The illusion seemed so real to me that I cried aloud:  “I will not die!  I will not die!”—­cried it so loud, that any one in a passing boat might have heard me, and shuddered, wondering what poor ghost it was wailing among the rocks.

But the fright had done me good, and I nerved myself for another effort.  I examined the long crevice through which the sea was glittering so near.  It was not so narrow as at first it had seemed, and I reckoned that it was some twenty feet through.  On my side, it was a little over a foot across.  Wouldn’t it be possible to wedge myself through?  I tried it at the opening, and found, that, with my arms extended sidewise, it was comparatively easy to enter it, though it was something of a tight fit.  If it only kept the same width all through, I ought to be able to manage it, inch by inch, if it took all day.  But, did it?  On the contrary, it seemed to me that it narrowed slightly toward the middle, and—­judging by the way the light fell on the other side—­that it widened out again farther on.

If only I could wriggle past that contraction in the middle, I should be safe.  And if I stuck fast midway!  But the more I measured the width with my eye, the less the narrowing seemed to be.  To be so slightly perceptible, it could hardly be enough to make much difference.  Caution whispered that it might be enough to make the difference between life and death.  But already my choice of those two august alternatives was so limited as hardly to be called a choice.  On the one hand, I could worm my way back through the caves and tunnels through which I had passed, and try my luck again at the other end.

“With half-a-dozen matches!” sneered a voice that sounded like Tobias’s—­“Precisely” ... and the horror of it was more than I dared face again any way.  So there was nothing for it but this aperture, hardly wider than one of those deep stone slits that stood for windows in a Norman castle.  It was my last chance, and I meant to take it like a man.

I stood for a moment nerving myself and taking deep breaths, as though I expected to take but few more.  Then, my left arm extended, I entered sidewise, and began to edge myself along.  It was easy enough for a yard or two, after which it was plain that it was beginning to narrow.  Very slightly indeed, but still a little.  However, I could still go on, and—­I could still go back.  I went on—­more slowly it is true, yet still I progressed.  But the rock was perceptibly closer to me.  I had to struggle harder.  It was beginning to hug me—­very gently—­but it was beginning.

I paused to take breath.  I could not turn my head to look back, but I judged that I had come over a third of the way.  I was coming up to the waist that I had feared, but I could still go on—­very slowly, scarce more than an inch at every effort; yet every inch counted, and I had lots of time.  My feet and head were free—­which was the main thing.  Another good push or two, and I should be at the waist—­should know my fate.