"Here I am!" he said.

"Here I am!" cleanly answered Echo hid in the granite.

"Mark Brendon!"

"Mark Brendon!"

"Welcome!"

"Welcome!"

Every syllable echoed back crisp and clear, just tinged with that
something not human that gave fascination to the reverberated words.

A great purple stain seemed to fill the crater and night's wine rose
up within it, while still along the eastern crest of the pit there
ran red sunset light to lip the cup with gold. Mark, picking his way
through the huddled confusion, proceeded to the extreme breadth of
the quarry, fifty yards northerly, and stood above two wide, still
pools in the midst. They covered the lowest depth of the old
workings, shelved to a rough beach on one side and, upon the other,
ran thirty feet deep, where the granite sprang sheer in a precipice
from the face of the little lake. Here crystal-clear water sank into
a dim, blue darkness. The whole surface of the pools was, however,
within reach of any fly fisherman who had a rod of necessary
stiffness and the skill to throw a long line. Trout moved and here
and there circles of light widened out on the water and rippled to
the cliff beyond. Then came a heavier rise and from beneath a great