s sure, for in the plan of their own mine he had found allusions to
it and some former manager had made notes of the risks that might be
encountered if any of the galleries were driven far enough to tap either
of those belonging to the ancient mine, which would contain water enough
to flood their own.

The elastic hazel boughs had bent down and down until Philip Hexton's
head was five or six feet below the crumbling edge of the mine shaft;
and as he endeavoured to obtain more hold for his feet, he only seemed
to kick the earth and stones away, causing them to fall and send up a
repetition of that horrible echoing plash. Below him, as he glanced
down once, all was terrible darkness, though even in his horror he
noticed that the sides of the old shaft were covered with beautiful
ferns. Above him was a tangle of crossing and interweaving branches,
twigs, and brambles, and if, as might take place at any moment, the
boughs by which he held should break, there was no hope for him. He
knew that he must die, and probably his fate would never become known.

He hung there swinging to and fro for some moments, making not the
slightest effort, till the horribly paralysing shock had somewhat passed
away. Then, as his nerves began to resume their wonted tone, he tried
to think.

All depended upon his being perfectly cool, and calling up all his
strength of mind he made his plans.

If he struggled vigorously he knew that the chances were that he would
tear the rotten moss-grown stubb up by the roots; if he swung about too
much the branches would give way at their intersection with the low
stem; if he should force his feet into the crumbling sides he would only
kick down more stones and soil, and undermine the hazel roots.

It was indeed a position of awful peril--one in which, though such a
proceeding would have been folly, most people would have exhausted
themselves by shrieking for help where there was not a soul within
hearing.

To and fro, with a gentle pendulum-like swing, as he let himself hang to
the full extent of his muscles, swayed Philip Hexton; and then, with the
greater part of his horror mastered by enforced coolness, he made his
first effort for life.

There was no other plan open to him but to draw himself up hand over
hand with as little effort as possible; and this he began to do.

There were plenty more hazel boughs above his head if he could reach
them, and each of these, if added to those he grasped,