Chapter III: The Voice in the Cave

“My lamp has gone out--where is the guide?” cried a girlish voice excitedly, as she clutched at the wire rope acting as a protecting fence to prevent visitors slipping into the chasm below.

“Take my lamp,” said an elderly man, who had come up behind her, “mine is all right,” and he held out the lantern to her as he spoke.

“No! No! I will not take yours,” she expostulated; “it would not be fair; but if you will be so good as to call the guide, I shall be much obliged to you--I will stand here on this firm rock till he comes.”

The elderly man disappeared into the confusion of weird shadows and flickering blotches of light cast by numerous small lamps, revealing walls of stalactitic formation, clammy boulders, and the constant moving of blurred figures, climbing steadily upwards towards an inky darkness.

Presently a form appeared making his way downwards, and a lanky youth came into view, looking distortedly raw-boned and uncouth in the partly lit gloom.

“Take this lamp, miss,” he said, passing her his lantern, “I’ll help you up,” and he extended a hard rough hand with large protruding knuckles.

But the lady did not take the proffered help. “I want the guide,” she said insistently. “Will you be kind enough to ask him to come to me? I have already sent one messenger for him.”

“I’m the guide,” replied the gruff voice good-naturedly. “These caves belong to us, and we always take people through them ourselves.”

“Ah, it is the driver I should have asked for then--isn’t he here? I saw him come in.”

“Yes, he did come in, but I don’t know where he is now.”

Very reluctantly the lady took the lamp, but ignored the outstretched hand.

Presently, however, she found the climbing so steep that she was glad of assistance. She hurried on as fast as the slippery stones would permit, and was finally rewarded by hearing the hollow echo of distant voices; and, as she bravely made faster progress, a crowd of fantastic figures came into view. They were standing under a huge alabaster-like archway, looking at the beautiful roof, lined with long limestone icicles which had dropped into many wonderful shapes. In one corner was a large harp-like formation, where stalactites spanned from ceiling to floor into delicate strings, which produced sweet reluctant sounds, as some of the men tapped them gently with their sticks.

From the archway the caves led into a long tunnel, paved halfway across with large boulders, leaving a terrible chasm on the other side of the stones, from which rose the dull roar of invisible water, leaping in ferocious strength somewhere far below in the blackness.

“I don’t think I shall go any farther to-day,” said Iris Dearn to her cousin, placing her raincoat on a big flat rock and sitting down. “I have seen it all before, you know, and I have a fancy to stay here in all this weirdness by myself--it will give me such strange feelings, feelings I should never have under any other circumstances----”

“But surely you will be too frightened to be here all alone--it would be horrible,” interrupted her cousin, looking after the rest of the party, who were a little ahead.

“No, I shall not be afraid--I am sure I shall enjoy it.”

“Are you certain?” asked Mrs. Henderson, with misgiving in her tones.

“Yes, quite sure.”

“Then I will go with the others, for I should not like to be left here, even if there were two of us---- Ugh!” she shuddered. “This is like Hades, this hollow hill. Isn’t it strange, so many of the hills in this locality seem to be hollow. Well, if you want to stay, I’m going to hurry on to catch the others--I suppose it will be quite two hours before we come back, so there will be plenty of time for the new sensations you are pining for.”

Iris watched her making her way after the vanishing lights and soon they had all turned a corner and disappeared in the darkness.

The girl placed her lamp on one of the low stony ledges, its bright rays illumining the boulder-strewn track, but leaving the stalactitic ceiling in gloomy dimness. Then she sat down again and looked about the cave with curious wonder. Moist rocks bleared at her across the abyss. She heard the drip of water she could not see, filtering through slimy dark places. Beyond the rays of her lantern the blackness brooded all round her as a thick, impenetrable mass, which stood waiting to swallow the timid glow from her lamp; suddenly Iris shuddered. She was not easily frightened, but something cold and clammy seemed to reach out black, stealthy hands towards her. Mrs. Henderson’s words came back to her. Was this hollow hill a Hades? Was she sitting now in the ante-room of some Underworld--a terrible Underworld, piled with gloom and forbidding shapes; an Underworld of gaping chasms, of treacherous streams bounding in unfathomable depths; a world of eerie sounds, menacing objects, slippery footholds, of slimy water creeping insidiously from rock to rock?

Was there really such a Hades? And who were the occupants of such a place? Was it the abode of departed beings, who had now been dragged down by the shadow of their deeds to this abode of gloom?

