in through the broken place. Quick as thought, he laid Elma's mouth
as close as he could lay it to the reviving current. Her eyes were
closed. After a painful interval, she opened them languidly. Cyril
chafed her hands with his, but his chafing seemed to produce very
little effect. She lay motionless now with her eyelids half shut,
and the whites of her eyes alone showing through them. The close,
foul air of that damp and confined spot had worked its worst, and
had almost asphyxiated her. Cyril began to fear the slight relief
had arrived five minutes too late. And it must still in all
probability be some hours at least before they could be actually
disentombed from that living vault or restored to the open air of
heaven.

As he bent over her and held his breath in speechless suspense,
the voice called out again more loudly than ever--

"Look out for the ball in the tube. We're sending you water!"

Cyril watched the pipe closely and struck another light. In a minute,
a big glass marble came rattling through, with a string attached
to it.

"Pull the string!" the voice cried; and Cyril pulled with a will.
Now and again, the object attached to it struck against some
projecting ledge or angle where the pipes overlapped. But at last,
with a little humouring, it came through in safety. At the end was
a large india-rubber bottle, full of fresh water, and a flask of
brandy. The young man seized them both with delight and avidity,
and bathed Elma's temples over and over again with the refreshing
spirit. Then he poured a little into the cup, and filling it up