“Come now, let us ascend to the observatory,” said the hermit, when all the things in the library had been examined.  “There has been damage done there, I know; besides, there is a locket there which belonged to your mother.  I left it by mistake one day when I went up to arrange the mirrors, and in the hurry of leaving forgot to return for it.  Indeed, one of my main objects in re-visiting my old home was to fetch that locket away.  It contains a lock of hair and one of those miniatures which men used to paint before photography drove such work off the field.”

Winnie was nothing loth to follow, for she had reached a romantic period of life, and it seemed to her that to be led through mysterious caves and dark galleries in the very heart of a still active volcano by her own father—­the hermit of Rakata—­was the very embodiment of romance itself.

But a disappointment awaited them, for they had not proceeded halfway through the dark passage when it was found that a large mass of rock had fallen from the roof and almost blocked it up.

“There is a space big enough for us to creep through at the right-hand corner above, I think,” said Nigel, taking the lantern from Moses and examining the spot.

“Jump up, Moses, and try it,” said the hermit.  “If your bulky shoulders get through, we can all manage it.”

The negro was about to obey the order when Nigel let the lantern fall and the shock extinguished it.

“Oh!  Massa Nadgel; das a pritty business!”

“Never mind,” said Van der Kemp.  “I’ve got matches, I think, in my—­no, I haven’t.  Have you, Moses?”

“No, massa, I forgit to remember him.”

“No matter, run back—­you know the road well enough to follow it in the dark.  We will wait here till you return.  Be smart, now!”

Moses started off at once and for some moments the sound of clattering along the passage was heard.

“I will try to clamber through in the dark.  Look after Winnie, Nigel—­and don’t leave the spot where you stand, dear one, for there are cracks and holes about that might sprain your little ankles.”

“Very well, father.”

“All right.  I’ve got through, Nigel; I’ll feel my way on for a little bit.  Remain where you are.”

“Winnie,” said Nigel when they were alone, “doesn’t it feel awesome and strange to be standing here in such intense darkness?”

“It does—­I don’t quite like it.”

“Whereabouts are you?” said Nigel.

He carefully stretched out his hand to feel, as he spoke, and laid a finger on her brow.

“Oh! take care of my eyes!” exclaimed Winnie with a little laugh.

“I wish you would turn your eyes towards me for I’m convinced they would give some light—? to me at least.  Here, do let me hold your hand It will make you feel more confident.”

To one who is at all familiar with the human frame, the way from the brow to the hand is comparatively simple.  Nigel soon possessed himself of the coveted article.  Like other things of great value the possession turned the poor youth’s head!  He forgot his father’s warnings for the moment, forgot the hermit and Moses and Spinkie, and the thick darkness—­forgot almost everything in the light of that touch!