When, however, it widened and became more lofty, the floor rose in all
some three feet and we went up a sharp incline though not of very great
magnitude. This dipped a little again forming a pool which spread ahead
of us so far as we could see by the dim light of our bicycle lamps. As
we did not know the depth I waded in, Marjory enjoining me anxiously to
be careful. I found it deepened very slowly; so she joined me and we
went on together. By my advice, Marjory kept a few feet in the rear, so
that in case I should stumble or meet with a deep hole and so lose my
light, hers would still be safe. I was so intent on my feet, for I
feared lest Marjory following so close might get into some trouble, that
I hardly looked ahead, but kept cautiously on my way. Marjory, who was
flashing her lamp all around as she went, suddenly called out:
"Look! look! There to the right, the figure of the San Cristobal with
the golden Christ on his shoulder."
I turned my lantern to the angles of the cave to the right to which we
were now close. The two lamps gave us light enough to see well.
There, rising from the water under the shelf of rock, was the figure
that Benvenuto had wrought, as Don Bernardino had left it three
centuries ago.
As I moved forwards I stumbled; in trying to save myself the lamp was
shaken from my hand and fell hissing in the dark water. As it fell I saw
by the flash of light the white bones of a skeleton under the San
Cristobal. Instinctively I called out to Marjory:
"Stand still and take care of your lamp; I've dropped mine!"
"All right!" came back her answer coolly; she had quite command of
herself. She turned the lamp downwards, so that we could see into the
water, and I found I had stumbled against an iron box, beside which, in
about two feet of water, lay my lamp. I picked this up first and shook
the water from it and laid it on the shelf of rock. "Wait here a
moment," I said, "I shall run back and get a torch." For I had left the
tin box on the top of the heap of debris when we had scrambled through
the hole. I was starting back at once when she said after me, and
in that cave the voice came after me "monotonous and hollow like a
ghost's:"
"Take my lamp with you dear. How can you find the box, or even the way
to it, in the dark?"
"But I can't leave you alone here; all in the dark, too."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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