to descend.'