With more of desperation than courage he scrambled through the bushes.  Not daring to look behind him—­for he felt as though his steps were dogged, an idea for which he could not account—­he made his way with difficulty by the crag until he came to a fallen tree that had apparently tumbled from the rock.  Laying hold of the trunk he whistled faintly.  It was answered; an echo, or something even more indistinct, gave back the sound.  His heart misgave him; but he stood committed to the task, and durst not withdraw.  Again he whistled, but louder than before, and again it was repeated.  With feelings akin to those of the condemned wretch when he drops the fatal handkerchief, he sounded the last note of the signal.  His breath was suspended.  Suddenly he felt the ground give way beneath his feet, and he was precipitated into a chasm, dark, and by no means soft at the nether extremity.

This was a reception for which he was not prepared.  He had sustained a severe shock; but luckily his bones were whole.  Recovering from his alarm, he heard a low jabbering noise, and presently a light, which, it seems, had been extinguished by his clumsiness, was again approaching.

The intruder saw, with indescribable horror, a hideous black dwarf bearing a torch.  He was dressed in the Eastern fashion.  A soiled turban, torn and dilapidated, and a vest of crimson, showed symptoms of former splendour that no art could restore.  This mysterious being came near, muttering some uncouth and unintelligible jargon; while the unfortunate captive, caught like a wolf in a trap, looked round in vain for some outlet whereby to escape.  The only passage, except the hole through which he had tumbled, was completely filled by the broad, unwieldy lump of deformity that was coming towards him.  The latter now surveyed him cautiously, and at a convenient distance, croaking, in a broken and foreign accent—­

“What ho!  Prisoner, by queen’s grace.  Better stop when little door shall open.  Steps, look thee, for climb; hands and toes; go to.”

Gregory now saw that steps, or rather holes, were cut in the sides of the pit wherein he had fallen, or rather been entrapped.  These he ought to have used when the trap-door was let down; and he remembered his mistress’s caution, to hold fast by the tree.  There were, however, no means of escape that way, as the door had closed with his descent.

The ugly thing before him was ten times more misshapen than himself; and at any other time this flattering consideration would have restored him to comparative good-humour.

He was not in the mood now to receive comfort from any source.  He felt sore and mightily disquieted.  Limping aside, he angrily exclaimed—­

“Be’st thou the de’il, or the de’il’s footman, sir blackamoor?  I’d have thee tell thy master to admit his guests in a more convenient fashion.  Hang me, if my bones will not ache for a twelvemonth.  My back is almost broke, for certain.”