"Got plenty of matches, Hardock?" said Gwyn, eagerly.

"Oh yes, sir, two tin boxes full."

"We have each a supply of wax matches, too, my boy," said the Colonel. "All ready, I think," he continued, turning to the Major, who nodded, and then said to him in a low tone of voice, overheard by the boys in addition to him for whom it was addressed,—

"If anybody had told me six months ago that I should do this, I should have called him mad."

"Never mind, old fellow," said the Colonel, laughingly; "better than vegetating as we were, and doing nothing. It sets my old blood dancing in my veins again to have something like an adventure. Well," he said aloud, "we may as well make a start. By the way, have you any lunch to take down?"

"Oh, yes," said the Major, tapping a sandwich-box in his coat pocket; "too old a campaigner to forget my rations."

"Right," said the Colonel, tapping his own breast. "Well, boys, if we get lost and don't come up again by some time next week, you will have to organise a search-party, and come down and find us."

"Better let us come with you, father, to take care of you both."

The Colonel laughed, and shook his head.

"Now, Major," he cried, "forward!"

The Major stepped into the great wooden bucket, the Colonel followed, and then Sam Hardock took his place beside them.

"All ready!" cried the Colonel. "Now, Hardock, give the word."

The mining captain obeyed, there was a sharp, clicking noise, as the engineer touched the brake, and the wheel overhead began to revolve; then the skep dropped quickly and silently down through the square hole in the rough plank floor formed over the great open shaft, the pump being now still. Then, all at once, as the boys caught at the stout railing about the opening and looked down, the lanthorns taken began to glow softly and grew brighter for a time; then the light decreased, growing more and more feeble till it was almost invisible, and Gwyn drew a deep breath and looked up at the revolving wheel.

"Seems precious venturesome, doesn't it?" observed Joe.

"Not half so bad as going down with a rope round you, and feeling it coming undone," said Gwyn.

"No, but you did have water to fall into," said Joe. "If the wire rope breaks, they'll fall on the stone bottom and be smashed."

"Ah, yes," said Dinass, in solemn tones. "Be a sad business that."

"Will you be quiet, Tom Dinass!" cried Gwyn, irritably. "You're always croaking about the mine."

"Nay, sir, not me," replied the man. "It were Mr Joe here as begun talking about the rope breaking and their coming down squelch."

"Well, don't let anybody talk about such things," said Gwyn, who spoke as if he had been running hard. "Nearly down now, aren't they?"

"About half, sir," said the engineer.

"Oh, I don't want to talk," said Dinass; "only one can't help thinking it's queer work for two gents to do. It's a job for chaps like me. Howsoever, I hope they won't come to no harm."

Grip growled at something, as if, in fact, he were resenting the man's words, but it might have only been that he was being troubled by the flea which he had several times that morning tried to scratch out of his thick coat.

"You'd better not let them come to harm. I say, mind they don't come down bang at the bottom," said Gwyn, after what seemed to be a long time.

"He'll see to that, sir," said the man, nodding his head in the direction of the engineer.

"Yes, young gentlemen, that's all right. I've got the depth to an inch, and they'll come down as if on to a spring."

"I say, how deep it seems," said Joe, who also was rather breathless.

"Deep, sir!" said Dinass, with a laugh; "you don't call this deep? Why, it's nothing to some of the pits out Saint Just way—is it, mate?"

"Nothing at all," said the engineer. "This is a baby."

"Rather an old baby," said Gwyn, smiling. "Why, this must be the oldest mine in Cornwall."

"Dessay it is, sir," said the man; and he checked the wheel as he spoke, just as an empty skep of the same size as that which had descended made its appearance and came to a standstill.

"Right!" came up from below, in a hollow whisper, and Gwyn drew a deep breath.

"You two ought to have gone with 'em," said Dinass, "and had a look round."

"Oh, don't bother," cried Gwyn, petulantly. "I suppose we shall have our turn."

"No offence meant, sir," said the man. "Better let me go down with you. Dessay I can show you a lot about the mine."

"I suppose it will be all one long passage from the bottom," said Joe.

"Not it, sir," said Dinass, holding out his bare arm, and spreading his fingers. "It'll go like that. Lode runs along for a bit like my wrist, and then spreads out like my fingers here, or more like the root of a tree, and they pick along there to get the stuff where it runs richest. But you'll see. We don't know yet; but, judging from the water pumped out, this mine must wander a very long way. There's no knowing how far."

"I say, how long will they stop down?" said Joe.

"Oh, I don't know," replied Gwyn. "Hours, I daresay."

"Plenty of time for you young gents to take a boat and have half-a-day with the bass. There's been lots jumping out of the water against Ydoll Point. I should say they'd be well on the feed."

"That's likely!" said Gwyn. "You don't suppose we shall leave here till they come up?"

"Oh, I didn't know, sir. Makes no difference to me; only it'll be rather dull waiting."

Grip uttered a low, uneasy growl again, and looked up at his master, and then went to the opening and peeped down.

"Like us to send him down in the skep, sir?" said Dinass, grinning. "Better not, p'r'aps, as he might lose his way."

"No fear of Grip losing his way—eh, Joe?"

Joe shook his head.

"He'd find his way back from anywhere if he had walked over the ground. Wouldn't you, Grip?"

The dog gave a sharp bark as he turned his head, and then looked down again, whining and uneasy.

"What's the matter, old boy?" said Gwyn. "It's all right, old man, they've gone down. Will you go with me?"

The dog uttered a volley of barks, then turned to Dinass and growled.

"Quiet, sir!" cried Gwyn. "Look here, Tom Dinass, you must tease him, or he wouldn't be so disagreeable to you."

"Me? Me tease him, sir! Not me."

"Well, take my advice," said Gwyn, "don't. He's a splendid dog to his friends; so you make good friends with him as soon as you can."



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

ANXIOUS TIMES.

An hour glided by and not a sound was heard from below. Then another hour, and the boys began to grow impatient.

"Why, the place must be very big," said Gwyn, after straining over the rail and looking down for some time. "Shall I shout?"

"Couldn't do no harm," said Dinass; and Gwyn hailed several times, and then gave place to Joe, who was beginning to look uncomfortable.

But the second series of shouting produced nothing but a dull smothered echo, and the lad spoke quite hoarsely when he turned to Gwyn, who was looking angrily at Dinass and the engineer, both of whom sat coolly enough close to the skep shaft, waiting the signal to lift.

"Think there's anything wrong?" said Joe in a whisper to the engineer.

"Oh, no, the place is big. See what a while it took to pump it out."

"But there may be deep holes here and there, and it would be horrible if they had slipped down one."

"They wouldn't all slip down a hole. If one did, the others would come for help. No; they're thoroughly exploring the place and chipping off specimens. I daresay they'll bring up quite a load."

"I hope so," said Joe, solemnly, and Gwyn, who felt very uncomfortable, tried to cheer him up, but in a low voice, so that the others should not hear.

"I say, how strange it is that if anyone doesn't come back when you expect him you are sure to think he has met with an accident."

"I don't, if they've only gone out," said Joe, with a shiver. "This isn't like that. This place seems to me now quite awful."

"Pooh! I say, I believe you'd go down and look for them if you might."

"Yes," said Joe, quickly; "I shouldn't like to, but I would."

"I wonder what it's like down below—all long, narrow passages roughly-cut through the rock," said Gwyn; "they wouldn't cut so carefully as they do now."

"No, as they say, the old people would only cut where the lode of ore ran, of course. But I hope there's nothing wrong."

"Of course you do; so do I. What's the good of fidgeting."

Joe did not say what was the good of fidgeting, but he fidgeted all the same; and Gwyn noted, as the time went on, that his companion looked quite hollow-cheeked, while at the same time he felt a peculiar sinking sensation that was very much like dread; and at last, as over two hours and a-half had passed, he began to feel that something ought to be done.

Joe not only felt, but said so, and frowned angrily as he spoke.

"It's too bad," he said; "those two sit there as coolly and contentedly as if nothing could be the matter. I say, Dinass," he cried aloud, "do you think there is anything wrong?"

"No, sir," said the man, coolly, "I don't. They're only having a good long prowl. You'll hear 'em shout to be taken up directly."

But the boys did not feel satisfied, and hung about the opening, growing more and more uneasy, though Gwyn kept the best face on the matter.

"Don't you fidget," he said, "father was only joking, of course, about time; but he knew they'd be down a long while, and he meant to be. They're all right."

"They're not all right," said Joe, quickly. "They can't be, or we should have heard from them. They've either fallen down some hole, or the roof has come down and crushed them, or they've lost their way in some wild out-of-the-way part of the mine. Let's call for volunteers, and go down and search for them."

"Hush! Be quiet! Don't be hysterical," whispered Gwyn; "there's no need to call for volunteers. I feel sure I know what it means; this old mine must be very big, perhaps winds about for miles in all directions; and they're only having a good long hunt now they are down. They'd laugh at us if we were to send volunteers."

"Send volunteers down!" said Joe.

"Well, lead them then. Wait a bit and see."

"They've been overcome by choke-damp."

"Nonsense! that's only in coal pits. Don't let these two see what a fright we're in."

"Don't see that you're in any fright," said Joe, bitterly. "You take it coolly enough."

"Outside," said Gwyn; "perhaps I feel as much as you do, only I don't show it. Joe, I wouldn't have my mother know about this for all the world—it would frighten her to death; and if we get talking about volunteers going down, someone is sure to go and tell her that we're in trouble, and she'll come on."

