Here was she, a great
girl, almost a woman, cowering and shivering, while a tiny puppy, who
had hardly any brains at all, was eager to go on. She patted the dog,
and "taking herself by both ears," as she expressed it afterwards,
walked steadily forward, pushed aside the dense tangle of vines and
bushes, and stooped down to enter the black hole which led into the
vault of the mill.
A rush of cold air met her, and beat against her face like a black wing
that brushed it. It had a mouldy smell. Holding up the lantern,
Hildegarde crept as best she could through the narrow opening. A
gruesome place it was in which she found herself. Grim enough by
daylight, it was now doubly so; for the blackness seemed like something
tangible, some shapeless monster which was gathering itself together,
and shrinking back, inch by inch, as the little spark of light moved
forward. The gaunt beams, the jagged bits of iron, bent and twisted into
fantastic shapes, stretched and thrust themselves from every side, and
again the girl fancied them fleshless arms reaching out to clutch her.
But hark! was that a sound,--a faint sound from the farthest and darkest
corner, where the great wheel raised its toothed and broken round from
the dismal pit?
"Jock! my little Jock!" cried Hildegarde, "are you there?"
A feeble sound, the very ghost of a tiny bark, answered her, and a faint
scratching was heard. In an instant all fear left Hilda, and she sprang
forward, holding the lantern high above her head, and calling out words
of encouragement and cheer.
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