I felt about for more relics, going hither and thither in the earnestness of quest, but found no more.
I had now been in this dungeon upward of an hour, and felt inclined to return as speedily as possible to the daylight. I searched for the place where I had got up from the narrow passage. I groped this way and that; and this had to be done with precaution, for who could tell where I might not step off suddenly and fall to some great depth? Yet I could find nothing that promised to lead me to the passage by which I had come.
Where was I? What was I to do? Remaining still would never do; to keep moving, moving, was the only course to pursue. I had, I knew not how, emerged from that low-roofed recess, and stood now in what seemed to be a vast chamber where there were neither sides nor roof. I hallooed that I might hear the echo from its walls, and perhaps in that way find them. I was startled, almost frightened, at the solemn mocking sounds that reverberated through the lonely cavern. I grew fearful of my own voice.
At last I sank down exhausted, and slept. I awoke, and groped about once more. This occurred again and again. How often I lay down to sleep I cannot tell. Sometimes I thought of the skeleton I had stumbled over, and wondered if my bones, too, would here find their resting-place. Then I thought of the grand, lofty mountain overhead. What a stupendous monument! But what would I not have given for deliverance from it!
THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT BY OUR JAPANESE ARTIST