"But we must do something; they may be dying for want of help."

"Don't," whispered Gwyn, angrily; "you're as bad as a girl; try and think about how they are situated. Perhaps there are miles of passages below there, and they would be hours wandering about. Of course they go slowly."

"Couldn't be miles of passages," said Joe, piteously.

"Think the mine's very big, Dinass?" said Gwyn, quietly.

"Oh, yes, sir, bigger than I thought for."

"Some mines are very far to the end, aren't they?"

"Miles," said the man calmly, and Gwyn gave his companion a nudge. "I've been in some of 'em myself. Why, I know of one long 'un—an adit as goes from mine to mine to get rid of the pumpings—and it's somewhere about thirty miles."

"Hear that, Joe?" whispered Gwyn.

"Yes, I hear," said the lad, breathlessly.

"I don't say there's anything of the kind here, of course; but I know one place where there's more than sixty miles o' workings, and it would take some time to go all over that, wouldn't it?"

The boys were silent, and the engineer went on.

"Oh yes, that's right enough," he said; "and to my mind it's rather bad for any folk strange to go down a mine they know nothing about."

Joe started violently.

"You see it's all noo to 'em," continued the engineer, "and they may wander away into places they know nothing about, and never find their way out again."

"Gwyn!" groaned Joe.

"Hush! Be quiet!" was whispered back.

"I have heard of such things."

"But that was in deserted mines," said Gwyn, sharply.

"Yes, I believe it was in deserted mines, now you say so, sir."

"Of course it was, Joe, where nobody knew that they had gone down."

"How could they have gone down without anyone knowing?" cried Joe. "There must have been someone to let them down."

"Nay, they might have been venturesome and gone down by ladders, same as the old ones used to be from sollar to sollar."

"What's a sollar?" said Gwyn, more for the sake of saying something than from a desire to know.

"What you calls platforms or floors," said Dinass. "Well, I will say one thing; I do hope the guv'nors haven't lost their way."

"Of course, mate," said the engineer; "so do I; but if I was you young gents, I should begin to feel a little uncomfortable about them below."

"We are horribly," cried Joe, wildly.

"Exactly so, sir, for you see it must be getting on for four hours since they started."

"Nay, not so much as that," cried Dinass.

"I didn't say it was, mate—I only said it was getting on for four hours. There mayn't be nothing wrong, but there may be; and there wouldn't be no harm in doing something now. What do you say to getting some of the lads to go? They was talking about it when I went outside, as I told mate Dinass here—didn't I, my son?"

"Ay, you did—What do you say, Mr Gwyn?"

"It is time to act," cried Joe, excitedly.

"Yes," said Gwyn, as he drew a deep breath, "we must do something. Get lanthorns and candles."

"Shall I call to some of the men, sir," said Dinass, "and hear what they say?"

The answer came from the doorway, where three or four heads appeared, and one of the owners said:

"I say, mates, aren't it time we heerd something about them as is gone down?"

"Yes," said Gwyn, firmly; "we're going down to see. Will you come with me, Joe?"

The boy's lips parted, though no words came; but he put out his hand and gripped his companion's fast.

"Get lights, some of you, quick!" cried Gwyn; and a murmur was heard outside, a murmur that increased till it was a loud cheer; and then, distinctly from outside, a voice was heard to say,—

"Hear that, mates? The young masters are going down."

And as if to endorse this, Grip, who had suddenly grown excited, burst into a loud bark.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

TRUE TO THE CORE.

"Do you mean it, Master Gwyn?" said Dinass, sharply.

"Mean it? Of course. You'll come with us and help."

The man's mouth opened widely, and he stared for a few moments before he spoke,—

"Help to get lanthorns and candles, sir? Yes, of course."

"Come down with us," said Gwyn, sharply. "You can't let us go alone."

"Not let you go alone, sir," growled the man, surlily. "Well, you see—"

"Yes, we see," cried Gwyn, "you have been used to mines, we have not."

"Much used to this one as I am, sir. I don't know no more about it than you do."

"'Course you don't, matey," said the engineer, "but you can't say you won't go with 'em to look for the guv'nors and our mate."

"Can't I? Yes, I can," cried Dinass, fiercely; "easy; I won't go— there!"

"Yah!" came in a fierce growl from the men outside.

"Ah, but you don't mean it," cried the engineer.

"Yes, I do," cried Dinass. "Don't you be so precious handy sending people where they don't want to go. Why don't you go yourself?"

"How can I go?" said the engineer, sharply. "My dooty's here. Can you manage the skep and rope?"

"How do I know till I try?" growled Dinass.

"Try? Why, you'd be doing some mischief. I've no right to leave my work while anyone's down, and I won't leave it; but I'd go if I was free."

"Tom Dinass will go," said Joe. "You can't leave us in the lurch like this."

"'Course not: it's his gammon," cried a man at the opening into the shed-like place. "You'll go, mate."

"Ay, he'll go," rose in chorus.

"No, he won't," said Dinass, angrily. "I get five-and-twenty shilling a week for working here, not for going to chuck away my life."

"Gahn!" shouted a man. "Your life aren't worth more nor no one else's. Who are you?"

"Never you mind who I am," growled Dinass, "I aren't going to chuck away my life, and so I tell you."

"Who wants you to chuck away your life? Go on down, like a man," said the engineer.

"You go yourself; I'll take care of the engines," cried Dinass.

"That will do," said Gwyn, quietly. "Let us have candles, please, quick."

"Oh, you're not going down alone, young gen'lemen," said the man at the doorway who had spoken the most. "Some on us'll go with you if he won't, but the guv'nors made him second like to Master Hardock, and he ought to go, and he will, too, or we'll make him."

"Oh, will you?" cried Dinass, fiercely; "and how will you make me?"

"Why, if you don't go down like a man along with the young masters, we'll tie you neck and crop, and stuff you in the skep, and two more of us'll come, too, and make you go first. What do you say to that?"

"Say you daren't," cried Dinass.

"What do you say, lads?" cried the man.

"Oh, we'll make him go," came in chorus.

By this time, as Dinass stood there angry and defiant, the engineer had produced a candle-box and lit a couple of lanthorns, when Gwyn and Joe each took one, and stepped into the empty skep, followed by Grip, who curled up by their feet.

"Can't go like that, young gents. Them caps won't do. Here, come out. Who'll lend young masters hats?"

A couple of the strong leathern hats were eagerly offered, but only one would fit, and a fresh selection had to be made.

"Better have flannel jackets, sir," said the engineer to Gwyn.

"No, no, we can't wait for anything else. Come, Joe. Now let us down."

He raised the iron rail which protected the hole, and again stepped into the skep, followed by Joe, lanthorn in hand, and with the candle-box slung from his shoulder.

"Now, Tom Dinass," cried the engineer, "I'm with you."

"Nay, I don't go this time," was the surly reply, as Dinass looked sharply round at the men who had crowded into the shed, and in response to a meaning nod from the engineer began to edge nearer to him.

"Are you quite ready, Joe? Lower away," cried Gwyn.

"Wait a minute, sir," said the engineer, "you aren't quite ready. Now, then, Dinass, be a man."

"Oh, I'm man enough," said the miner, taking out his pipe and tobacco, "but I don't go down this time, I tell you."

"Yes, you do," said the man who had spoken. "Ready?"

"Nay," cried Dinass, thrusting back his pipe and pouch and catching up a miner's pick, which he swung round his head; "keep back, you cowards. You're afraid to go yourselves, and you want to force me. Keep off, or I'll do someone a mischief. There isn't one of you as dare tackle me like a man."

"Oh, yes, there is," cried the first speaker; "any of us would. Now, once more, will you go down with the young gentlemen?"

"Go yourself. No!"

"Oh, I'd go, but it's your job. You're made next to Master Sam Hardock, so just show that you're worth the job."

"Lower away there," cried Dinass, "and let the boys go down theirselves."

"Not me," said the engineer.

"Right," said the leader of the men. "Now, Tom Dinass, this time settles it: will you go down?"

"No!"

"Then here goes to make you."

The man dashed at Dinass, who struck at him with the pick, but the handle was cleverly caught, the tool wrested from his grasp and thrown on the floor, while, before the striker could recover himself, he was seized, there was a short struggle, and his opponent, who was a clever Cornish wrestler, gave him what is termed the cross-buttock, lifted him from the ground, and laid him heavily on his back.

The men raised a frantic cheer of delight, which jarred terribly on the two boys in their anxious state, though all the same they could not help feeling satisfied at seeing Dinass prostrated and lying helpless with the miner's foot upon his chest.

"Let him get up," said Gwyn; "we'd sooner go alone than with him; but if you'll come with us I should be glad."

"I'd come with you, sir, or any on us would—"

"Ay, ay," chorused the men.

"But we feel, as miners, that when a man's got his dooty to do, he must do it. So Master Tom Dinass here must go by fair means or foul."

"I'll go," cried Dinass. "Set o' cowards—ten or a dozen on you again' one."

"Nay, there was only one again' you with bare hands and without a pick. You go down, mate, and when you come up t'others'll see fair, and I'll show you whether I'm a coward."

"Don't I tell you I'll go?" growled Dinass. "Let me get up."

"Do you mean it? No games, or it'll be the worse for you," said the miner, sternly.

"I said I'd go with them," growled Dinass. "I aren't afraid, but I warn't engaged to do this sort of thing."

"You'll go, then?"

"Are you deaf? Yersss!" roared Dinass; and as the miner took his foot from the prostrate man's chest another moved to the doorway to guard against retreat.

