There was no apparent entrance that way, indeed. The contour of the vaulting was roughly discernible, it is true, but so stopped with mud and _débris_ as to offer no visible passage. “Besides,” I went on, swallowing fast and trying to escape from the fluttering spell the mere suggestion had laid upon me,--“whether it was an earthquake or gunpowder, it’s all the same. It must be just all squash and ruin inside; and--and the things----” I stuck, feeling that I dare not speculate further. Harry released my arm, and for some time looked down, making thoughtful patterns with his foot in the sand. “Well, I don’t know,” he said, raising his face suddenly. “But I’d mighty like to see.” We were both rather silent for the rest of the afternoon; and, though we neither of us alluded to the subject for a day or two afterwards, it was evident it stood between us. We avoided the spot, too; until one evening a long ramble brought us back by the shore past it. Then, by a common impulse, we stopped, and stood gaping silent up once more. The light from the sinking sun smote level upon the face of the cliff, so that it stood out as bright as a grate back. Its surface, quite dried from the tempest, reflected no glaze of water. The rivulets of mud, which had flowed over and sealed the scar of ruin above, were hardened like plaster, though shrinkage had opened black fissures in them here and there. Harry, softly whistling, left me suddenly, and, with his hands in his pockets, toiled indifferently up the slope to the well foot. Here, still whistling, he began kicking round the base; but in a moment desisted and called to me. I went up, and he fell upon his knees, and set to scraping with his fingers. “See?” he said, stopping. “No; what?” I answered. “Why, look, you bat!” said he. “Nothing under; nothing deeper. Here’s the last bottom course of the thing; the foundation stones, or I’m a----” He checked himself, grinning. “I was going to say ‘Dutchman,’” said he; “and, for all we know, they may be listening up there.” “O, don’t be a beast!” I exclaimed, with a wriggle of discomfort. He chuckled again. “Well, anyhow,” he said, “here’s the old well just standing on its end, like a drain-pipe with a tilt to it. If we brought spades and dug away underneath on the outside, it would fall--and on the top of us, too; but that’s a detail. Wonder the storm didn’t finish it, don’t you? Must have come pretty near to.” As he spoke, staring up at me, he suddenly uttered a soft exclamation, and scrambling to his feet, pulled at my arm. “Look there!” he whispered. “Don’t move!” I followed the direction of his hand, which was pointing to the scar in the cliff-face above. I could see nothing. “Hush, you old fool!” he said impatiently. “Keep quiet!” I did not stir; till, at the end of a long interval, something made me start involuntarily. It was a wink--a flutter--a motion of some sort, I knew not what, on the hill front. “Did you see?” whispered Harry.