So the reconciled friends took their siesta on the top of the mysterious mountain, and, in doing so, oddly enough fell asleep.
Story 15.
Chapter Two.
The Immortals.
When they woke, the sun was still shining; but it had got round to the side of them which, when they dropped off, had been wrapped in cloud, while the mist had taken possession of the valley and hillside by which they had ascended.
The transformation scene was so complete that had they not seen Joe’s paper on the ground beside them, and recognised the bank of heather against which they reclined, they would have found it difficult to say exactly where they were.
To all appearances they were at the end of the world. The great cauldron gaped below them, apparently perpendicular on every side, enclosing in its depths the black lake, on whose still surface the rays of the sun gleamed weirdly and gloomily.
Not a sound was to be heard except a distant sullen rumble, which might have been thunder, or earthquake, or the six-o’clock train going back to Llandudno. Above them, as the clouds drifted past, they could see, as they lay on their backs, occasional glimpses of blue, and sometimes in the far distance a shining peak bathed in crimson light.
All this was natural enough; and, were it not that they had their return tickets in their pockets, Magnus minor and Joe would probably have been content to enjoy the show for an hour or so.
What did concern them, when they got to their feet, was to observe that, so far from being as they supposed, and could have testified on solemn affidavit, on the top of the mountain, the ground now appeared to rise on every side except that occupied by the cauldron.