But if Dinass had any intention of breaking away he did not show it. He rose to his feet, shook himself, and picking up his hat, which had been knocked off, put it on, took it off again, glanced round for one he considered suitable, snatched it from its wearer's head, put it on his own and pitched the one he had worn to the miner he had robbed, and then stepped into the skep.

"There you are," he said. "Now, then, lower away;" and as he spoke he stooped down quickly seized the dog by the collar, and swung him out of the skep.

"Don't! Don't do that," cried Gwyn. "Let the dog come."

But his words were too late; the rail was clapped down, the engineer had seized the handle; there was a clang, a sharp blow upon a gong, and it seemed to the boys that the floor they had just left had suddenly shot up to the ceiling. Then it gave place to a glow of light dotted with heads, and amidst a low murmur of voices there rose the furious barking of a dog.

Directly after, they were conscious of the singular sensation that is felt when in a swing and descending after the rise, but in a greatly intensified way. Then the glow overhead grew fainter and smaller, and the lanthorns they held seemed to burn more brightly, while a peculiar whishing, dripping noise made itself heard, telling of water oozing from some seam.

"For we always are so jolly, oh! So jolly, oh!" sang Dinass in a harsh, discordant voice. "How do you like this, youngsters?"

Neither of the boys answered, but the same thought came to them both—"that their companion was singing to make a show of his courage."

"I didn't want to fight," continued Dinass; "but I could have knocked that fellow Harry Vores into the middle of next week if I'd liked. I'd have come down, too, without any fuss if they'd asked me properly; but I'm not going to be bullied and driven, so I tell 'em."

Still neither Gwyn nor Joe spoke, but stood listening to the dripping water, and wondering at the easy way in which the skep went down past platform and beam, whose presence was only shown by the gleam of the wet wood as the lanthorns passed. And still down and down for what seemed to be an interminable length of time.

They knew that they must have passed the openings of several horizontal galleries, but they saw no signs of them, as they stood drawing their breath hard, till all at once the skep stopped, and Dinass shouted boisterously,—

"Here we are; bottom. Give's hold o' one o' them lanthorns, or we shall be in the sumph."

He snatched the lanthorn Joe carried, held it down, and stepped off the skep.

"It's all right," he said; "there's some planking here."

The two boys followed, and looked down into the black thick water of the sumph, a great tank into which the drainings of the mine ran ready for being pumped up; and now Gwyn held up his light to try and penetrate the gloom, but could only dimly trace the entrance of what appeared to be a huge, arch-roofed tunnel, and as they stepped over the rough wet granite beneath it, Dinass placed a hand to the side of his mouth and uttered a stentorian hail, which went echoing and rolling along before them, to be answered quite plainly from somewhere at a distance.

A load fell from Gwyn's breast, and he uttered a sigh of relief.

"It's all right, Joe," he said. "There they are, but some distance in. Come on."

He led the way, Joe followed, and Dinass came last with the other lanthorn; and in a few minutes the great archway contracted and grew lower and lower, till it very nearly met their heads, and the sides of the place were so near that they could in places have been touched by the extended hands.

"Hold hard a moment," said Dinass, after they had gone on a short distance; and as the boys turned to him wonderingly, he continued, "this here's the main lead of course, but it's sure to begin striking out directly right and left like the roots of a tree. What you've got to do's to keep to the main lead, and not go turning off either side. It's not very easy, because they're often as big as one another. That's what I wanted to say to you as one thing to mind. T'other's to keep a sharp look-out for ways downward to lower leads. There would be no railings left round here, 'cause the wood'll all have rotted away. I'd keep your light low down, and if you see a place like a square well don't step into it. You won't break your neck, 'cause it will be quite full of water, for the pumping hasn't reached down there, but you might be drowned, for it aren't likely I'm coming down after you."

"I'll take care," said Gwyn, with his voice sounding husky; and Joe nodded, with his eyes looking wild and dilated.

"That's all I wanted to say," said Dinass, "so on you go."

"Give another shout," said Gwyn, "and let them know we're here."

"What for?" said the man, roughly.

"You heard what I said—to let them know we're here. They answered before, but I suppose voices travel a long way."

"Sometimes," said the man, with a strange laugh.

"Shout, then; your voice is louder than ours," said Gwyn.

"What's the good o' shouting? They're miles away somewhere."

"No, no, you heard them answer."

"No I didn't," said the man, contemptuously; "that was only eckers."

"What?" cried Gwyn, with his heart seeming to stand still.

"Eckers. Hark here."

He put his hand to his mouth, and proved the truth of his words.

"Sam!"

"Sam!" very softly.

"Har!"

"Har!"

"Dock!"

"Dock!"—the echo coming some moments after the calls in a peculiar weird way.

"Sam 'Ardock!" shouted Dinass then, with a loudness and suddenness which made the boys start.

"Dock!" came back from evidently a great distance, giving such an idea of mystery and depth that the boys could hardly repress a shudder.

"Only eckers," said the man; "and as old Sam Hardock would say, 'it's a gashly great unked place,' but I think there's some tin in it. Look there and there!"

He held up the lanthorn he carried close to the roof, which sparkled with little purply-black grains running in company with a reddish bloom, as if from rouge, amongst the bright quartz of the tunnel.

"Oh, never mind the tin," cried Joe. "Pray, pray go on; we're losing time."

"Yes, make haste," said Gwyn. "We'd better keep straight along here, and stop and shout at every opening or turning."

"Yes, that will be right," said Joe. "Only do keep on. My father is so weak from his illnesses, that I'm afraid he has broken down. I ought not to have let him come."

The words seemed strangely incongruous, and made Gwyn glance at his companion; but it was the tender nurse speaking, who had so often waited upon the Major through his campaign-born illnesses, and there was no call for mirth.

Onward they went along the rugged tunnel, which wound and zigzagged in all directions, the course of the ancient miners having been governed by the track of the lode of tin; and soon after they came to where a vein had run off to their left, and been laboriously cut out with chisel, hammer, and pick.

They shouted till the echoes they raised whispered and died away in the distance; but there was nothing to induce them to stay, and they went on again, to pause directly after by an opening on their right, where they again shouted in turn till they were hoarse, and once more went on to find branch after branch running from the main trunk, if main trunk it was; but all efforts were vain, and an hour must have gone by, nearly a quarter of which, at the last, had been here and there along the rugged gallery, without encountering a branch which showed where another vein had been followed.

It was very warm, and the slippery moisture of the place produced a feeling of depression that was fast ripening into despair. At first they had talked a good deal concerning the probabilities of the exploring party coming out into the main trunk from one of the branches they had passed, but, as Gwyn said, they dared not reckon upon this, and must keep on now they were there. And at last they went trudging on almost in silence, the tramping of their feet and the quaint echoes being all that was heard, while three black shadows followed after them along the rugged floor, like three more explorers watching to see which way they went.

All at once the silence was broken by Joe, who cried in a sharp, angry way,—

"Stop! Your candle's going out."

Gwyn stopped without turning, opened the door of the lanthorn, and uttered an ejaculation.

"Quite true," he said; "burned right down. I'll put in another candle."

The box was opened, a fresh one taken out, its loose wick burned and blown off in sparks, and then it was lit and stuck in the molten grease of the socket.

"You had better have another candle in yours, Dinass," said Joe; and he watched Gwyn's actions impatiently, while the lad carefully trimmed the wick, and waited till the grease of the socket cooled enough to hold the fresh candle firm.

"Now," said Joe, "you ought to give another good shout here before we start again."

There was no reply.

"Well, did you hear what was said?" cried Gwyn, closing and fastening his lanthorn.

Still there was no answer.

"Here, Tom Dinass," cried Gwyn, raising his lanthorn, as he turned to look back; "why don't you do what you're told?"

His answer was a sudden snatch at his arm by Joe, who clung to it in a fierce way.

"What's the matter? Aren't you well? Oh, I say, you must hold up now. Here, Tom Dinass."

"Gone!" gasped Joe, in a low whisper, full of horror.

"Gone? Nonsense! he was here just now."

"No. It's ever so long since he spoke to us. Gwyn, he has gone back and left us."

"Left us? What, alone here!" faltered Gwyn, as the grey, sparkling roof seemed to revolve before his eyes.

"Yes, alone here, Gwyn! Ydoll, old chap, it's horrible. Can we ever find our way back?"



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

TO THE BITTER END.

If ever an awful silence fell upon two unfortunate beings, it was upon those lads, deep down in the strange mazes of the ancient mine. For some moments neither could speak, but each stood gazing at his companion, with the two shadows strangely mingled upon the rugged, faintly-glittering wall.

Joe was the first to speak again, for his passionately-uttered question was not answered.

"He warned us to beware of the holes and places, and he must have slipped down one."

"Not he," said Gwyn, bitterly, as he stood scowling into the darkness. "He warned us when he was making up his mind to hang back and leave us. A miserable coward!"

"You think that?"

"I'm sure of it. A sneak! A miserable hound! Oh, how could anyone who calls himself a man act like this!"

"Perhaps he is close at hand after all. Let's try," cried Joe, and he uttered a long piercing hail, again and again, but with no other result than to raise the solemn echoes, which sounded awe-inspiring, and so startling, that the lad ceased, and gazed piteously at his companion.

"Feel scared, Joe?" said Gwyn at last.

Joe nodded.

"So do I. It's very cowardly, of course, but the place is so creepy and strange."

"Yes; let's get back. We can't do any more, can we?"

