found the monk; indeed, his bones
wrapped in dark robes still lay within, for Jacob had tumbled them back
again. Then beyond and all around deep, dark, and utter silence.

At last her father woke, and glad enough was she of his human company.
They breakfasted upon some biscuits and water, and afterwards, while Mr.
Clifford watched near the entrance with his rifle, Benita set to work
to arrange their belongings. The tent she managed to prop up against the
wall of the cave by help of some of the wood which they had carried in.
Beneath it she spread their blankets, that it might serve as a sleeping
place for them both, and outside placed the food and other things.

While she was thus engaged she heard a sound at the mouth of the
cave--Jacob Meyer was entering and had fallen over her rope. Down it
she ran, lantern in hand, to her father, who, with his rifle raised, was
shouting:

"If you come in here, I put a bullet through you!"

Then came the answer in Jacob's voice, which rang hollow in that vaulted
place:

"I do not want to come in; I shall wait for you to come out. You cannot
live long in there; the horror of the dark will kill you. I have only to
sit in the sunlight and wait."

Then he laughed, and they heard the sound of his footsteps retreating
down the passage.

"What are we to do?" asked Mr. Clifford despairingly. "We cannot live
without light, and if we have light he will certainly creep to the
entrance and shoot us. He is quite mad now; I am sure of it from his
voice."

Benita thought a minute, then she answered:

"We must build up the passage. Look," and she pointed to the lumps of
rock that the explosion of their mine had shaken down from the roof,
and the slabs of cement that they had broken from the floor with the
crowbar. "At once, at once," she went on; "he will not come back for
some hours, probably not till night."

So they set to work, and never did Benita labour as it was her lot to do
that day. Such of the fragments as they could lift they carried between
them, others they rolled along by help of the crowbar. For hour after
hour they toiled at their task. Luckily for them, the passage was not
more than three feet wide by six feet six high, and their material was
ample. Before the evening they had blocked it completely with a wall
several feet in thickness, which wall they supported on the inside with
lengths of the firewood lashed across to the old hinges and bolt-holes,
or set obliquely