Iris shivered. Were these spirits round her now? She fancied she could hear soft, wailing notes blending with the drip of the water around her.

And suppose her lamp should go out!

She started violently.

The thick darkness would spring upon her. She felt that. It was crouching to spring. It was only waiting for the feeble lantern to go out and its power would be complete. It could assert itself, exercise its forces. She would be utterly at its mercy then. And those wailing spirits would gather round her--she could hear their faint whine now. And if the light failed they would crowd in upon her, drag her down--down--down into those awful, bottomless chasms!

She shut her eyes and felt her cheeks blanch with horrible coldness.

If only she had gone with the others!

Then suddenly a voice rose from the black vacuum below. It wound its way a little uncertainly towards her. She listened in surprise. Who could be singing down there? Surely no human being could be so far below in that awful ravine? Was it some spirit chained in the bottomless cavern--some spirit cast into the darkness to endure æons of misery in the cruel, merciless gloom? A soul who longed for light, for freedom, whose whole being quivered for sunlit air, blue skies, and the sight of purple hills?--who yearned passionately for gladness, the song of birds, the soft murmurs of the sea, and yet was doomed to an endless existence amid the horrors of this clammy night? What was it? Had her imagination beguiled her senses? Listen!

The sweet notes seemed to hold memories of days lived in the sunlight, in freedom, in gladness! In them burned pain, anguish, hopelessness. The soul was in despair. It would never be free again, never climb out of its horrible prison.

It was a man’s voice, soft, rich, full of sad sweetness, gentle remorse smouldering in every note.

Iris listened intently. She had forgotten her own fears. In her heart surged a deep pity for the being who sang so sorrowfully far below her in the fearful desolation. A strange longing began to stir in her to grope her way down into the gaping fissure, till she reached the captive singer. She half dreamed he might be a spirit who had lived a sordid earth-life, committed evil deeds; but he was repentant now; his tones trembled with sadness; he had endured age-long imprisonment in the icy gloom, till his whole soul was one quivering, sobbing remorse! Surely there should be some consolation for him now? She wanted to go and comfort him. There was no one else to do so. All other feet had hurried on. She alone had halted and heard the song-sobs from the cleft. The quest must be hers. Some great Fate had willed it so. She had heard the cry of anguish and she must respond. She shook off the dream, but it returned.

What would the spirit be like? Would it be some shrivelled up old being who had lived many years in the sunshine-world, before being cast into the under-one? The voice was so mellow, yet throbbing with repressed youth; it pulsated with unfulfilled hopes, a manhood broken, bound with fetters intolerable! No, the spirit who sang could not be old; buoyant youth still surged in his veins, blending with the ripe, full powers of maturity.

The girl had risen. She leant over the big rocks barring the way to the singer’s haunt. All at once the song ceased. The ugly stillness came back, a silence relieved only by the far-away rush of water and the constant dripping from the wet stones.

She leant farther over the boulders and peered into the huge black gulf. But she could see nothing in the murky expanse. And yet somewhere deep down in the clammy loneliness sat an imprisoned soul. She must reach him. She could not leave him entombed in that black solitude. She must make him sing again till she could find her way to him.

“Please sing again,” she called, leaning over the rocks and sending her voice down through the pitchy gloom.

There was a moment’s pause, then a well-known voice replied, “Is that you, Miss Dearn?”

“Yes,” she answered, with slight bewilderment in her tones. To find that the being about whom she had woven these strange fancies was Rees, the driver, had a curious effect on her. It partly brought her back to solid reality, and yet she was unable to dismiss all her conjectures at once; they clung to him and made him appear in a new light. The sympathy which had welled up within her for the unknown singer in the cave still went out to the man who called to her through the dark spaces.

“Miss Dearn, where are you--are you all alone?”

She sat down and uttered a sigh of relief as she heard the hollow echo of footsteps making their way towards her. Sometimes they were loud and distinct, at others they died away in the darkness as if they would never reach her. Then the echoes grew louder and a faint glimmer of light appeared at the other end of the tunnel. Shortly afterwards she could distinguish a form climbing rapidly up the stony pathway towards her, and a few moments later the driver was beside her.

She watched him with strange interest. He was always pleasant to look at. His form was so perfectly proportioned, and, though slight, there was a suggestion of steely strength about it. His large, sombre eyes met hers in the dimness, and it seemed to her there was a new, deep sadness in them.