Gwyn made no reply, but stood with his brows knit, staring straight before him into the darkness beyond the dim halo cast by the lanthorn.

"Why don't you speak? Say something," cried Joe, half hysterically; but, though Gwyn's lips moved, no sounds came. "Gwyn!" cried Joe again, "say something. What's the good of us two being mates if we don't try to help each other?"

"I was trying to help you," said Gwyn at last, in a strange voice he hardly knew as his own; "but I was thinking so much I couldn't speak—I couldn't get out a word."

"Well, think aloud. Keep talking, or I shall go mad."

"With fright?" said Gwyn, slowly.

"I don't know what it is, but I feel as if I can't bear it. Say something."

"Well, that's just how I feel, and I want to get over it, but I can't."

There was another pause, and then, as if in a rage with himself, Gwyn burst out,—

"We're not babies just woke up in the dark, and ready to call for our mothers to help us."

"I called for mine to help me, though you could not hear," said Joe, simply; and his words sounded so strangely impressive that Gwyn uttered a sound like a gasp.

"What is there to be afraid of?" he cried passionately. "We ought to be savagely angry, and ready to feel that we could half kill that cowardly hound for forsaking us like this. I know what you feel, Joe; that we must hurry back as fast as we can to the foot of the shaft, and shout to them to haul us out."

"But do you really think Tom Dinass has sneaked away?"

"I'm sure he has, out of spite because he was forced to come; and when we got back he would be one of the first to grin and sneer at us. I want to run back as fast as I can, but you'll stand by me, won't you?"

"Of course I will."

"I know that, old chap. Well, what did we come for?"

"You know; to try and find them."

"Yes, and I'm getting better now. I couldn't help feeling scared. We're alone here, but we won't give up. We've got to find them somehow, and we will. I sha'n't turn back, for mother's sake. How could I go and tell her I came down to try and find them, and was afraid to go on in the dark!"

"Do you mean it?" said Joe, whose face was of a ghastly white.

"Yes; and you won't turn like you did on the ladder?"

"No."

"There was something to be afraid of then, but there isn't now."

"No," said Joe, with a gasp.

"We've got a light and can avoid any pit-holes; the water has all been pumped out, and there are only the pools we passed here and there. Nothing can hurt us here, for the roof won't fall; it's too strong, cut all through the rock as it is."

"Yes, but if we go on and lose ourselves as they have done—"

"Well, we must find our way again; and if we can't we must wait till somebody comes."

"Here! Alone?"

"We sha'n't be alone, because we're together."

"But do you think anyone would come?"

"Do you think all those men would stop hanging about the mouth, knowing we're lost, and not come and help us? I don't."

"No. Englishmen wouldn't do that," said Joe, slowly. "Let's go on. I'm not so scared now, but it is very horrible and lonely. Suppose the light went out."

"Well, we'd strike a match, and start another candle."

"Ah, you've got some matches then?"

"Yes; a whole box. No, I haven't; not one."

"Ydoll!" cried Joe in a despairing voice.

"But we've got plenty of candles, and we'll take care to keep them alight. Now then, if we stand still we shall lose heart again. Ready?"

"Yes."

"Come on, then;" and, setting his teeth and holding the lanthorn well above his eyes, Gwyn led the way further into the solemn darkness of the newly dried-out mine.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

REVERSAL OF POSITION.

The afternoon had glided by, and evening was approaching fast, as the men gathered about the mouth of the mine sat and chatted over the place and its prospects. Work had been suspended for the greater part of the day, to allow the owners to make an inspection, and the men held quite a discussion meeting as to how matters would prove.

Some were of opinion that they would have perhaps a few weeks' work, and then be dismissed; but among those who took the opposite view was Harry Vores, the miner who had behaved so well that day.

"I don't think it will be so," he said. "This is a gashly old mine; and depend upon it when it was worked they didn't get half out of it. I begin to think that we shall soon find a lot; more men will be wanted; and I hope it will be so, for the pluck these two gentlemen have shown. We want a few more good mines to be going in the country, for things have been bad enough lately."

Others took his side, and as the time went on and there was no signal from the bottom of the shaft, that was discussed as well.

"Oh, they'll be all right," said Harry Vores. "The place is bigger than we thought; but we ought to have known, seeing what a sight of water was pumped out. They've only gone farther than they expected, and we shall be having them all up in a bunch directly."

He had hardly uttered these words when the gong arranged for signalling gave three tings, and the engineer responded by standing by to hoist.

Another signal was sent up, and the wheel began to revolve, the wire rope tightened, and the empty skep descended.

"Won't bring 'em all up at once, will you, mate?" said Harry Vores.

"No; two lots," said the engineer; and the men all eagerly gathered round the place to see the explorers of a mine which had not been entered probably for hundreds of years when they came up, and to learn what report they would have to give of the prospects of the place.

The rope ran over the wheel almost silently, for the work had been well done; and as they were waiting, Grip, who had passed the greater part of his time watching the place where he had seen his master disappear, grew more and more excited. He kept on bursting into loud fits of barking till the ascending skep appeared, when he bounded away among the men, barking, snarling and growling savagely, for the only occupant of the skep was Dinass.

"Hullo!" cried Vores, as the man stepped out, muddy and wet, with his cheeks reddened by the minerals which had discoloured his hands, and looking as if he had rubbed his face from time to time.

"Hullo, to you," he said sourly; and he sat down at once upon a rough bench, with the water slowly dripping from his legs and boots.

"Where are the young guv'nors? Lie down, dog!"

"Young guv'nors?" said Dinass, looking wonderingly round as he slowly took the lanthorn from where it swung from his waist by a strap.

"Yes, where are they?" cried Vores.

"How should I know?" growled Dinass. "Aren't they up here?"

"Here? No; we haven't seen them since they went down with you," cried Vores.

"More aren't I, hardly; I thought they'd come up again."

"Come up again!" cried the miner, as a low murmur arose from the men around. "You don't mean to say that you've come up and left them two poor boys in the lurch!"

"Lurch be hanged!" cried Dinass, fiercely, and now subsiding with a groin, as it he were in pain. "It's them left me in the lurch. They started a game on me; I saw 'em whispering together, but I didn't think it meant anything till we'd got some ways in, and my candle wanted a bit o' snuffing to make it burn; so I kneels down and opens the lanthorn, and it took a bit o' time, for I wetted my thumb and finger to snuff it, and the wick spluttered after, and the light went out. Course I had my box o' matches, but it took ever so long to light the damp wick. At last, though, I got it to burn, but it went out again; and I turns to them, where they was waiting for me when I see 'em last. 'Give's a fresh candle, sir,' I says, 'for this here one won't burn.' But there was no answer. So I spoke louder, never thinking they was playing me any larks, but there was no answer; and I shouted, and there was no answer; and last of all I regularly got the horrors on me, for I was all alone."

"Well?" said Vores, scornfully, "what then?"

"Oh, then I begun wandering about in the dark banks and lanes, shouting and hollering, and going half mad. It's a horrid place, and I must have gone about for miles before I found my way back to the sumph, and nearly fell into it. But haven't they come up again?"

"No," said Vores, who had stepped up and opened the lanthorn as the man went on talking. "But how was it, when your candle wouldn't light again, that it's all burnt down in the socket?"

"Oh, I did get it to light at last of all," said Dinass; "but I had to burn all my matches first, and hadn't one left for a pipe."

"But you said you went about all in the dark."

"Yes, that was afterwards, and it soon burned out."

"Soon burned out!" cried Vores, fiercely. "Look here, mates; this fellow's a stranger here, and I don't know why he should have been set over us, for he's a liar, that's what he is. He didn't want to go down, and as soon as he could he hung back, and let those two poor boys go on all by themselves."

"What!" cried Dinass, as a murmur arose; "it's you that's the liar;" and he rose scowling.

"Dessay I am," said Vores as fiercely; "but I'm a honest sort of liar, if I am, and not a coward and a sneak, am I, lads?"

"Nay, that you aren't, Harry Vores," cried another miner. "We'll all say that."

"Ay! Shame, shame!" cried the miners.

"I'll lay a halfpenny he's been waiting at the bottom of the shaft all the time, and then come up."

"Get out of the way," roared Vores, "this is men's work, not cowards'. Here, lads, come on, we must go and fetch those boys up at once."

He gave Dinass a heavy thrust with his hand as he spoke, and the man staggered back against Grip, who retaliated by seizing him by the leg of the trousers and hanging on till he was kicked away.

But this incident was hardly noticed, for the men were busily arming themselves with lanthorns and candles ready for the descent.

"Four of us'll be enough," said Vores, every man present having come forward to descend. "Perhaps Tom Dinass, Esquire, would like to go too, though. If so, we can make room for him."

There was a roar of laughter at this, and Dinass glared round at the men, as he stood holding one leg resting on the bench, as if it had been badly bitten by the dog.

"Ready?" cried Vores.

"Ay, ay," was answered.

"Come on, then, and let's get the boys up. Dessay they've found their fathers before now."

Vores stepped to the skep and laid his hand on the rail just as the last lanthorn was lit and snapped to, when there was the sharp ting on the gong again—the signal from below—and the men gave a hearty cheer.

"Give another, my lads," cried Vores; and instead of taking their places in the empty skep, the men stood round and saw it descend, while they watched the other portion of the endless wire rope beginning to ascend steadily with its burden.

"I wouldn't stand in your boots for a week's wage, my lad," said Vores, banteringly, as he looked to where Dinass stood, still resting his leg on the bench and holding it.

