Joanne and the Blacktons were waiting when he came down.

His first look at Joanne assured him.  She was dressed in a soft gray walking-suit.  Never had the preparation of a dinner seemed so slow to him, and a dozen times he found himself inwardly swearing at Tom, the Chinese cook.  It was one o’clock before they sat down at the table and it was two o’clock when they arose.  It was a quarter after two when Joanne and he left the bungalow.

“Shall we wander up on the mountain?” he asked.  “It would be fine to look down upon the explosion.”

“I have noticed that in some things you are very observant,” said Joanne, ignoring his question.  “In the matter of curls, for instance, you are unapproachable; in others you are—­quite blind, John Aldous!”

“What do you mean?” he asked, bewildered.

“I lost my scarf this morning, and you did not notice it.  It is quite an unusual scarf.  I bought it in Cairo, and I don’t want to have it blown up.”

“You mean——­”

“Yes.  I must have dropped it in the cavern.  I had it when we entered.”

“Then we’ll return for it,” he volunteered.  “We’ll still have plenty of time to climb up the mountain before the explosion.”

Twenty minutes later they came to the dark mouth of the tunnel.  There was no one in sight, and for a moment Aldous searched for matches in his pocket.

“Wait here,” he said.  “I won’t be gone two minutes.”

He entered, and when he came to the chamber he struck a match.  The lantern was on the empty box.  He lighted it, and began looking for the scarf.  Suddenly he heard a sound.  He turned, and saw Joanne standing in the glow of the lantern.

“Can you find it?” she asked.

“I haven’t—­yet.”

They bent over the rock floor, and in a moment Joanne gave a little exclamation of pleasure as she caught up the scarf.  In that same moment, as they straightened and faced each other, John Aldous felt his heart cease beating, and Joanne’s face had gone as white as death.  The rock-walled chamber was atremble; they heard a sullen, distant roaring, and as Aldous caught Joanne’s hand and sprang toward the tunnel the roar grew into a deafening crash, and a gale of wind rushed into their faces, blowing out the lantern, and leaving them in darkness.  The mountain seemed crumbling about them, and above the sound of it rang out a wild, despairing cry from Joanne’s lips.  For there was no longer the brightness of sunshine at the end of the tunnel, but darkness—­utter darkness; and through that tunnel there came a deluge of dust and rock that flung them back into the blackness of the pit, and separated them.

“John—­John Aldous!”

“I am here, Joanne!  I will light the lantern!”

His groping hands found the lantern.  He relighted it, and Joanne crept to his side, her face as white as the face of the dead.  He held the lantern above him, and together they stared at where the tunnel had been.  A mass of rock met their eyes.  The tunnel was choked.  And then, slowly, each turned to the other; and each knew that the other understood—­for it was Death that whispered about them now in the restless air of the rock-walled tomb, a terrible death, and their lips spoke no words as their eyes met in that fearful and silent understanding.