s night.

Cheered by his calculation being so far right, he worked and scraped out
the mortar, satisfied even with getting away the tiniest scraps, feeling
as he did that if he could only dislodge one stone he could bring up
from below plenty of great and splinter-shaped pieces with which he
could hammer, and take out the rest, or enough for his body to pass
through.

So light-hearted did he feel, as guiding the point of his knife by his
fingers, he picked and scraped away, that he began to hum a tune over
softly. It was as black now as it was in the deepest part of the
ancient quarry, but that did not seem to matter, for it was only the
darkness of evening, and if he waited there and kept on working, he
would see, first of all, a long pallid ray that would grow brighter, and
bring as it were some light and hope, while as soon as he could get out
a stone he would be able to see the sea, perhaps even make out the
cutter, and signal.

No: the boy had said that it was gone. But it would come back, and they
would see his signals; a boat would come ashore, he would be fetched out
of this miserable black hole; the smugglers would be captured, and he
would have such a revenge on that boy Ram. It would be glorious.

But all depended upon little _ifs_--_if_ he could get out the stone,
_if_ the hole happened to be opposite the spot where the cutter was
moored, _if_ they could see his signals.

It was discouraging to have such thoughts as these, but Archy Raystoke
had been for days condemned to inactivity, and the opportunity of
working at something definite which proffered a way of escape made him
toil on with all his his might.

In fact, he was obliged to check himself, for his task needed care. Too
much exercise of the strength which had been growing latent might mean
breaking his knife, and the destruction of his hopes.

So he toiled on well into the night, picking and loosening tiny scraps
of mortar, which, hard though it was, had fortunately for him been made
of an exceedingly coarse sand, or rather very fine shingle, whose tiny
pebbles formed each a point to work upon till it was loosened and fell.

Archy's first thought was to work right on through the night, but the
monotonous task in the darkness, and the fatigue and excitement,
combined to produce their customary effect, and he found himself nodding
and starting into wakefulness so many times over, that he resolved at
last to go back to his starting-place,