"You mind your own business," he growled.

"Ay, to be sure, mate; but when a brother workman's in trouble it is one's business to help him. You're in trouble now. Like a man to run and get a doctor to see to that hole the dog made in your trousers?"

There was a roar of laughter.

"Don't grin, mates," said Vores; "they're nearly a new pair, and there's a hole made in the leg. He thinks it's in his skin."

There was another roar of laughter which made Dinass look viciously round, his eyes lighting sharply on the dog, which had gone close up to the opening where the skep would rise, and kept on whining anxiously.

"Smells his master," said Vores; and the dog then uttered a sharp bark as the top of the skep appeared with the link and iron bands attached to the wire rope.

Then, to the surprise of all, Colonel Pendarve, the Major, and Sam Hardock stepped wearily out, their trousers wet, their mackintoshes and flannels discoloured, and their faces wet with perspiration.

"Here you are, then, gentlemen," said Vores; "we thought you were lost. The young gents are waiting to come up, I s'pose."

"Young gents?—waiting to come up?" cried the Colonel, who had just looked round with a disappointed air at not seeing his son waiting. "What do you mean?"

"We all got tired o' waiting, and scared at your being so long, sir; and the young gents went down with Tom Dinass to seek for you."

"What? I don't understand you," cried the Colonel, excitedly. "Dinass is here."

"Yes, sir, he come up," said Vores; "but—the young gents are down still."

"My son—my son—down that place!" cried the Colonel, while the Major uttered a groan.

"Yes, sir, and we were just going down to search for 'em when you come up."

"Horrible!" groaned the Major.

"The place is a dreadful maze," cried the Colonel; "we were lost, and have had terrible work to find our way up. You're quite exhausted, Jollivet. Stay here. Now, my lads; volunteers: who'll come down?"

"All on us, sir," said Vores, sturdily; "they've got to be found."

"Thank you," cried the Colonel, excitedly; and the look of exhaustion died out of his face. "But you, Dinass—they say you went down with them. Why are you here?"

"'Cause they give me the slip, sir. For a lark, I suppose."

"When they were in great anxiety about their fathers?" cried the Colonel, scornfully. "Do you dare to tell me such a lie as that? Explain yourself at once. Quickly, for I have no time to spare."

It was the stern officer speaking now, with his eyes flashing; and literally cowed by the Colonel's manner, and in dead silence, Dinass blundered through his narrative again, but with the addition of a little invention about the way in which his young companions had behaved.

"Bah!" roared the Colonel at last; "that will do. I see you turned poltroon and shrank back, to leave them to go on by themselves. Man, man! if you hadn't the honest British pluck in you to go, why didn't you stay up?"

"'Cause he funked it at fust, sir," said Vores; "but then, being second after Sam Hardock, we said it was his dooty, and made him go!"

"Bah! he is of no use now. Hah! You have candles ready, I see. How many will the skep take?"

"Six on us, sir," said Vores.

"Follow me, then, some of you," said the Colonel. "Hardock, you're fagged out, and had better stay."

"What! and leave them boys down there lost, sir?" cried Hardock, sharply. "Not me."

"Then head a second party; I'll go on with five."

"Right you are, sir," said Hardock. "Down with you, then; and we'll soon be after you. Will someone give me a tin o' water?"

Two men started up to supply his wants, as the Colonel and his party stepped into the skep to stand closely packed—too closely for Grip to find footing; and as the great bucket descended, the dog threw up his muzzle and uttered a dismal howl.

"Quickly as you can," shouted the Colonel, as the skep went down; but the engineer shook his head.

"Nay," he said to the remaining men present; "none o' that, my lads: slow and steady's my motter for this job. One reg'lar rate and no other."

In due time the other skep came to the surface, and Hardock, with a lump of bread in his hand and a fresh supply of candles and matches, stepped in, to be followed by five more, ready to dare anything in the search for the two lads; but once more poor Grip was left behind howling dismally, while Tom Dinass nursed his leg and glared at him with an evil eye.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

DOWN IN THE DEPTHS.

"You lead with the lanthorn, Hardock," said the Colonel, as the man and his companions stepped out of the second skep and had to wade knee-deep for a few yards from the bottom of the shaft, the road lying low beneath the high, cavernous entrance to the mine, at one side of which a tiny stream of clear water was trickling. There the bottom began to rise at the same rate as the roof grew lower; and soon they were, if not on dry land, walking over a floor of damp, slimy rock.

"Keep straight on, sir?" said the captain.

"Yes, right on. They would not have entered the side gallery, or we should have met them as we came out."

The first side gallery, a turning off to the left, was reached, and, but for the fact that the Colonel's party had strayed into that part by accident, it would have been passed unseen, as it was by the boys and Dinass, for the entrance was so like the rock on either side, and it turned off at such an acute angle, that it might have been passed a hundred times without its existence being known.

The men were very silent, but they kept on raising their lanthorns and glancing at the roof and sides as they tramped on behind the Colonel.

"There's good stuff here," whispered Vores to his nearest companion.

"Yes, I've been noticing," was the reply. "It's a fine mine, and there's ore enough to keep any number of us going without travelling far."

"Yes," said Vores. "Worked as they used to do it in the old days, when they only got out the richest stuff."

Just then Hardock stopped, and, upon the others closing up, they found themselves at an opening on the right—one which struck right back, and, like the other, almost invisible to anyone passing with a dim light.

"Shall we give a good shout here, sir?" said Hardock.

"Yes," was the reply; and the men hailed as with one voice, sending a volume of sound rolling and echoing down the passage of the main road and along its tributary.

Then all stood silent, listening to the echoes which died away in the distance, making some of the experienced miners, accustomed as they were to such underground journeys, shiver and look strange.

"Vasty place, mate," whispered Vores to Hardock, after they had all hailed again and listened vainly for a reply.

"Vasty?" said Hardock. "Ay! The gashly place is like a great net, and seems to have no end."

"Forward," said the Colonel. "No, stop. We have plenty of candles, have we not?"

"Yes, sir, heaps," was the reply.

"Light one, then, and stick it in a crevice of the rock here at the corner."

While the man was busily executing the order, the Colonel took out his pocket-book, wrote largely on a leaf, "Gone in search of you. Wait till we return," and tore it out to place it close to the candle where the light could shine on the white scrap of paper.

Then on they went again, with the experienced miners talking to one another in whispers, as with wondering eyes they took note of the value of the traces they kept on seeing in the rugged walls of the main gallery they traversed—tokens hardly heeded by the two boys in their anxiety to gain tidings of their fathers.

"It's going to be a grand place, my son," whispered Vores; "and only to think of it, for such a mine to have lain untouched ever since the time of our great-great-gaffers—great-great-great-great, ever so many great-gaffers, and nobody thinking it worth trying."

"Ay, but there must have been some reason," said the other.

"Bah! Old women's tales about goblin sprites and things that live underground. We never saw anything uglier than ourselves, though, did we, all the years we worked in mines?"

"Nay, I never did," said the man who walked beside Vores; "but still there's no knowing what may be, my lad, and it seems better to hold one's tongue when one's going along in the dark in just such a place as strange things might be living in."

Hardock stopped where another branch went off at a sharp angle, his experienced eyes accustomed to mines and dense darkness, making them plain directly; and here another shout was sent volleying down between the wet gleaming walls, to echo and vibrate in a way which sounded awful; but when the men shouted again the echoes died away into whispers, and then rose again more wildly, but only to die finally into silence.

Without waiting for an order, Hardock lit and fixed another candle against the glittering wall of the mine passage, the Colonel wrote on a slip of paper, and this too was placed where it must be seen; but the Colonel hesitated as if about to alter the wording.

"No," he said, "I dare not tell them to make for the sumph, they might lose their way. You feel sure that you can bring us back by here, Hardock?"

The man was silent for a few moments, and then he spoke in a husky voice.

"No, sir," he said, "I can't say I am. I think I can, but I thought so this morning. The place is all a puzzle of confusion, and it's so big. Next time we come down I'll have a pail of paint and a brush, and paint arrows pointing to the foot of the shaft at every turn. But I'll try my best."

"Ay, we'll all try, sir," said Harry Vores.

"Forward!" cried the Colonel, abruptly; and once more they went on till all at once, after leaving candle after candle burning, they reached a part where the main lode seemed to have suddenly broken up into half-a-dozen, each running in a different direction, and spreading widely, the two outer going off at very obtuse angles.

Here they paused, unconscious of the fact that they had passed the spot, only a couple of hundred yards back, where the boys had made their heroic resolve to go on.

"Let me see," said the Colonel, excitedly; "it was the third passage from the left that we took this morning."

Hardock raised his lanthorn and stared vacantly in his employer's face.

"No, sir, no," he cried breathlessly; "the third coming from the right."

"No, no, you are wrong. The third from the left; I counted them this morning—six of these branches. Why, Hardock, there are seven of them now."

"Yes, sir, seven, and that one running from the right-hand one makes eight. I did not see those two this morning by our one lanthorn. There are—yes—eight."

"What are we all to do? My head is growing hopelessly confused."

He gazed piteously at Hardock, who seemed to be in a like hopeless plight, suffering as they both were from exhaustion.

"I—I'm not sure, sir, now. We went in and out of so many galleries, all ending just the same, that I'm afraid I've lost count."

