"Yes, yes, to be sure," Sam admitted; "an adit there is, or used to be. But," he went on more cheerfully, "you'll find it nothing to look at. I han't set foot inside it for years, and I doubt but the entrance is choked." "Take me to it," said Sir Caesar. Sam, without further remonstrance, led the way. They scrambled out to the edge of the Carn, and there, where the last great boulder thrust itself forward over the sea, Sam scrambled off to the left, and lowered himself down upon a turfy ledge. Warning his master to leave his gun behind and beware of the slippery grass, he sidled out alongside the jutting slab, and suddenly ducked under it. The Lord Proprietor, following, crawled under the stone, and found himself staring into the mouth of the adit--a dark hole less than four feet in height, and overgrown with ivy. Sam had spoken the truth. The passage, whithersoever it led, had been disused for years. "Cur'ous old place!" said Sam, reflectively, plucking at the ivy. "I've a mind to try the inside of it again, one of these days." "I've a mind to explore it now," said the Lord Proprietor. Sam stared at him. "You couldn't, sir; not without a lantern. You'd be breakin' your neck, to a certainty." "Then fetch a lantern. Look sharp, man! Run back to the farm and fetch a lantern. I'll wait for you--no, not here: a few minutes on this ledge would turn my head giddy--but on the Carn above." Without further words, he worked his body around carefully, and led the way back to the summit. "You'd best hurry," he advised Sam, who showed no eagerness for the job. "In another twenty minutes the dusk will be closing down fast." Sam slouched off at a fair pace across the field. Sir Caesar watched his retreating figure until it reached the gate, and then, picking up his gun, disposed himself to wait. Seals? They ought to give good sport--better sport, he should imagine, than deerstalking. A pity, too, to let it die out ... if seals still frequented the Islands.... He must consult Sam about it, and pick up a few wrinkles. He peered over the edge of the Carn, scanning the water, a hundred feet below him, for the rock which Abe had described. He could see no such rock. Maybe, though, it would be covered by the tide, now close upon high-water. Then he bethought him that the rock must lie a little to the west, towards Piper's Hole--that is to say, in the next small indentation of the shore. He strolled in that direction, following the cliff's edge, still with eyes upon the sea. Of a sudden he stopped and straightened himself up with a gasp. What sound was that?... Surely a voice--a woman's voice--singing up to him from the depth! Was he awake or dreaming?... Beyond all doubt someone was singing, down there: a mournful, wordless song. He was no judge of music, but it seemed to him that, let alone the mystery of the singer, he had never heard a voice so wonderful. It rose and fell with the surge of the tide.