“Miss Dearn, how did you come to be left here all by yourself?” he almost demanded.

“I wished it. I wanted to be here alone for awhile to see what it was like,” she replied, smiling reassuringly into his anxious face.

“They should not have allowed you to do it--it is not safe. Suppose your lamp had gone out and I had not been here, and you had tried to grope your way back in the darkness--think of it, if you had slipped, or taken one false step----” He stopped abruptly.

She looked up at him quickly. His handsome lean face was very grave and pale. Her fancies about the pain-stricken entombed spirit came back to her.

“Won’t you sit down?” she said, with a little sigh. “No, don’t sit on those wet rocks; have half of my coat.” And she moved a little to make room for him on the stone beside her.

“Where have you been?” she asked very quietly.

“Down in a deep ravine.”

“Don’t you ever take visitors there?”

“No. It is too dangerous, and there is such a lot of water, quite a big stream.”

“A stream deep enough to drown in?”

“Yes.”

The girl shuddered slightly. The caves were really terrible; they over-awed her with their weird black heights, their narrow burrow-like passages, the invisible tumultuous streams and blood-curdling, yawning depths. In the sunlight the imperious young Englishwoman walked with assured confidence, unafraid, but here, surrounded by these mysterious wonders, her courage failed her and she felt baffled and subdued. “And you go down into those caverns without a lantern--I saw you carrying a torch.”

“With a big party there are not enough lamps to spare one for me. But I lit a small dry branch I had brought with me, and it just kept alight till I was within the rays of your lantern. It was odd: it took only one match to light it, but, in lighting that one match, I dropped my box and it fell into the stream.”

There was a short silence, then Miss Dearn said, with soft ardour: “What a wonderful voice you have! Why is it you have never let us hear it before?”

“I very rarely sing,” he replied, with courteous reserve.

All at once there was a bright flash, the flame in the lantern had made a quick flickering leap and then sunk into tired dimness.

“Great Cæsar! I believe that lamp is going out!” exclaimed Rees, as he sprang up hastily.

By the time he was on his feet, there had been another flicker, followed by sudden darkness.

“And we have no matches!” cried Miss Dearn in dismay.

“No; that is the worst of it. The lanterns have not been properly looked after lately; owing to the number of visitors they have been used so constantly, and I have been fearing some experience like this; the boys are pretty careless. I wanted them to let me look after the lamps for them, but they wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Whatever shall we do?” whispered Miss Dearn fearfully.

“We can do nothing except wait till the others come back.”

“But they will be over an hour yet; it is not more than half-an-hour since they left me. Don’t you think you could take me out?” she suggested, with a touch of entreaty in her voice.

“Of course, I could find the way out in the dark, but it would be most dangerous to take you. You see we have to climb down those slippery boulders nearly all the way and you might easily slip, even with my help, and sprain your ankle or worse. The only way I would dare to take you is to--carry you.”

“Oh no!” protested the girl. “I could not possibly let you do such a thing--I am far too heavy.”

“I can carry heavy weights, and you are light.”

“No! I could not let you attempt it,” she said with finality.

“Well, then, we must wait for the others.”

He sat down again.

Neither of them spoke now.

The oppressive gloom was awful. It settled down all around them, brooded over them, crept closer and closer. Iris felt its moist, icy breath on her cheek. It struck chill. She felt cold all over. She shut her eyes, but even then she could feel the stealthy darkness pressing in upon her. It held a gruesome weight. It seemed as if the great hill above them was crushing down on them--if the rocky ceiling should give way!--she caught her breath with fear! They would be entombed then--buried alive! She almost cried out in her anguish. And there was that turbulent water rushing headlong in the black spaces--the mighty torrent she could not see. But if it should rise--young Gill, the guide, had told her it had risen once and flooded the lower part of the caves. If it should rise now!--the distant roar seemed to grow louder; was it swelling already? She knew that streams and rivers in the district often rose with a rush; if this stream should do so now, it would flood the lower passages, so that they could not get out. Her heart beat in wild fear.

“Oh, isn’t it awful?” she gasped.

“What is awful?” asked the man at her side calmly, but with a gentle touch of sympathy.

“The darkness and--everything; aren’t you afraid?”

“No, of course not.”

She breathed a deep sigh: half of relief because of the strength his calmness brought her, and half from new terror as she listened to the hidden water splashing more loudly in the stillness.

She moved instinctively nearer to her companion.

He felt her tremble.

“Miss Dearn, are you really frightened?”