"Oh, Hardock! Hardock!" groaned the Colonel, "this is horrible. We must not break down, man. Try and think; oh, try and think. Remember that those two boys are lost, and they are wandering helplessly in search of us. They will go on and on into the farther recesses of this awful place, and lie down at last to die—giving their lives for ours. There, there, I am babbling like some idiot. Forward, my men; there is no time to lose. We must find them."

"Yes, sir; we must find them," cried Hardock; "which passage shall we take?"

"Stop a moment," said the Colonel, in a voice which seemed to have suddenly grown feeble; and he signed to the mining captain to light a candle and place it where they stood, while he tremblingly wrote on another leaf of his pocket-book,—

"Make for the pit-shaft."

He tore out the leaf, and the men noticed how his hand trembled; and he stood waiting for it to be taken by Hardock, who had sunk on his knees and was holding the candle sidewise, so that a little of the grease might drip into a crack where he meant to stick the candle close to the side.

Hardock groaned as he rose and took the paper, staggering as he stooped again to place it by the candle. But he recovered his steadiness again directly, and looked, to the Colonel for orders.

"Which branch, sir?" he said.

"The largest," said the Colonel in a hollow voice; "it is the most likely because it goes nearly straight. Forward then."

They obeyed in silence, and for another couple of hours they went on, finding the gallery they had taken branch and branch again and again; but though they sent shout after shout, there was no reply but those given by the echoes, and they went on again, still leaving burning candles at each division of the way.

Then all at once, as the Colonel was writing his directions on the pocket-book leaf, Vores saw the pencil drop from his hand; the book followed, and he reeled and would have fallen had not the miner caught him and lowered him gently to the rocky floor.

"I knew it, I knew it," groaned Hardock. "He was dead beat when we got back, for we've had an awful day. It's only been his spirit which has kept him up. And now I'm dead beat, too, for I had to almost carry the Major when we were nearly back. It's like killing him to rouse him to go on again. Harry Vores, you're a man who can think and help when one's in trouble. There's miles and miles of this place, and the more we go on the more tangled up it gets. Which way are we going now:— east, west, north, or south? Of course, nobody knows."

"What's that?" cried Vores, for a low deep murmur came upon their ears, and was repeated time after time. "I know; water falling a long way off. Then that's how it was so much had to be pumped out."

"Yes," said Hardock; "that's water, sure enough. I thought I heard it this morning. But look here, what shall, we do—carry the Colonel forward or go back?"

There was no reply; but the murmur, as of water falling heavily at a great distance, came once more to their ears.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE POSITION DARKENS.

"Isn't a flood coming to sweep us away, is it?" said Vores, in a low voice full of the awe he felt.

"Nay, that's no flood," said Hardock. "There'll be no flood, lads, that I can't master with my pumping gear. Now, look here, all of you; I want to try and find those boys, but we can't carry the guv'nor farther in. What do you all say?"

The men gathered round him, a weird-looking company with their lanthorns, turned to Vores as their spokesman, and the latter took off his hat and wiped his streaming brow.

"And I want to find those two poor lads," he said; "but I want to go back, for it's turrerble work searching a place that you don't know, and in which you seem to lose your way. It's just madness to go on carrying the guv'nor with us; and the captain here is dead beat, so it's nonsense to let him go on."

"Then what must we do?" said Hardock, who looked quite exhausted.

"'Vide into two parties," said Vores. "One, headed by Sam Hardock, 'll take the guv'nor back to grass; t'other party, all volunteers, 'll choose a leader and go on searching till a fresh gang comes down and brings some grub for 'em. That's all I can say. If some 'un 'll make a better plan I'd be glad to hear it and follow it out."

There was a dead silence, during which every man thought of the frank lads, who had won the hearts of those who knew them, but no one spoke.

"Well, boys," said Hardock at last, "has anyone anything to say? As for me, I don't feel like sneaking out of it; I think I'll be for leading the search-party if anyone volunteers."

"Oh, some on us'll volunteer," said one of the men. "I don't feel like going home to my supper and bed—to can't eat, and to can't sleep for thinking of those two merry lads as I've often gone out to fish with and shared their dinner with 'em. Not me. I'll volunteer."

"Same here, my lads," said Vores; "I'm with you. That's two of us. Anyone else say the word?"

"Ay!—ay!—ay!" Quite a chorus of 'ays' broke out as the miners volunteered to a man.

"Well done," cried Vores, "that's hearty; I feel just as if I'd had a good meal, and was fresh as a daisy. But we can't all stay. Sam Hardock, how many do you want to help carry the guv'nor back?"

"Three twos," said Hardock, "for I'm no use yet. I can only just carry myself."

"That's seven then, so pick your men and we'll stay, five of us, and find the lads somehow."

"I say that Harry Vores leads us," said the man who had first volunteered.

"Hear, hear!" was chorused, and a few minutes only elapsed before Hardock had chosen his party and turned to raise the Colonel, to go back.

"What's limpet-shells and sand doing down here?" said Vores, as he held a lanthorn to light the men.

"Forsils," said Hardock, glancing at a couple Vores had picked up.

"Nay, they aren't stony shells," said Vores. "I know; they used to eat 'em, and they're some the old chaps as did the mining brought down for dinner."

"Ready?" said Hardock.

"Ay, ay," cried the men, who had made what children call a dandy chair with their hands, and supported the Colonel, whose arms were placed about their necks.

"Then as he says, and I wish I could hear him say it now, 'Forward!'"

The men started, and Hardock turned to Vores.

"Seems like acting Tom Dinassy, my lad," he said bitterly. "I don't feel as if I could go."

"Do you want to get up a row?" said Vores, sourly. "Be off and look after the guv'nor; don't stop putting us chaps out of heart and making us think you jealous of me doing your work."

Hardock held out his hand to his fellow-workman.

"Thank ye, my lad," he said. "Go on, then, and take care. I've kept just enough candle to last us to the shaft foot; don't go farther than you can find your way out."

"We're going to find those two boys," said Vores through his set teeth. "By-and-by, if we don't come back, you send a fresh shift, and let 'em bring us some prog and some blankets; but I'm hoping you'll find them up at grass when you get there. Now off you go, and so do we."

They parted without another word, and the next minute the dim light of the lanthorns borne by the men were dying away in two directions—the party bearing the Colonel progressing slowly till he recovered himself somewhat and ordered them to stop.

"Nay, sir, there's no need," said Hardock; "we keep on taking you in three shifts, and can go on for long enough."

"Thank you, my lads, thank you," said the Colonel; "but I am better now. Anxiety and fatigue were too much for me. I'm stronger, and can walk."

"Nay, sir, you can better ride."

"If I am overdone again I will ask you to carry me," said the Colonel. "I am not a wounded man, my lads; only at the heart," he added bitterly to himself. "How am I to face his mother if he is not found?"

They set him down, and he walked on slowly for a few hundred yards; but after that one of the men saw him display a disposition to rest, and in his rough way offered his arm.

"May help you a bit, sir, like a walking stick," said the man, with a smile.

"Thank you, my lad. God bless you for your kindness," said the Colonel as he took the man's arm; and they went on again for some time till far ahead there was the faint gleam of a light reflected from the wet granite rock, and the Colonel uttered a cry—

"Ah! Quick! quick! My poor boys! At last! at last!"

He hastened his steps, and the men exchanged glances and then looked at Hardock, expecting him to speak.

But Hardock felt choking, and remained silent as they went on, till, turning about an angle in the zigzagging gallery, they came suddenly upon a nearly burned-out candle stuck against the wall, and beneath it, plainly to be seen, one of the leaves of the Colonel's pocket-book.

It was some moments before the old officer spoke, for the finding of the light confused him.

"Why, what's this?" he said, in an agitated voice; "you have taken some turning by mistake, and worked round to the way we came. Then very likely my poor boys have done the same, and found their way out by now."

No one spoke.

"Don't you think so, my lads?"

Still no one answered; and now he began to grasp the truth.

"Why, what's this?" he cried angrily. "Surely you men have not dared— have not been such cowards—as to turn back! Halt!"

The last word was uttered in so commanding a tone of voice that the little party stopped as one man.

"Hardock! Explain yourself, sir. Did you dare to change the arrangements during my temporary indisposition?"

"Beg your pardon, sir, you were completely beat out, and we felt that we must carry you back to the shaft."

"What insolence!" roared the Colonel. "Right about face. Forward once more. But," he added bitterly, "if any man among you is too cowardly to help me, he can go back."

He turned and strode off into the darkness, and Hardock followed just in time to catch him as he reeled and snatched at the side of the gallery to save himself from falling.

"You can't do it, sir, you can't do it," said Hardock, with his voice full of the rough sympathy he felt. "We did it all for the best. We'd have carried you farther in, but it seemed like so much madness, and so we decided. Part's gone on with Harry Vores, and we're going to send in another shift as soon as we get back."

The Colonel looked at him despairingly, for he knew that the man's words were true, and that it would be impossible to go on.

"We did what we thought were right, sir," continued Hardock; "and it's quite likely that the young gents have got safely back by now."

The Colonel made no reply, but suffered himself to be led back to where the men were waiting, and then, growing more helpless minute by minute, he was conducted, after a long and toilsome task, which included several pauses to rest, to the foot of the shaft.

The water had increased till it was nearly knee-deep when they waded to where the skep was waiting, and the Colonel was half fainting from exhaustion; but the feeling that the boys might be safely back revived him somewhat, and he strove hard to maintain his composure as they all stepped in, the signal was given, and they began to rise. But he was hanging heavily upon the arm of one of the men before the mouth of the shaft was reached, and he looked dazed and confused, feeling as if in a dream, when the engineer cried,—

"Well, found 'em?"

