rns. With
our hands to our mouths we hallooed several times and then held our
breath while we waited for an answer. The only sound which came out of
the stillness was the occasional drip of water or the flap of a bat's
wing. Had the Colonel been lost in any of the winding passages he must
have heard us and replied, for the slightest sound is audible in such a
cavern, echoing and re-echoing as it does through countless vaulted
galleries. The silence, however, instead of assuring me that he was not
there only increased my uneasiness. What if he had slipped on the wet
clay, and having injured himself, was lying unconscious in the
darkness?

The men wished to turn back, but I insisted that we go as far as the
broken column which lies in a little gallery above Crystal Lake. That
was the place where the coat had been left, and we could at least find
out if either the Colonel or Mose had returned for it. We set out in
single file along the damp clay path, the light from our few candles
only serving to intensify the blackness around us. The huge white forms
of the stalactites seemed to follow us like ghosts in the gloom; every
now and then a bat flapped past our faces, and I wondered with a shiver
how anyone could get up courage to go alone into such a hole as that.

"Crystal Lake" is a shallow pool lying in a sort of bowl. On the farther
side the path runs up seven or eight feet above the water along the
broken edge of a cliff. A few steps beyond the pool the path diverges
sharply to the left and opens into the little gallery of the broken
column.

Just as we were about to ascend the two or three stone steps leading to
the incline, the guide in front stopped short, and clutching me by the
arm pointed a shaking forefinger toward the pool.

"What's that?" he gasped.

I strained my eyes into the darkness but I could see nothing.

"There, that black thing under the bank," he said, raising his candle
and throwing the light over the water.

We all saw it now and recognized it with a thrill of horror. It was the
body of Colonel Gaylord. He was lying on his face at the bottom of the
pool, and with outstretched arms was clutching the mud in his hands. The
still water above him was as clear as crystal but was tinged with red.

"It's my uncle!" I cried, springing forward. "He's fallen over the bank.
He may not be dead."

But they held me back.

"He's as dead as he ever will be," the guide said grimly. "An' what's
more, Colon