The White Virgin. Fenn George Manville

at the edge of a gulf, down which the water plunged with a dull, hissing roar.

      “Won’t go no farther this way, I suppose, sir?” he said, rather mockingly.

      Reed made no reply, but stepped forward close to the man’s side, shaded his eyes, and peered into darkness, which he could not pierce.

      He stooped to pick up a stone and hurl it outward, and listened till it fell and splintered, and the fragments went rattling down for some distance, before the noise they made was overcome by the roar of the water.

      “Along here,” said Reed at last, and he pointed to his left.

      Sturgess hesitated for a few moments, and then began to move cautiously along the side of the vast cavern, a place apparently untouched, and very rarely, if ever, visited by man.

      At last he stopped short.

      “I don’t want to show no white feathers, Mr Reed, sir,” he said, “but our candles’ll only last a certain time, and we’ve got to get back.”

      “I have matches and three candles in my pocket,” said the young engineer quietly.

      “But I don’t know whether I can find my way back, sir, now; whilst if we go any farther, I’m sure I can’t.”

      “I have it all perfectly impressed on my brain,” said Reed quietly. “But I do not want to go much farther. I only want to examine the rock here and there. Take care, man: mind!”

      He darted out his right hand, caught the miner by the coat and saved him from plunging down into the black abyss beneath them, for in taking a step forward, Sturgess had trodden on a piece of loose shell marble, which gave way and one foot went down.

      He dropped the lanthorn, though, and it went below, to hang in a crevice upon its side, threatening to go out; but as soon as Sturgess had a little recovered himself and sat down to start wiping his forehead, Reed began to descend.

      “Don’t do that, sir,” cried Sturgess hoarsely. “Light your candle.”

      “No; I can get the lanthorn,” said Reed quietly; and he went on descending cautiously till, getting well hold of the nearest projecting fragment with his left hand, he bent down lower and lower to try and reach the handle of their lamp.

      But, try how he would, it was always a few inches beyond his reach; and at last, with the candle within guttering, flaring, and blackening the glass, threatening to crack it and then go out, Reed drew himself up again to try and get a fresh footing upon the side of the chasm.

      He looked up to see, faintly, a white face gazing down at him, and, as their eyes met, the man said hoarsely —

      “Don’t do that, sir. Come up and light a fresh bit. If you slip, I shall be all in darkness. It’s horrid to have to come to one’s end in a place like this.”

      “Sympathy for himself, and not for me,” thought Reed. “I have the lights.”

      Just at that moment he noted something just level with where he stood, where there was a plain demarcation between two kinds of stone; and, whereas on the left all was shelly fossil, on his right it was limestone; and again, with a sparkling and gem-like vein of quartz full of great crystals of galena.

      “Do you hear, sir? Come back here, and let’s get out of this,” cried Sturgess again. “It arn’t fair to a man to bring him into such a hole. This isn’t a mine.”

      “My good fellow,” said Reed quietly, “you are alarming yourself about nothing. I can get the lanthorn directly, and it is a pity to leave it here.”

      The miner uttered a hoarse sigh which was almost a groan, and crouched on the rugged shelf, looking down with starting eyes, as Reed glanced quickly once more at the face of the rock, and then, taking fast hold of another projection, he tried again to get a little lower, and had looked beyond the lanthorn, to see that he was on a very rapid slope, going down to unknown depths for aught that he could tell; for all below the dim light was black – a terrible void, out of which came the splash and roar of falling water.

      He could not help a shudder as his mind raised up horrors in connection with that black darkness, and the possibility of his falling and going down and down into some rushing water which was waiting to bear him away.

      But it was only a momentary nervousness. Then he smiled to himself, and thought of home and of Janet Praed – how horrified she would be if she could see him then.

      “And nothing whatever to mind but imaginary fears,” he said to himself.

      “Stop a minute, sir,” came in a hoarse whisper from above. “Give me the matches and candles, and I’ll strike another light.”

      “And then I go to perdition for aught you care,” thought Clive Reed. “No, hang me if I do.”

      He took no notice of the appeal, but lowered one foot, got a fresh hold, bent towards the lanthorn, extending his arm to the utmost, touched the handle, but it moved an inch, a stone broke from where he was standing, to go down with a rattle, and then, to the young man’s dismay, the lanthorn began to glide.

      It was all in a moment. He bent down lower and made a sudden snatch, his left hand slipped from its hold, and he was falling, but in that brief instant he grasped the lanthorn. The next it was beneath him, the light was out, and with a rush of dislodged stones he felt himself rushing rapidly down the cavern side with the water roaring loudly in his ears, but pierced by a cry that robbed him of all power as thoroughly | as if he had received a paralytic stroke.

      Chapter Six.

      The Lead of Lead

      “Ahoy there! Sturgess! Are you hurt?”

      “Hurt, sir? No.”

      “Then don’t make that noise, man. Any one would think you were a child, frightened at the dark.”

      “But where are you, sir?”

      “Down here, of course.”

      “I thought you were killed, sir, and – and – ”

      “That you were left alone in the dark, man. There, wait till I get a light.”

      Michael Sturgess muttered an oath, and leaned forward over the sharp slope, as he wiped the great drops of fear-born perspiration from his face. “Child, am I?” he muttered. “I’ll let him see. Enough to scare anybody – place like this.”

      He gazed downward as Reed, after a little manipulation of the damaged lanthorn, struck a light, which gleamed out some sixty feet below. Then the candle was relit, giving the man a faint glimpse of the horrible-looking slope, and lastly Reed began to climb up, slowly talking the while. “Of course it’s an ugly-looking place,” he said; “these underground limestone caverns always are, but it’s of no use to lose your nerve at the first emergency.”

      There was a good-humoured contempt in the young engineer’s tones which enraged the big strong man above him as he stood looking down at the light.

      “Like to scare him!” he muttered, as Reed climbed higher, rested when about half-way up, and raised the lanthorn above his head to gaze at the rock face before him, as if seeking for a good hand or foot hold.

      “I daresay this place goes down for far enough,” he said, as he continued his climb, and kept on talking as if to take his companion’s attention; “it would be interesting to try and plumb the depth.”

      “Shall I take the lanthorn?” said Sturgess, a minute or two later.

      “No, thanks, I’ll carry it,” replied Reed, as he made his way to where Sturgess stood. “I shall want to look at the walls here and there as we go back. There! might have been worse. A bit scratched, and my clothes a little torn. I will go back to the regular old workings now. There has evidently never been anything done here.”

      “No, sir; what I told you. No good here.”

      “No good!” said Reed, with a laugh. “I think there’s a great deal of good.”

      “What, workable stuff, sir?” said the man sharply. “Perhaps;