He reached up as high as he could, holding the rope firmly, and then swung himself out of the gallery over the black void, becoming visible to Will as the faint light from above fell upon his upturned face. Then with legs twined round the rope, Josh began to draw himself up a little bit at a time, the work being evidently very laborious, while Will held the rope and saw him disappear as he ascended beyond the gallery; but the rope the lad held was like an electric communication, the efforts of the climber being felt through the strong fibres as he went up and up. Then there was a pause, and as Josh rested it was evident that he could not keep himself quite stationary, but slipped a few inches at a time. Then he started once more, and as the cord jerked and swung, the loud expirations of the climber's breath kept coming down to where, with moist palms and dewy forehead, Will listened. How high was he now? How much farther had he got by this? Josh's arms were like iron, and the strength in that deformed wrist and hand was tremendous. Up he went; Will could feel it; and he longed to gaze up and see how he progressed; but somehow that horrible shrinking sensation came over him, and he could only wait. How long it seemed, and how the rope jerked! Was it quite strong enough? Suppose Josh were to fall headlong into the black water below! Will shuddered, and tried to keep all these coward fancies out of his mind; but they would come as he stood listening and holding the rope just tight enough to feel the action of his friend. What a tremendous effort it seemed; and how long he was! Surely he must be at the top by now. "Nearly up, Josh?" he shouted. "Up! No: not half-ways," replied the fisherman. "She's too thin, and as wet as wet. I can't get a hold." Will's heart sank, for he felt that there was failure in his companion's words; and with parched lips and dry throat he listened to the climber's pantings and gaspings as he toiled on, paused, climbed again, and then there was a strange hissing noise that made Will hold his breath. The rope, too, was curiously agitated, not in a series of jerks, but in a continuous vibrating manner, and before Will could realise what it all meant Josh was level with the gallery once more, swinging to and fro in the faint light. "Haul away, young un, and let's come in," he panted; and somehow he managed to scramble in as Will held the rope taut. "It ain't to be done," said Josh, sitting down and panting like a dog. "If it were a cable I could go up it like a fly, but that there rope runs through your legs and you can't get no stay." "How far did you get, Josh?" whispered Will. "Not above half-ways," grumbled Josh, "and I might have gone on trying; but it was no good, I couldn't have reached. I say, my lad, what's going to be done?" CHAPTER EIGHT. HOW WILL WOULD NOT PROMISE NOT TO DO THE "GASHLY" THING AGAIN.