The Rocks of Valpre by Ethel May Dell (best contemporary novels .txt) 📕

was rapidly dwindling.
As he had told her, the passage soon widened. They emerged into a cave of some size and considerable height.
"He will be here," announced Bertrand, with conviction.
But he was mistaken; Cinders was nowhere to be seen.
Chris looked around her wonderingly. This chamber in the rock was unlike anything she had ever seen before. The very atmosphere seemed ominous, like the air of a dungeon.
"And you come here often!" she said again incredulously.
He smiled, and, raising his lantern, pointed to a crevice just above his head. "That is where I keep my magic."
Chris stood on tiptoe, and peered curiously. He reached up with his free hand, and drew forward something that gave back dully the flare of the lamp. She saw a black tin box that looked like a miniature safe.
He looked at her with a smile. "It contains my treasures--my black arts," he said, "and my future." He pushed it back again and turned. "Come! we will find the naughty Cinders."
Chris was on the point of asking eager questions regarding this new mystery, but before she could begin to utter them a long and piteous howl--the howl of a lost dog--sent them helter-skelter from her mind.
"Oh, listen!" she cried. "That's Cinders!"
She sprang forward while the miserable sound was still echoing all about them. "Oh, isn't it dreadful?" she gasped. "Do you think he is hurt?"
"No, no!" Bertrand hastened to reassure her. "He is only afraid. We will go to him."
He stretched out a hand to her, and she put hers into it as naturally as a child. Her chin was quivering, and her voice, when she tried to call to the dog, broke down upon a sob.
"He will never know where we are because of the echoes," she said.
"He is not far," declared the Frenchman consolingly. "See, here is the passage. They say that it was made by the contrabandists, but it leads to nowhere; it has been blocked since many years. Do not fall on the stones; they are very slippery."
A passage, even narrower than the first, led from the cave in which they had been standing. Bertrand went first, his hand stretched out behind him, still holding hers.
They had scrambled in this order about a dozen yards when again they heard Cinders' cry for help--a pathetic yelping considerably farther away than it had been before. The unlucky wanderer seemed to have lost his head in the darkness and to be running hither and thither in wild dismay.
"What shall we do?" said Chris in tears. "I've never heard him cry like that before."
Bertrand paused to listen. "The passage divides near here," he said. "Courage, little one! We may find him at any moment. Will you then wait while I search a little farther? I will leave you the lantern. I have some matches."
"Oh, please don't leave me!" entreated Chris. "Why can't I come too?"
"It is too rough for you," he said. "And there are two passages. If I do not find him in the one, without doubt he will return by the other to you."
"You--you'd better take the lantern then," said Chris, with a gulp. "If I am only going to stand still, I--I shan't want it."
"No, no--" he began.
But she insisted. "Yes, really. You will want it. I will wait for you here, if you think it best. Only you will promise not to be long?"
"I promise," he said.
"Then be quick and go," she urged, drawing her hand from his. "We must find him--we must."
But when his back was turned, and she saw him receding from her with the light, she covered her face and trembled. It was the most horrible adventure she had ever experienced.
For a long time she heard his footsteps echoing weirdly, but when they died away at last and she stood alone in the utter, vault-like darkness, her heart failed her. What if he also lost his way?
The darkness was terrible. It seemed to press upon her, to hurt her. Through it came the faint sounds of trickling water from all directions like tiny voices whispering together. Now and then something moved with a small rustling. It might have been a lizard, a crab, or even a bat. But Chris thought of snakes and stiffened to rigidity, scarcely daring to breathe. The roar of the sea sounded remote and far, yet insistent also as though it held a threat. And, above all, thick and hard and agitatingly distinct, arose the throbbing of her frightened heart.
All the horrors she had ever heard or dreamt of passed through her brain as she waited there, yet with a certain desperate courage she kept herself from panic. Cinders might run against her at any moment--at any moment. And even if not, even if she were indeed quite alone in that awful place, she had heard it said that God was nearer to people in the dark.
"O God," she whispered, "I am so frightened. Do bring them both back soon."
After the small prayer she felt reassured. She touched the clammy wall on each side of her, and essayed a tremulous whistle. It was a brave little tune; she knew not whence it came till it suddenly flashed upon her that she had heard it on Bertrand's lips on the day that he had drawn his pictures in the sand. And that also renewed her courage. After all, what had she to fear?
Over and over again she whistled it with growing confidence, improving her memory each time, till suddenly in the middle of a bar there came the rush and patter of feet, a yelp of sheer, exuberant delight, and Cinders, the wanderer, wet, ecstatic, and quite shameless, leaped into her arms.


