a child. Her chin was quivering, and her voice, when she tried to call to
the dog, broke down upon a sob.

"He will never know where we are because of the echoes," she said.

"He is not far," declared the Frenchman consolingly. "See, here is the
passage. They say that it was made by the contrabandists, but it leads to
nowhere; it has been blocked since many years. Do not fall on the stones;
they are very slippery."

A passage, even narrower than the first, led from the cave in which they
had been standing. Bertrand went first, his hand stretched out behind
him, still holding hers.

They had scrambled in this order about a dozen yards when again they
heard Cinders' cry for help--a pathetic yelping considerably farther away
than it had been before. The unlucky wanderer seemed to have lost his
head in the darkness and to be running hither and thither in wild dismay.

"What shall we do?" said Chris in tears. "I've never heard him cry like
that before."

Bertrand paused to listen. "The passage divides near here," he said.
"Courage, little one! We may find him at any moment. Will you then wait
while I search a little farther? I will leave you the lantern. I have
some matches."

"Oh, please don't leave me!" entreated Chris. "Why can't I come too?"

"It is too rough for you," he said. "And there are two passages. If I do