There was deep concern in his voice now.

“I am,” she faltered. “I know it is dreadfully foolish of me--but I can’t help it.”

“What are you afraid of?” he asked gently.

“The blackness--everything. It is so terrible to be right down here in this unearthly place--the top of the tunnel might give way and all that fearful hill fall on us.”

“The ceiling will not give way--it is strong, solid rock,” he soothed her.

“Mr. Gill told me there had been landslips here which completely buried part of the caves.”

“But not where these firm rocks are overhead.”

There was another awful silence.

Then he felt her tremble violently again.

“Miss Dearn, don’t be afraid--there is really nothing to fear.” She felt the strong sympathy in his tones.

But it did not set her terror at rest. “Can’t you hear that water?--oh, how I hate it! You can’t see it and--I believe it is rising.”

“It will not rise.”

“It does sometimes. Mr. Gill told me it has risen and destroyed that lovely fern corner near the entrance. Oh, if only you could take me out--I don’t know how to stay here all that time!”

She was shaking from head to foot now.

The driver grew alarmed. “Miss Dearn, I will take you out if you will allow me to carry you. I can easily do it. I promise to bring you out in safety. Will you?”

“No! No! I could not let you do it.” Her tones were again final.

“But I can’t bear you to suffer like this.” There was a tremor in his words.

“Oh, I know I am absolutely absurd, but this is--Hades----”

He felt her swaying slightly against him. He caught her in his arms quickly.

“Are you faint, Miss Dearn?” he ejaculated under his breath.

There was no answer.

“My God, she has fainted!” he muttered.

He drew her closer towards him so that her head rested comfortably against his shoulder, then he dipped his handkerchief in one of the pools between the rocks and began to bathe her forehead gently.

She was unconscious for only a few minutes before she began to stir restlessly. She lifted her head slightly, then let it sink back wearily.

“Miss Dearn, are you feeling better?” he asked anxiously.

“Where--where am I?” she murmured vaguely.

“You are here in the cave--with me,” involuntarily his arms tightened round her.

“Yes, yes,” she answered drowsily; “I remember the darkness was just going to choke me--it is coming back again,” she added, fear returning to her voice.

“No, no, it is not coming back--nothing shall harm you, I am holding you--just rest quietly till you feel better.”

She drew a deep sigh and lay back more calmly. Presently she moved again. “I am better now,” she whispered and made an effort to sit up.

“Please don’t exert yourself, just stay where you are; you were frozen and you are just getting warm now.”

“How kind you are to me!” she breathed. “It was ridiculous of me to faint. I have never done such a thing before. I suppose it was the want of air and being so terribly--frightened.”

“You are not afraid now, are you?” he asked, bending over her.

“No,” she faltered; “but--I--mustn’t stay here.”

“Of course you must. I am not going to run any risk of your fainting again,” he said, with tender concern.

She did not stir for some time. There was wonderful comfort in the sheltering clasp of his arms, it brought her a strange sense of security, a delicious calm crept over her. All at once she understood why every one trusted this man, why all sought his help, why weak things came to him for protection. She felt the strength emanating from him. Within his arms was a rest which was wonderful. “I am so thankful you are here,” she said under her breath, “if I had been all alone now I should just have gone mad with terror.”

“I am more glad than I can say to be here, but you know you should never have been left by yourself--it is too much for any one who is not accustomed to it, especially as the lamp went out and you have more than your share of imagination.”

Another silence fell between them and in the silence a sense of horror returned. She could hear the water clamouring to reach her. It really seemed to be rising--she was sure it was coming nearer.

“Oh, do talk,” she cried in fear; “don’t let me hear that horrible water--it seems----” She stopped and instinctively nestled closer to him.

“Would you like me to sing to you?”

“Please do.”

He paused a moment as if considering what he should sing, and then he began in soothing exquisite tones--

“I’ll sing thee songs of Araby.”

The water receded. The awful darkness drew back. She forgot everything but the delightful sound of his voice. It was a true tenor, deliciously soft on the high notes and containing an ethereal purity throughout its entire range. He sang with the perception and feelings of a born artist, and with the perfection of a highly trained one. Every note quivered with beauty and tender sympathy, and when he reached the climax--

“And all my soul shall strive to wake
Sweet wonder in thine eyes,”

his voice held a melting, an almost unbearable, sweetness.