CHAPTER VI
THE SPELL

She hugged him to her heart in the darkness, all her fears swept away in the immensity of her joy at his recovery.
"But, Cinders, how could you? How could you?" was the utmost reproof she could find it in her heart to bestow upon the delinquent.
Cinders explained in his moist, eager way that it had been quite unintentional, and that he was every whit as thankful to be back safe and sound in her loving arms as she was to have him there. They discussed the subject at length and forgave each other with considerable effusion, eventually arriving at the conclusion that no blame attached to either.
And upon this arose the question, What of the Frenchman, Chris's _preux chevalier_, who had so nobly adventured himself upon a fruitless quest?
"He promised he wouldn't be long," she reflected hopefully. "We shall just have to wait till he turns up, that's all."
She would not suffer her rescued favourite to leave her arms again, and they wiled away some time in the joy of reunion. But the minutes began to drag more and more slowly, till at length anxiety came uppermost again.
Chris began to grow seriously uneasy. What could have happened to him? Had he really lost his way? And if so what could she do?
Plainly nothing, but wait--wait--wait! And she was so tired of the darkness; her eyes ached with it.
Her fears mustered afresh, fantastic fears this time. She began to see green eyes glaring at her, to hear stealthy footfalls above the long, deep roar of the sea, to feel the clammy presence of creatures unknown and hostile. Cinders, too, weary of inaction, began to whimper, to lick her face persuasively, and to suggest a move.
But Chris would not be persuaded. She could without doubt have groped her way back to the cave where Bertrand kept his magic, and even thence to the shore. But she did not for a moment contemplate such a proceeding. She would have felt like a soldier deserting his post. Sooner or later Bertrand would return and look for her here, and here he must find her.
But her fears were growing more vivid every moment, and when Cinders, infected thereby, began to growl below his breath and to bristle under her hand she became almost terrified.
Desperately she grappled with her trepidation and flung it from her, chid Cinders for his foolish cowardice, and fell again to whistling Bertrand's melody with all her might.
Clear and flutelike it echoed through the desolate tunnels, startlingly distinct to her strained nerves. Sometimes the echoes seemed to mock her, but she would not be dismayed. It might be a help to Bertrand, and it certainly helped herself.
A long time passed, how long she had not the vaguest notion. Cinders, grown tired of his own impatience, rested his chin on her shoulder and went phlegmatically to sleep, secure in her assurance that there was nothing whatever to be afraid of. Small creature though he was, her arms ached from holding him, yet she would not let him go, he was too precious for that; and each minute that passed, so she told herself, brought the end of her vigil nearer.
Her heart was like lead within her, but she would not give way to despair. He was bound to come in the end.
And come in the end he did, but not till her hopes had sunk so low that when she heard the first faint sound of his returning feet she would not believe her ears. But when Cinders heard it also, and raised his head to growl, she suffered herself to be convinced. He really was coming at last.
His progress was very slow, maddeningly slow it seemed to Chris. She watched eagerly for the first sign of light from his lantern, but she watched in vain. No faintest ray came to illumine the darkness. Surely it was he; it could be none other!
Nearer and nearer came the footsteps, slow and groping. She listened till she could bear it no longer; then "Bertrand!" she cried wildly. "Bertie! Oh, is it you! Do speak!"
Instantly his voice came to her out of the darkness. "Yes, yes. It is me, little one. I have had--an accident. I am desolated--afflicted; there are no words that can say. And you awaiting me still, my little bird of Paradise, singing so bravely in the darkness!"
"Whistling," corrected Chris; "I can't sing. What on earth has happened? Are you hurt?"
"No, no! It is nothing--a _bagatelle_. Ah, but you have found the good Cinders! I am rejoiced indeed!"
"Yes, he came to me--ages ago. It is you I have been waiting for all this time. I thought you were never coming. At least, of course, I knew you would come; but oh"--with a great sigh--"it has been a long time!"
"Ah, pardon me!" he said. "But why did you wait?"
"Of course I waited," said Chris. "I said I would."
"And you were not afraid? No?"
He was standing close to her now, and Cinders was wriggling to reach and welcome him.
"Yes, a little," Chris admitted. "That's why I whistled. But it's all right now. Do let us get out."
"Ah!" he said. "But I fear--"
"What?" she asked, with sudden misgiving.
He hesitated a moment, then, "The tide," he said.
"Bertie!" For the first time Chris's bravely sustained courage broke down. She thrust out a clinging hand and clutched his arm. "Are we going to be drowned--here--in the dark?" she said, gasping.
"No, no, no!" His reply was instant and reassuring. He took her hand and held it. "It is not that. The water will not reach us. It is only that we cannot return until the tide permit."
"Oh, well!" Chris's relief eclipsed her dismay. "That doesn't matter so much," she said. "Let us get out of this horrid little tunnel, anyhow. Oh, darling Cinders! He wants to kiss you. Do you mind?"
Bertrand laughed involuntarily. But she was droll, this English child! Was it possible