imens of in the cabinet at home."

"No," said Vince; "you'll find that it'll be all smooth, worn granite at
the sides, where the water has been running for hundreds of years."

"Till it all ran away. Very well, then: let's go back at once and get a
lanthorn and the rope."

Vince laughed. "We've got to get home first, and by the time we've done
that we shan't want to make another journey to-day; but I say to-morrow
afternoon, directly after dinner. Are you willing?"

"Of course."

"And you'll bring the rope?"

"To be sure; and you the crowbar and hammer?"

Vince promised, and sat there very thoughtful, as he gazed down at the
hacked-away brambles.

"Let's put these away or throw them down," he said.

"Why?"

"Because if Old Daygo came along here, he'd see that some one had found
a way down into the Scraw."

"Daygo! What nonsense! I don't believe he ever was along here in his
life."

"Perhaps not; but he may come now, if he sees us spying about. I'm sure
he watches us."

"And I'm sure you've got a lot of nonsense in your nut about the old
chap. Now then, shall we go?"

"Yes; I'm willing. Think we can find it again?"

"Easily," said Mike. "Look up yonder: we can take those two pieces of
rock up on the ridge for our bearings. They stand as two ends of the
base A B, as Mr Deane would say, and if you draw lines from them they
will meet here at this point, C. This hole's C, and we can't mistake
it."

"No. But look here: this is better still. Look at that bit of a crag
split like a bishop's mitre."

"Yes: I see."

"We've got to get this laid-down rock in a line with it, and there are
our bearings; we can't be wrong then."

"No," cried Mike. "Who wouldn't know how to take his bearings when he's
out, and wants to mark a spot! Now then, is it lay our heads for home?"

It was a long while before either of them slept that night for thinking
of their discovery, and when they did drop off, the dark, tunnel-like
place was reproduced in their dreams.

CHAPTER NINE.

STUDY VERSUS DISCOVERY.

"Dear, dear, dear, dear!" in a tone full of reproach, and then a series
of those peculiar sounds made by the tongue, and generally written
"tut-tut-tut-tut!" for want of a better way--for it is like trying to
express on paper the sound of a Bosjesman's _click cluck_ or the crowing
of a cock.

The speaker was Mr Humphrey Deane--a tall, pale, gentlemanly-looking
young university man, who, for reasons