eat wheel revolving; while,
ever and anon, a beautiful creature would close its wings and swoop to
death upon the dewy grass. Other animals, terrified cattle, wild dogs,
creatures from the heights and creatures from the valleys, all huddled
together in their fear, raised doleful cries which no ear could shut
out. The trees themselves were burnt and blackened by the storm, the
glens as dark as night, the heaven above one canopy of fiery cloud and
stagnant vapour.

Now, I knew no more than the dead what Duncan Gray meant when he said
that he would lead us to Czerny's house. A boat I felt sure he did not
possess, or he would have spoken of it; nor did he mean that we should
swim, for no man could have lived in the surf about the reefs. His
steps, moreover, were not carrying him towards the beach, but to that
vile pool in the ravine wherein a man had died on the night we came to
Ken's Island. This pool I saw again as we ran on towards the headland;
and so still and quiet it seemed, such a pretty lake among the hills,
that no man would have guessed the terror below its waters or named the
secret of it. Nevertheless, it recalled to me our first night's work,
and how little we could hope from any man in Czerny's house; and this I
had in my mind when, the doctor halted at last before the mouth of an
open pit at the very foot of the giant headland. He was blown with
running, and the sweat dropped from his forehead like water. The place
itself was the most awesome I have ever entered. On either hand, so
close to us that the arms outstretched could have touched them, were
two mighty walls, which towered up as though to the very sky beyond the
vapour. A black pit lay before us; the fog and the burning wind in the
woods we had left. Silence was here--the awful silence of night and
solitude. No eye could fathom the depths or search the heights. What
lay beyond, I might not say. The doctor had led us to this wilderness,
and he must speak.

"See here," he cried, mopping the sweat from his face and rolling up
his shirt-sleeves, like a man who has good work to do, "the road's down
yonder, and we need a light to strike it. Give me your hand, one of
you, while I fetch up the lantern. A Dutchman didn't write of Ken's
Island for nothing. I guess he knew we were coming his way."

He stretched out a hand to me with the words, and I held it surely
while he bent over the pit and groped for the lantern he spoke of.

"Three days ago," said he,