st then I dislodged another loose stone, which went
rolling down and plunged into the water below.

The match had burned out.

"All right," I shouted. "I'll get another."

The same business had to be gone through again. Untaught by experience,
I moistened the top of the first match I took out, my fingers trembling
the while with nervous dread that I would drop the box or spill the
matches, when the result might be death to one, if not to both. I tried
the damp match three times before throwing it away; then, taking out two
together and striking them, my spirits rose as I got a light, which was
passed into my left hand, and with the other I secured the lamp, which
lay bottom up.

"The tallow and wick will have fallen out," I thought. No; the hard fat
was in its place. Again I took out a match, shivering as I saw how
rapidly it burned away. The very next moment I had laid it against the
bent-down wick, which had been flattened by the fall; and it sputtered
and refused to burn. All I could do till my fingers began to burn was
to melt out some of the tallow and partially dry the wick. Then all was
darkness again.

"Cheer up!" I cried hoarsely; "third time never fails." There was no
response. I turned cold as I fumbled at the box once more; my fingers
needed no moisture from the slippery stones now to make them wet, for
the perspiration seemed to be oozing out of every pore.

I was again successful when I struck a match, and it burned up brightly.
My heart now beat more hopefully, as one tiny strand of the cotton
caught and ceased sputtering, giving forth a feeble blue flame, which I
was able to coax by letting the fat it melted drain away till more and
more of the wick caught and began to burn.

I dared not wait to light the second wick, but looked for a safe place
to set the lamp; this I found directly, within reach of my hand. My
hurried glance showed that we were in a rough tunnel or shoot, sloping
down rapidly into darkness--a darkness too horrible to contemplate; and,
to my despair, I could not see Denham. Then, as the sight of the light
revived him, I could hear his shivering sigh.

"Where are you?" I said, trying to speak firmly.

"Just below you," came faintly.

I felt my teeth were clenched together as I asked the next question,
knowing only too well what must be the answer:

"Can you see to climb up to me?"

"No," came back after a pause of a moment or two. "I'm hurt and sick.
I feel