"Toss for it," suggested Mr. Jope. "You refuse? Very well, then, I must go. Only I thought better of ye, Bill--I did indeed." "I can't help what ye thought," Mr. Adams began sulkily; and then, as his friend rose with the face of a man who goes to meet the worst, he sprang up quaking. "Lord's sake, Ben Jope! You ain't a-goin' to take the candle an' leave me!" "Bill Adams," said Mr. Jope with fine solemnity, "if I was to put a name on your besettin' sin, it would be cowardice--an' you can just sit here in the dark an' think it over." "When I was on the p'int of offering to go with ye!" "Ho! Was you? Very well, then, I accept the offer, an' you can walk first." "But I don't see--" "Another word," announced Mr. Jope firmly, "an' you won't! _For I'll blow out the candle_." Mr. Adams surrendered, and tottered to the door. They passed out, and through the vaulted kitchen, and along the slate-flagged corridor--very slowly here, for a draught fluttered the candle flame, and Mr. Jope had to shield it with a shaking palm. Once with a hoarse "What's that?" Mr. Adams halted and cast himself into a posture of defence--against his own shadow, black and amorphous, wavering on the wall. They came to the iron-studded door. "Open, you," commanded Mr. Jope under his breath. "And not too fast, mind--there was a breeze o' wind blowin' this arternoon. Steady does it--look out for the step, an' then straight forw--" A howl drowned the last word, as Mr. Adams struck his shin against some obstacle and pitched headlong into darkness--a howl of pain blent with a dull jarring rumble. Silence followed, and out of the silence broke a faint groan. "Bill! Bill Adams! Oh, Bill, for the Lord's sake--!" Still mechanically shielding his candle, Mr. Jope staggered back a pace, and leaned against the stone door-jamb for support. "Here!" sounded the voice of Bill, very faint in the darkness. "Here! fetch along the light, quick!" "Wot's it?" "Casks." "Casks?" "Kegs, then. I ought to know," responded Bill plaintively, "seeing as I pretty near broke my leg on one!" Mr. Jope peered forward, holding the light high. In the middle of the cellar stood the quarter-puncheon and around it a whole regiment of small barrels. Half doubting his eyesight, he stooped to examine them. Around each keg was bound a sling of rope. "Rope?" muttered Mr. Jope, stooping. "Foreign rope--left-handed rope--" And with that of a sudden he sat down on the nearest keg and began to laugh. "The old varmint! the darned old sinful methodeerin' varmint!" "Oh, stow it, Ben! 'Tisn' manly." But still the unnatural laughter continued. "What in thunder--" Bill Adams came groping between the kegs.