“No, no! We are to go! I have had a most vivid impression of impending danger. For God’s sake, Doctor, humor me this once! Help me carry him to the mouth of the cave.”
“And then”
“Then we shall see. Ah, it has come! Too late! Too late!”
Something had happened.
Suddenly the strange cracking sound was heard again, and in a second a fearful crash came.
The next I knew I was flung violently upon the sand; crash followed crash, mingling in one hellish roar, until as suddenly as it had come upon us all sound ceased.
We were all upon the sand now—no living creature could have stood up against that shock.
“Look! Look there!” shrieked the Doctor, pointing behind the stone near which Maurice had sat.
He was pointing at black vacancy—nothingness! The rocky walls had vanished, the cold rain was beating in upon us—the unexplored depths of the cavern had disappeared.
“Is it an earthquake?” gasped Maurice. “Oh, George, this is terrible! Terrible! And after we were told to hope!”
I leaped to my feet, for something seemed to tell me that all depended upon my coolness now.
“We must make for the mouth of the cave,” I shouted. “You see I knew what I was talking about, Doctor; if you cannot help me to carry Maurice I must carry him alone.”
The Doctor never spoke a word but moved toward Maurice.
I bade Walla take the rice pot and she seized it, while the Doctor and I lifted Maurice upon our interlocked hands, that persistent objector obeying my commands as meekly as a child.
“There is still hope for us.” I said, prophetically. “Courage, my friends! We shall yet be saved!”
God knows why I said it, when there seemed so little cause to hope.
We hurried forward, Walla following in silence; here the roof of the cavern was still above us—here there had been no change. In a few moments we stood at the very brink of the cañon with that wild torrent tumbling over the rocks at our feet.
