It was a ruin indeed. So ruinous was it that I wondered how the mass could possibly remain intact. A short advance, however, and the mystery was solved. The hand of man had not builded that great arch across this dreadful chasm; nature had fashioned it, there in that region of everlasting darkness. It has, Rhodes said, a remarkable semblance to the celebrated Natural Bridge in Virginia.
A short space, and we stood upon it, gazing across. Its width here was about sixty feet. The surface, was, comparatively speaking, a smooth one, and it had a rather pronounced slope upward—a circumstance by no means conducive to security of footing. And a feature that I noticed with some unpleasant misgivings was the diminution of width at the farther end. Just how wide it was there we could not tell, what with the uncertain light that struggled to the spot; but we saw enough to know that that way which we should have to cross was a very narrow one indeed; and on either side the black chasm yawning to receive us. And just beyond, dim and ghostly as though seen in a dream, stupendous columns rose up and were involved in the darkness of the lofty cavern.
"What on earth arc those?" I queried. "It reminds one of a Grecian temple."
"Limestone pillars, no doubt," returned Milton.
"And it's there," I exclaimed, my voice, however, low and guarded, "that they are waiting for us! That is where those lights were."
"I suppose so."
"They'll wait until we get in that cursed narrow place, and then"
"And then?"
"Well," I told him, "we had better say our prayers before we start across."
Rhodes laughed. I thought, though, that there was a touch of the sardonic in his laugh. Little wonder, forsooth, if 'twas so, for the thing was fraught with terrible possibilities.
"What," I asked, "are we to do?"
"Cross over—if we are permitted to do so."
If we should be permitted to do so!
I gazed into the black profundity of the chasm, and felt very sad.
"Holy Gorgons," I said, "haven't we got into a fine pickle, though?"
"I'll tell you what we'll do, Bill: you remain here, like Horatius at the bridge, while I explore along the ledge."
"I don't like it," I told him. "United we stand—well, you know the rest of it."
He was silent for some moments. Then: "I think that we can risk it. Bill."
"Very well," I acquiesced, shrugging my shoulders. "But I tell you that I don't like it at all."
The next moment, however, he had turned and was moving down the ledge. I stepped back to the wall (upon which two inscriptions were traced) and waited the result with such composure as I could summon.
At last Rhodes moved behind a projection in the wall. A moment, and the glow of his light had vanished. He was gone, and I was alone in that terrible place.
The blackness seemed to increase, the shadows to thicken about me and grow denser. But one sound broke the awful silence, which sound seemed to have a quality tangible, crushing—the growl of the water in the abysmal depths of the chasm. And even that sound, as I stood there listening, watching, waiting, seemed to change; it seemed to sink to a murmur. then a whisper, as though evil spirits were hushing it to lull my suspicions and even my very senses.
What was that? I started, and something shot through my very heart, chilling and sharp as the needle point of an icicle.
