The same business had to be gone through again. Untaught by experience, I moistened the top of the first match I took out, my fingers trembling the while with nervous dread that I would drop the box or spill the matches, when the result might be death to one, if not to both. I tried the damp match three times before throwing it away; then, taking out two together and striking them, my spirits rose as I got a light, which was passed into my left hand, and with the other I secured the lamp, which lay bottom up. "The tallow and wick will have fallen out," I thought. No; the hard fat was in its place. Again I took out a match, shivering as I saw how rapidly it burned away. The very next moment I had laid it against the bent-down wick, which had been flattened by the fall; and it sputtered and refused to burn. All I could do till my fingers began to burn was to melt out some of the tallow and partially dry the wick. Then all was darkness again. "Cheer up!" I cried hoarsely; "third time never fails." There was no response. I turned cold as I fumbled at the box once more; my fingers needed no moisture from the slippery stones now to make them wet, for the perspiration seemed to be oozing out of every pore. I was again successful when I struck a match, and it burned up brightly. My heart now beat more hopefully, as one tiny strand of the cotton caught and ceased sputtering, giving forth a feeble blue flame, which I was able to coax by letting the fat it melted drain away till more and more of the wick caught and began to burn. I dared not wait to light the second wick, but looked for a safe place to set the lamp; this I found directly, within reach of my hand. My hurried glance showed that we were in a rough tunnel or shoot, sloping down rapidly into darkness--a darkness too horrible to contemplate; and, to my despair, I could not see Denham. Then, as the sight of the light revived him, I could hear his shivering sigh. "Where are you?" I said, trying to speak firmly. "Just below you," came faintly. I felt my teeth were clenched together as I asked the next question, knowing only too well what must be the answer: "Can you see to climb up to me?" "No," came back after a pause of a moment or two. "I'm hurt and sick. I feel as if I shall faint." "Can you hold on till I get down to you?" "I--I think so, old fellow," he said faintly. "I'm on a sort of shelf. But don't try--you can't do it--you'll send the loose stones down upon me. That last one grazed my head." "But I must," I said harshly, and I remember fancying that my voice sounded savage and brutal. "I can't leave you like this." "Climb up out of this horrible hole yourself, old fellow, and leave me." "I won't," I shouted, so that my voice went echoing away; but as I looked up past the light it seemed to me that I could not, even if willing. "You must," said Denham more firmly. "Climb up and call for help."