"Then they've not come back?" said Hardock.

The Colonel heard no more, but just as his senses left him he was conscious of a trembling hand being thrust into his, and a voice saying,—

"Our poor lads, Pendarve; can nothing more be done?"

Something more could be done, for the work-people about the place— carpenters, smiths and miners—volunteered freely enough; and in the course of the night two more gangs went down, and Vores and his party gave them such advice as they could, after returning utterly wearied out; but it became more and more evident that the lads had either fallen down some smaller shaft, as yet undiscovered, in one of the side drifts of the mine, or wandered right away—how far none could tell until the place had been thoroughly explored.

And at this time anxious watchers in the shed over the mouth of the mine had been recruited by the coming of one who said little, her pale, drawn face telling its own tale of her sufferings as she sat there, ready to start at every sound, and spring up excitedly whenever the signal was given for the skep to be raised.

But there was no news, and she always shrank back again, to seat herself in a corner of the shed, as if desirous of being alone, and to avoid listening to the words of comfort others were eager to utter.

"Not a word, Jollivet, not a word," whispered the Colonel once during the horrors of that long-drawn night. "She has not spoken, but her eyes are so full of reproach, and they seem to keep on asking me why I could not be content without plunging into all the excitement and trouble connected with this mine."

The Major groaned.

"Don't you look at me like that," said the Colonel, appealingly. "I am doing everything I can; and as soon as I can stir, I will head a party to go right on as far as the mine extends."



CHAPTER THIRTY.

IN DARKNESS.

Gwyn Pendarve opened his eyes, feeling sore and in grievous pain. A sharp point seemed to be running into his side, and he was hurting his neck, while one shoulder felt as if it had become set, so that, though it ached terribly, he could not move.

He did not know how it was or why it was, for all was confused and strange; and he lay trying to puzzle out clearly why Caer Point light should be revolving so quickly, now flashing up brightly, and now sinking again till all was nearly dark.

It seemed very strange, for he had often looked out to sea on dark nights, over to where the great lighthouse stood up on the Jagger Rock ten miles away, seeing the light increase till it seemed like a comet, whose long, well-defined tail slowly swept round over the sea till it was hidden by the back of the lanthorn, and he waited till it flashed out again; but it had never given him pains in the body before, neither could he recall that it smelt so nasty, just like burnt mutton-chops.

That was the strangest part of it, for he remembered when the fishermen sailed over there with them so that they could have some conger fishing off the rocks, the light keepers took them round, and among other things showed them the store-room in the lower part of the building, where the great drums of crystal oil for trimming the lamps were lifted into the tank. Yes, of course they burned paraffin oil in the great optical lanthorn; but though it was tremendously hot there, when the light was in full play, there was scarcely any odour, while now it smelt of burnt mutton fat.

Gwyn could not make it out. There, in the far distance, was the light, now flashing out brightly, now dying; out into darkness, smelling horribly, making him very hot, and giving him all those aching pains from which he was suffering.

There was another problem, too, that he had to solve; why was it that a lighthouse lanthorn ten miles away on a dark night should make him so hot that the perspiration stood out all over his face, and the collar of his shirt was soaked?

Why was it?—why was it? He puzzled and puzzled in a muddled way, but seemed to get no nearer the solution. There was the light still coming and going and smelling badly, and making him so hot that he felt as if he could not breathe.

Then the solution came like a flash, which lit up his mind just as all was black darkness; and in spite of the agony he felt as soon as he moved, he started up into a sitting posture, and then made for the light.

For he knew now that it was not the lighthouse lanthorn on Jagger Rock ten miles away, but the common lanthorn he had brought down into the mine some time before, and set about ten feet off, where it could not be kicked over when they turned over in their sleep—the sleep into which he had plunged at once as if into a stupor.

It was from this stupor that he had now awakened to turn from the sultry heat of the mine, chilled to the heart with horror, for the fresh candle he had lit had burned down into the socket, and was giving the final flickers before going out, and they had not a match to strike and light another.

Stretching out his trembling hands, he felt in the black darkness for the lanthorn, touched it after two or three ineffectual trials, and snatched it back, feeling his fingers burnt, just as the light gave a final flare, the jar of his touch upon the lanthorn being sufficient to quench the tiny flame.

In the horror of the moment Gwyn uttered a loud cry, and the result was a quick movement close at hand, followed by a voice saying,—

"Yes, father, all right. I'll get up and fetch it. Is the pain so bad?"

Gwyn tried to speak, but no words came.

"Did you call, father?"

There was perfect silence in the stifling place, and Joe Jollivet spoke again, drowsily now.

"Must have dreamt it. But—hallo—Oh, my back! What ever's the matter with it, and—here! hallo! What does it all mean? I must have been walking in my sleep."

"Oh, Joe, Joe!" cried his companion.

"Ydoll! You there? I say—what—what—where are we?"

"Don't you understand?—where we lay down when we could get no farther."

There was the sound of some one drawing a long gasping breath, and then silence again, till Joe spoke in a piteous voice.

"I was dreaming that father was taken ill in the night, and he called me. Oh, Ydoll, old chap, my head feels so queer. Then we haven't found them? I don't feel as if I could recollect anything. It's all black like. We came down to find them, didn't we?"

"Yes," said Gwyn, "and walked till you stumbled and fell."

"I did? Yes, I recollect now. I was regularly beaten. We came such a long way for hours and hours. Then we've both been to sleep?"

"I suppose so."

"But why is it so dark?"

"The candle I set up burned out."

"Well, light another. You have some more."

"What am I to light one with?" groaned Gwyn.

"Oh! I'd forgotten," cried Joe, piteously, "you've no matches."

"No, I've no matches."

"But you had some, I know—you had a box; feel in your pockets again."

There was a faint rustling sound as in obedience to his companion's imperative words, Gwyn felt in each pocket vainly, and then uttered a sigh like a groan.

"No, no, no!" he cried, "there is a hole in my pocket, and the box must have gone through."

"Oh," cried Joe, angrily; "how could I be such a fool as to trust you to carry them?"

"You mean how could you be such a fool as to come without a box yourself," said Gwyn, bitterly.

"Yes, that's it, I suppose. Here, I know—we must strike a light from the rock with the backs of our knives."

"What for?" said Gwyn, bitterly. "Where are the tinder and matches?"

Joe uttered a sigh, and they both relapsed into silence once more.

"What are we to do?" said Joe, at last. "It is horrible, horrible to be in this black darkness. Say something, Ydoll—we can't lie down here and die."

"We can't go on in the black darkness," said Gwyn, bitterly.

"We must feel our way."

"And suppose we come to some hole and go down?"

Joe drew his breath sharply through his teeth as he winced at the horrible idea.

"Better lie down again and go to sleep," said Gwyn, despondently. "We can do no more."

"Lie down till they come with lights and find us?"

"Yes," said Gwyn, who gathered courage from these words of hope. "It's of no use to give up. Father must have found his way out by this time. Sam Hardock knows so much about mines; he is sure not to be lost for long."

"But if they don't find us? I'm so faint and hungry now I don't know what to do."

"Yes, I suppose what I feel is being hungry," sighed Gwyn, "but we mustn't think about it. I say, how far do you think we wandered about yesterday?"

"Miles and miles and miles," said Joe, dismally; "and for nothing at all but to lose ourselves. But I say, Ydoll, it wasn't yesterday. We couldn't have slept long."

"I felt as if I slept all night."

"But we couldn't; because we only slept as long as our candle burned."

"Of course not. How stupid! But I'm so done up that my head doesn't seem as if it would go; let's lie down and go to sleep till they find us."

"And perhaps that will be never. Someone will find our bones, perhaps."

"Ha, ha!" cried Gwyn, bursting into a mocking laugh. "We're a nice pair of miserable cowards! I did think you had more pluck in you, Joe."

"That's what I thought about you, Ydoll."

"So did I," said Gwyn, frankly; "and all the time I'm as great a coward as you are. I say, though, doesn't it show a fellow up when he gets into trouble? Can't show me up in the dark, though, can it?"

"Oh, I don't know; I only know I feel horribly miserable. Let's go to sleep and forget it all."

"Sha'n't," shouted Gwyn, making an effort over himself. "I won't be such a jolly miserable coward, and you sha'n't neither. We'll do something."

"Ay, it's all very well to talk, but what can we do?—cooey?"

"No good, or I'd cooey loud enough to bring some of the stones down. I say, though, isn't it wonderful how solid it all is—no stones falling from the roof."

"How could they fall when there are none to fall? Isn't it all cut through the solid rock?"

"Humph! yes, I suppose so; but we have found scarcely anything to fall over."

"No," said Joe, sarcastically, "it's a lovely place. I wish the beastly old mine had been burnt before we had anything to do with it."

"Oh, I say, what a plucked 'un you are, Joey. Breaking down over a bit of trouble. I feel ever so much better now, for I'm sure the dad has found his way out."

"I was thinking about my father."

"Well, so was I. My father wouldn't go out without yours. They're too good old chums to forsake one another; and you see if before long they don't both come with a lot of men carrying baskets—cold roast chicken, slices of ham, bread and butter, and a kettle and wood to light the fire and make some tea."

"I say! don't, don't, don't," cried Joe. "I was bad enough before, now you're making me feel savagely hungry. But I say, Ydoll, do you really think they've got out?"

"I'm sure of it."

"And not lost themselves so that they won't be found till it's too late?"

