They prepared to obey the suggestion, without waiting for the conclusion of the discourse. But moving in that chasm was indeed a fearful task. In the first place, there were possible wells, so the Parson said, though the presence of the mysterious carpet made that improbable. The first thing Mark had done when he reached bottom was to stoop and verify his friend’s amazing statement. And he found that it was just as the other had said. There was carpet, and it was a soft, fine carpet, too.
What that could mean they scarcely dared to think.
“Somebody must live here,” whispered Mark. “And they can hardly be honest people, hiding in a place like this.”
That did not tend to make the moving about any more pleasant. They caught hold of each other, though there was little comfort in that, for each found that his neighbors were trembling as much as himself. Then, step by step (and very small steps) they advanced, groping in front with their hands, and feeling the ground in front of them with their feet.
“Bless my soul!” gasped Indian. “There might be a trapdoor!”
That grewsome and ghastly suggestion caused so much terror that it stopped all further progress for a minute at least, and when finally they did go on, it was with still more frightened and thumping hearts.
They took two or three more steps ahead; and then suddenly Mark, who was a trifle in the lead, sprang back with a cry.
“What is it?” gasped the rest.
“There’s something there,” he said. “Something, I don’t know what. I touched it!”
They stood in a huddled group, straining their eyes to pierce the darkness. It was horrible to know that something was there, and not to know what. One might imagine anything.