Gwyn. "Why, of course, it
has done so before. Don't you remember finding sand and sea-shells in
some of the passages?"

No one spoke; and finding that the efforts he had, at no little cost to
himself, made to divert his companions' attention from their terrible
danger were vain, he too remained nearly always silent, listening
shudderingly to the wash, wash of the water as they tramped through it,
and he thought of the time coming when it would rise higher and higher
still.

Gwyn could think no more in that way, for the horror that attacked him
at the thought that it meant they must all soon die. Once the idea came
to him that he was watching his companions struggling vainly in the
black water; but, making a desperate effort, he forced himself to think
only of the task they had in hand, and just then he shouted to Joe to
turn off to the left, for another opening appeared, and the lad was
going past it with his head bent down.

Joe turned off mechanically, his long, lank figure looking strange in
the extreme; and as he swung the lanthorns in each hand, grotesque
shadows of his tall body were thrown on the wall on either side, and
sometimes over the gleaming water which rushed by them, swift in places
as a mill-race.

And still the water grew deeper, and no more arrows pointed faintly from
the wall. The water was more than waist-deep now, and the chill feeling
of despair was growing rapidly upon all. The lads did not speak, though
they felt their position keenly enough, but Hardock uttered a groan from
time to time, and at last stopped short.

"Don't do that," cried Gwyn, flashing into anger for a moment; but the
man's piteous reply disarmed him, and he felt as despairing.

"Must, sir--I must," groaned the man; "I can't do any more. You've been
very kind to me, Master Gwyn, and I'd like to shake hands with you
first, and say good-bye. There--there's nothing for it but to give up,
and let the water carry you away, as it keeps trying to do. We've done
all that man can do; there's no hope of getting out of the mine, so
let's get out of our misery at once."

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

IN DIRE PERIL.

For a few moments, in his misery and despair, Gwyn felt disposed to
succumb, and he looked piteously at Joe, who stood drooping and bent,
with the bottoms of the lanthorns touching the water. Then the natural
spirit that was in him came to the front, and with an angry shout he
cried,--

"Here, you, sir, keep