"It is possible, though," he added, turning and sending his look along the wall, "that we may find a way out of this infernal place by following the ledge." "But," was my comment, "not probable." "'Twill do no harm," he said, "to see." "But look here: maybe, if we go on a scouting expedition along the ledge, they'll come over here, come across the bridge, and follow us." "I don't know," Milton answered, "that such a proceeding on their part would make the matter any more serious than we find it right now. The bridge contracts over there to something like a ribbon of rock." "Holy Gorgons," I said, "haven't we got into a fine pickle, though?" "I'll tell you what we'll do, Bill: you remain here, like Horatius at the bridge, while I explore down along the ledge." "I don't like it," I told him. "United we stand--well, you know the rest of it." He was silent for some moments. Then: "I think that we can risk it, Bill." "Very well," I acquiesced, shrugging my shoulders. "But I tell you that I don't like it at all." The next moment, however, he had turned and was moving away down the ledge. I stepped back to the wall (upon which two inscriptions were traced) and waited the result with such composure as I could summon. At last Rhodes moved behind a projection in the wall. A few moments, and the glow of his light had vanished. He was gone, and I was alone in that terrible place. The blackness seemed to increase, the shadows to thicken about me and grow denser. But one sound broke the awful silence, which sound seemed to have a quality tangible, crushing--the growl of the water in the abysmal depths of the chasm. And even that sound, as I stood there listening, watching, waiting, seemed to change; it seemed to sink to a murmur, then a whisper, as though evil spirits were hushing it to lull my suspicions and even the very senses of me. What was that? I started, and something shot through my very heart, chilling and sharp as the needle point of an icicle. Surely I had seen it. Yes! There it was again, dim but unmistakable, there by one of the great columns--a single point of light, an eye staring at me with a greenish fire. Yes, there it was. Then of a sudden it was gone. For a time I stood peering and waiting, the blood throbbing in my ears; but it was not seen again. I turned and looked down the ledge, and I gave an exclamation that was one of relief and joy, for there was Rhodes just come into view around that projection in the wall. "What," I asked as he drew near, "did you find down there?" "We can't go down. The shelf is broken--nothing but sheer wall between. So it's across the bridge for us." "We may never reach the other side." And then I told him what I had seen. "And," I asked, "didn't grandfather Scranton say that the eyes of the demon burned with a greenish fire?" Rhodes nodded. "Then what I saw was a demon's eye. But why didn't I see two. Is this a Polyphemus demon?"