art right: these gases change from
day to day, and we will try the thing again. So bring the candle,
Master Jailer.'

The jailer brought a candle fixed on a wooden triangle, which he was wont
to show strangers who came to see the well, and lowered it on a string.
It was not till then I knew what a task I had before me, for looking over
the parapet, and taking care not to lose my balance, because the parapet
was low, and the floor round it green and slippery with water-splashings,
I watched the candle sink into that cavernous depth, and from a bright
flame turn into a little twinkling star, and then to a mere point of
light. At last it rested on the water, and there was a shimmer where the
wood frame had set ripples moving. We watched it twinkle for a little
while, and the jailer raised the candle from the water, and dropped down
a stone from some he kept there for that purpose. This stone struck the
wall half-way down, and went from side to side, crashing and whirring
till it met the water with a booming plunge; and there rose a groan and
moan from the eddies, like those dreadful sounds of the surge that I
heard on lonely nights in the sea-caverns underneath our hiding-place in
Purbeck. The jailer looked at me then for the first time, and his eyes
had an ugly meaning, as if he said, 'There--that is how you will sound
when you fall from your perch.' But it was no use to frighten, for I had
made up my mind.

They pulled the candle up forthwith and put it in my hand, and I flung
the plasterer's hammer into the bucket, where it hung above the well, and
then got in myself. The turnkey stood at the break-wheel, and Elzevir
leant over the parapet to steady the rope. 'Art sure that thou canst do
it, lad?' he said, speaking low, and put his hand kindly on my shoulder.
'Are head and heart sure? Thou art my diamond, and I would rather lose
all other diamonds in the world than aught should come to thee. So, if
thou doubtest, let me go, or let not any go at all.'

'Never doubt, master,' I said, touched by tenderness, and wrung his
hand. 'My head is sure; I have no broken leg to turn it silly
now'--for I guessed he was thinking of Hoar Head and how I had gone
giddy on the Zigzag.

CHAPTER 15

THE WELL

The grave doth gape and doting death is near--_Shakespeare_

The bucket was large, for all that the turnkey had tried to frighten me
into think it small, and I could crouch in it low enough to feel safe of
not falling