"Get out! Too late? They'll be all right, and so shall we; we're only lost for a bit in the dark, and we don't mind a bit. I don't now. I feel as plucky as a gamecock. And I say, Joe."

"Well?"

"Tom Dinass?"

"What about him?—a beast!"

"What we're going to do when we see the sneak again. I say, it won't be the first time we've had a set-to with him."

"Oh, I should like to—"

"Ah!"

Gwyn uttered a wild cry, as if something from out of the darkness had seized him; and as the cry went echoing down the long zigzag passage in which they were, Joe uttered a gasp, and in spite of his desire to stand by his friend, dashed off from the unknown danger by which they were beset.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

GWYN GIVES IT UP.

There came a dull sound out of the darkness, as if Joe had struck against the wall of the mine; but he gave vent to no exclamation, and Gwyn cried to him to stop.

"Where are you? Don't run off like that, Joe!—Joe! Where are you?"

"Here," said the lad, hoarsely. "What is it? What has hurt you?"

"Hurt me? I thought something had hurt you. What made you rush off?"

"You shouted. What was it?"

"Enough to make me shout. Where are you?"

Guided by their voices, the lads approached till they were close together.

"Now what was it?" panted Joe, who was still trembling from the nervous alarm and shock.

"Give me your hand."

Joe obeyed shrinkingly, and felt it passed along the skirt of his companion's jacket.

"Feel it?"

"Yes, I feel something inside the lining. What is it—a box?"

"Yes, the matches. They got through the hole into the lining. Wait till I get them out."

This was only achieved with the help of a knife.

"Ah!" ejaculated the boy, as he at last dragged out the box, struck a match, and held it over his head to see where the candle-box had been laid; and then by quick manipulation he managed to get a wick well alight before the tiny deal splint was extinct.

In his excitement and delight, Joe clapped his hands as the candle was forced into the empty socket, and the lanthorn door closed.

"Oh, what a beautiful thing light is!" he cried.

"And what a horrible thing darkness, at a time like this! There, one feels better, and quite rested. Let's go on, and we may come to them at any time now."

Joe said nothing, for fear of damping his companion's spirits; but he knew that they were not rested—that they would soon be forced to stop; and as he gazed right away before them, and tried to pierce the gloom beyond the circle of light shed by the candle, the hopeless nature of their quest forced itself upon him more and more.

But Gwyn's spirits seemed to be now unnaturally high, and as they went on following the narrowed tunnels, and passing along such branches as seemed to be the most likely from their size, he held up the lanthorn to point out that the ore seemed to have been cut out for ten or twenty feet above their heads in a slanting direction. In another place he paused to look into a narrow passage that seemed to have been only just commenced, for there was glittering ore at the end, and the marks of picks or hammers, looking as if they had been lately made.

"There's nothing to mind, Joe," he said; "only I do want to get back to the shaft now."

"Then why not turn?"

"We did, ever so long ago. Don't you remember seeing that beginning of a passage as we came along?"

"I remember stopping to look into two niches like this one but they were ever so far back, and we are still going on into the depths of the mine."

"No, no; we took a turn off to the left soon after I lit the fresh candle, and we must be getting back towards the entrance."

Joe said nothing, but he felt sure that he was right; and they went on again till at the end of another lane Gwyn stopped short.

"I say, I felt sure we were going back. Do you really believe that we are going farther in?"

"I felt sure that we were a little while ago, but I am not so sure now, for one gets confused."

"Yes, confused," said Gwyn, sadly. "We seem to have been constantly following turnings leading in all directions, and they're all alike, and go on and on. Aren't you getting tired?"

"Horribly; but we mustn't think of that. Let's notice what we see, so as to have something to tell them when we get home."

"Well, that's soon done; the walls are nearly all alike, and the passages run in veins, one of which the people who used to work here followed until they had got out all the ore, and then they opened others."

"But the ore seems to be richer in some places than in others."

"Yes, and the walls seem wetter in some places than in others; and sometimes one crushes shells beneath one's feet, and there's quantities of sand."

"But how far should you think we are now from the entrance?"

"I don't know. Miles and miles."

"Oh, that's exaggeration, for we've come along so slowly; and being tired makes you feel that it is a long way."

They went on and on, at last, as if in a dream, following the winding and zigzagging passages, and speaking more and more seldom, till at last they found themselves in a place which they certainly had not seen before, for the mine suddenly opened out into a wide irregular hall, supported here and there by rugged pillars left by the miners; and now confusion grew doubly confused, for, as they went slowly around over the rugged, well-worn floor, and in and out among the pillars, they could dimly see that passages and shafts went from all sides. The roof sparkled as the light was held up, and they could note that in places the marks of the miners' picks and hammers still remained.

Roughly speaking, the place was about a hundred feet across, and the floor in the centre was piled up into a hillock, as if the ore that had been brought from the passages around had been thrown in a heap—for that it was ore, and apparently rich in quality, they were now learned enough in metallurgy to know.

Gwyn had a fancy that, this being a central position, if the party they sought were still in the mine they would be somewhere here; and he made Joe start by hailing loudly, but raised so strange a volley of echoes that he refrained from repeating his cry, preferring to wait and listen for the answer which did not come.

"It's of no use," he said; "let's turn back; they must have got out by now."

"Yes, I hope so; but what an awfully big place it is. I say, though, where was it we came in—by that passage, wasn't it?"

Gwyn looked in the direction pointed out, but felt certain that it was not correct. At the same time, though, he fully realised that he was quite at fault, for at least a dozen of the low tunnels opened upon this rugged, pillared hall, so exactly alike, and they had wandered about so much since they entered, and began to thread their way in and out among the pillars, that he stared blankly at Joe in his weariness, and muttered despairingly,—

"I give it up."



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

A NOVEL NIGHTMARE.

From that hour they both "gave it up"—in other words, resigned themselves in a hopeless weary way to their fate, and went on in an automatic fashion, resting, tramping on again over patches of sand and clean hard places where the rock had been worn smooth. The pangs of hunger attacked them more and more, and then came maddening thirst which they assuaged by drinking from one of the clear pools lying in depressions, the water tasting sweet and pure. From time to time the candles were renewed in the lanthorn, and the rate at which they burned was marked with feverish earnestness; and at last, in their dread of a serious calamity, it was arranged that one should watch while the other slept. In this way they would be sure of not being missed by a body of searchers who might come by and, hearing no sound, pass in ignorance of their position.

Gwyn kept the first watch, Joe having completely broken down and begun to reel from side to side of the passage they were struggling along in a hopeless way; and when Gwyn caught his arm to save him from falling, he turned and smiled at him feebly.

"Legs won't go any longer," he said gently; and, sinking upon his knees, he lay down on the bare rock, placed his hand under his face as he uttered a low sigh, and Gwyn said quietly,—

"That's right; have a nap, and then we'll go on again."

There was no reply, and Gwyn bent over him and held the lanthorn to his face.

"How soon anyone goes to sleep!" he said softly. "Seems to be all in a moment."

The boy stood looking down at his companion for a few moments, and then turned with the light to inspect their position.

They were in a curve of one of the galleries formed by the extraction of the veins of tin ore, and there was little to see but the ruddy-tinted walls, sparkling roof, and dusty floor. A faint dripping noise showed him where water was falling from the roof, and in the rock a basin of some inches in depth was worn, from which he refreshed himself, and then felt better as he walked on for a hundred yards in a feeble, weary way, to find that which gave him a little hope, for the gallery suddenly began to run upward, and came to an end.

"But it may only be the end of this part," muttered Gwyn; "there are others which go on I suppose, but one can't get any farther here, and that's something."

He walked back to where Joe lay sleeping heavily, after convincing himself of the reason why the turning had come to an end where it did, for the vein had run upward, gradually growing thinner till, at some thirty feet up, as far as he could make out by his dim light, the men had ceased working, probably from the supply not being worth their trouble.

Joe was muttering in his sleep when Gwyn reached his side, but for a time his words were unintelligible. Then quite plainly he said,—

"Be good for you, father. The mine will give you something to do, and then you won't have time to think so much of your old wounds."

"And if he has got out safely and they never find us, this will be like a new wound for the poor old Major to think about," mused Gwyn. "How dreadful it is, and how helpless we seem! It's always the same; gallery after gallery, just alike, and that's why it's so puzzling. I wonder whether any of the old miners were ever lost here and starved to death."

The thought was so horribly suggestive that the perspiration came out in great drops on the boy's face, and he glanced quickly to right and left, even holding up his lanthorn, fancying for the moment that he might catch sight of some dried-up traces of the poor unfortunates who had struggled on for days, as they had, and then sunk down to rise no more.

"How horrible!" he muttered; "and how can Joe lie there sleeping, when perhaps our fate may be like theirs?"

But he had unconsciously started another train of thought which set him calculating, and took his attention from the imaginary horrors which had troubled him.

"Wandered about for days and days," he mused. "It seems like it, but that's impossible. It can't be much more than one, or we couldn't have kept on. We should have been starved to death. We couldn't have lived on water."

He wiped his wet brow, and it seemed to him that the gallery they were in was not so stifling and hot, unless it was that he had grown weaker. Still one thing was certain; he could breathe more freely.

"Getting used to it," he thought; and, putting down the lanthorn, he seated himself with his back close to the wall.

Joe slept heavily, and the lad looked at him enviously.

"I couldn't sleep so peaceably as that," he said half aloud. "How can a fellow sleep when he doesn't know but what his father may be dying close by from starvation and weakness. It seems too bad."