Iris stirred in his arms. His singing moved her as she had never been moved before. It seemed to reach some unknown depth in her. It brought enchantment; but it also brought a strange fear. It held her. It enthralled her; but with it she was conscious of a curious uneasiness. It seemed as if the music laid soft chains about her, and involuntarily she shrank a little from this sweet captivity, yet some hidden part of her revelled in the magic thraldom.

Rees sang on--

“And dreams of delight shall on thee break
And rainbow visions rise.”

Did he feel her thrill to his music? She did not stop to consider, she was only aware that her whole being responded to every note of his song. Then the last liquid sound faded into the darkness.

“Oh, sing it again,” she pleaded tremulously. “I can’t bear you to stop!”

Without comment he began the song once more.

The first time he had sung it with the natural sweetness and beauty his voice possessed. He had sung to please and soothe her, to brighten the darkness. She felt that he had sung it to her as to a tired frightened child he wished to calm and rest. But as she heard the words the second time, Iris was conscious of another element, a new indefinable something which was not in his tones when he sang at first.

What had caused this subtle change?

But she could not stop to answer her stirring wonders. She was listening passionately as she had never listened to anything before. His voice floated round her, pressed close to her, caressed her with its irresistible charm. The words came to her as if they had been whispered from his soul, conveying a special message to her own and she felt something within her respond fiercely to his song.

All her fear of the cave and the horrible darkness had gone. She was only aware of this sublime singing. It rested her. It bore her into a world of rapture! Yet, mingling with the exultant gladness, was a mysterious sadness, which filled her with an odd sense of foreboding.

The song ceased.

A great wave of emotion surged up in her. She did not understand the turmoil within. She only knew it was there. She was conscious of a tumultuous peace, a delicious pain, a rapture, an anguish which was sweet! She lay in his arms mute, overcome, crushed into silence by the beauty of his music.

She felt her heart throb, her bosom sink and swell quickly, and at last the turmoil within found vent in a long, sobbing sigh. His arms about her tightened, and there was the same new element in his touch there had been in his tones when he repeated the song. His enfolding still held tenderest sympathy; deep, solicitous shelter; but they held more--a new strength, or was it a new softness--and with it mingled a yearning sadness.

“Have I sung you sad too?” he breathed, his lips brushing her hair.

“I don’t know--I don’t know,” she whispered faintly; “only it was too wonderful--too amazing--I have never heard anything so heavenly!”

She felt a great sigh pass through his frame. But he said nothing, only there was an almost imperceptible pressure of his arms again.

Iris made a desperate attempt to get her feelings under control; but her effort was fruitless. She lay back in his clasp dumb, trembling, her heart throbbing wildly against his.

At last there was the sound of distant voices and a faint glimmer of light at the upper end of the tunnel. Iris started. “They are coming,” she gasped, but there was no gladness in her voice now. “Please take me out before they reach us--we can easily find our way by the sheen of their lamps. I could not bear to meet them just yet.” She had drawn gently away from him and had risen to her feet.

He sighed again. “Yes,” he replied tonelessly. “I think that will be light enough,” and he began to help her down the slimy stones.

It was difficult by the rays from the distant lamps to find foothold, but Rees guided her skilfully along the dangerous track.

They walked in absolute silence till they were near the entrance, and the sunlight began to filter slowly into the gloom; then Iris said, still looking down on the slippery rocks: “You won’t tell the others about the--fainting, will you?”

“Certainly not, if you don’t wish it.”

“I don’t want them to know--I will just tell Amy quietly later on.”

They had now reached the mouth of the cave and stood quite still a moment, blinded by the glare of sunlight pouring through the wide opening.

“I hope this has not been too dreadful an experience for you,” said the driver, as he helped her over a small trickling stream.

She shaded her smarting eyes with her hand. “I don’t know--I don’t know,” she said, as one not wholly awake from a strange, vivid dream.

The rest of the party had caught up to them now. Explanations followed. Mrs. Henderson had been anxious when they did not find her cousin where she had left her.

Rees answered all questions. He seemed bent on drawing attention from Miss Dearn to himself, and Iris felt grateful to him.

She sat beside him on the way home, but tactfully he did not look at her. Mrs. Henderson was on the box-seat, too, and kept up a continuous flow of conversation, so the time passed without embarrassment.

But when they reached the township, the driver helped Miss Dearn out of the brake, and, as their hands touched, a tremor passed through the girl and a deep flush mounted to her face. She felt his clasp tighten, as if to convey his unspoken sympathy. But she did not dare raise her eyes to his.