St. George and St. Michael, Volume 2MacDonald, George
History
St. George and St. Michael, Volume 2
MacDonald, George
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
From the darkness, and the cautious rate at which he had to proceed,
holding back the dog who tugged hard at the whip, Richard could not
even hazard a conjecture as to the distance they had advanced, when
he heard the noise of a small runnel of water, which seemed from the
sound to make abrupt descent from some little height. He had gone
but a few paces further when the handle of the whip received a great
upward pull and was left loose in his grasp: the dog was away,
leaving his handkerchief at the end of the thong. So now he had to
guide himself, and began to feel about him. He seemed at first to
have come to the end of the passage, for he could touch both sides
of it by stretching out his arms, and in front a tiny stream of
water came down the face of the rough rock; but what then had become
of Marquis? The answer seemed plain: the water must come from
somewhere, and doubtless its channel had spare room enough for the
dog to pass thither. He felt up the rock, and found that, at about
the height of his head, the water came over an obtuse angle.
Climbing a foot or two, he discovered that the opening whence it
issued was large enough for him to enter.
Only one who has at some time passed where lengthened creeping was
necessary, will know how Richard felt, with water under him,
pitch-darkness about him, and the rock within an inch or two of his
body all round. By and by the slope became steeper and the ascent
more difficult. The air grew very close, and he began to fear he
should be stifled. Then came a hot breath, and a pair of eyes
gleamed a foot or two from his face. Had he then followed into the
den of the animal by which poor Marquis had been so frightfully
torn? But no: it was Marquis himself waiting for him!
'Go on, Marquis,' he said, with a sigh of relief.
The dog obeyed, and in another moment a waft of cool air came in.
Presently a glimmer of light appeared. The opening through which it
entered was a little higher than his horizontally posed head, and
looked alarmingly narrow.
But as he crept nearer it grew wider, and when he came under it he
found it large enough to let him through. When cautiously he poked
up his head, there was the huge mass of the keep towering blank
above him! On a level with his eyes, the broad, lilied waters of the
moat lay betwixt him and the citadel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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