small animals which sometimes creep in and die do not become putrid as in the external air, but shrivel up into mummies without decomposition.
The strength and courage of the ladies held out until they had passed the Auger Hole and the Hill Difficulty, but at the foot of the latter they sank down exhausted. Pauline was still self-composed and cheerful; but Blanche and Violetta sobbed hysterically for some time in sheer exhaustion. They had walked and climbed not less than fifteen miles. The gentlemen were alarmed and anxious, for it was still a mile to the entrance. A short rest restored their resolution and they again moved forward, Blanche and Violetta each supported by two of the young gentlemen, and Pauline leaning on the strong arm of the professor.
About half a mile from the outer entrance is a passage which branches off from the main one, which the professor regretted to leave unexplored.
Accompanying their fair companions to the entrance, the professor, the doctor, and James returned with one of the guides. The others had seen enough of the cave, and thought it their duty to take care of the ladies. A few hundred yards within the opening, the cave contracts to a low and narrow passage, gradually becoming smaller, until our travellers were compelled first to stoop and then to creep on hands and knees. At length further progress could be made only by lying flat upon the floor and wriggling forward by pushing on the projections of the rock with hands and feet.
James and the doctor made their way through without much difficulty. The professor was not so successful. They waited for him a few minutes, listening with suppressed merriment to his scuffling, panting efforts. At length he called, in half-smothered tones, "I can't get through. Go on without me, and I will wait for you here." The professor planted his candle in the crevice of a rock and sat down upon a stone.
The last sound of his companions' footsteps died away, and he was left in the solitude and silence. The feeble light of his single candle afforded a slight connection with external objects; mere solitude was not unfamiliar; but the utter silence which prevailed around him at length became oppressive in the extreme. His usually calm, though active, temperament became restless and excited. He drew a paper from his pocket and tried to divert his imagination by the contact it afforded with the material realities of the busy world outside. Suddenly the thought flashed upon him, as he glanced at his candle, now reduced to two inches in length, that he had neglected to provide himself with a second before allowing his companions to go on. He watched it burn away to the thickness of a wafer; the flame flickered for a moment, went out, and he was left in a darkness as oppressive as the silence. In the external air, no darkness is absolutely perfect. Some light struggles through the thickest clouds, and at least the outlines of objects are discernible against the sky. So, also, in the open air, there is no such thing as utter silence. In the remotest wilds, where the sounds of human life are never heard, the air continually vibrates with the notes of birds and insects, the rustling of leaves, and the surge and flow of water. But in the cave, where the professor now sat, the darkness and silence were complete. Heightened by the absence of other sounds, his respiration seemed like the pantings of an engine, and the rushing of the blood in the vessels of his ears was like the roar of a cataract.
Imagination filled the black void into which he gazed with strange and hideous shapes, and a shuddering horror tingled through every nerve. It was a
