“Have you ever tasted them?” asked Hercules, with a grin.
“Never,” answered the naturalist; “but I am in hopes I shall have a chance of doing so very soon.”
“Surely you don’t imagine yourself in Africa!” said Tom suddenly.
“Africa! no; why should I?” replied Benedict; “but, as I have already seen a tsetse in America, I do not despair of having the satisfaction of discovering white ants there too. You do not know the sensation I shall make in Europe when I publish my folio volume and its illustrations.”
It was evident that no inkling of the truth had yet entered poor Benedict’s brain, and it seemed likely that it would require demonstration far more striking than any natural phenomena to undeceive the minds of such of the party as were not already in possession of the fatal secret.
Although it was nine o’clock, Cousin Benedict went on talking incessantly, regardless of the fact that one by one his audience were falling to sleep in their separate cells. Dick Sands did not sleep, but neither did he interrupt the entomologist by farther questions; Hercules kept up his attention longer than the rest, but at length he too succumbed to weariness, and his eyes and ears were closed to all external sights and sounds.
But endurance has limits, and at last Cousin Benedict, having worn himself out, clambered up to the topmost cell of the cone, which he had chosen for his dormitory, and fell into a peaceful slumber.
The lantern had been already extinguished. All was darkness and silence within, whilst the storm without still raged with a violence that gave no sign of abatement.
Dick Sands himself was the only one of the party who was not partaking in the repose that was so indispensable to them all; but he could not sleep; his every thought was absorbed in the responsibility that rested on him to rescue those under his charge from the dangers that threatened them. Again and again he recalled every incident that had occurred since the loss of Captain Hull and his crew; he remembered the occasion when he had stood with his pistol pointed at Negoro’s head; why, oh why, had his hand faltered then? why had he not at that moment hurled the miserable wretch overboard, and thus relieved himself and his partners in trouble from the catastrophe that had since befallen them? Peril was still staring them in the face, and his sole drop of consolation in the bitter cup of despondency was that Mrs. Weldon was still ignorant of their real situation.
At that moment, just in the fever of his agony, he felt a light breath upon his forehead; a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a gentle voice murmured in his ear—
“My poor boy, I know everything. God will help us! His will be done!”
VI
A Diving-Bell
This sudden revelation that Mrs. Weldon was acquainted with the true state of things left Dick speechless. Even had he been capable of replying, she gave him no opportunity, but immediately retired to the side of her son. The various incidents of the march had all gradually enlightened her, and perhaps the exclamation of Cousin Benedict on the preceding evening had crowned them all; anyhow the brave lady now knew the worst. Dick felt, however, that she did not despair; neither would he.
He lay and longed for the dawn, when he hoped to explore the situation better, and perchance to find the watercourse which he was convinced could not be far distant. Moreover, he was extremely anxious to be out of the reach of the natives whom, it was only too likely, Negoro and Harris might be putting on their track.
But as yet no glimmer of daylight penetrated the aperture of the cone, whilst the heavy rumblings, deadened as they were by the thickness of the walls, made it certain that the storm was still raging with undiminished fury. Attentively Dick listened, and he could distinctly hear the rain beating around the base of the anthill; the heavy drops splashed again as they fell, in a way altogether different to what they would upon solid ground, so that he felt sure that the adjacent land was by this time completely flooded. He was getting very drowsy when it suddenly occurred to him that it was not unlikely the aperture was getting blocked up with damp clay; in that case he knew that the breath of the inmates would quickly vitiate the internal atmosphere. He crept along the ground and had the satisfaction of finding that the clay embankment was still perfectly dry; the orifice was quite unobstructed, allowing not only a free passage to the air, but admitting the glare of the occasional flashes of lightning, which the descending volumes of water did not seem to stay.
Having thus far satisfied himself that all was well, and that there was no immediate danger, Dick thought that he might now resign himself to sleep as well as the rest: he took the precaution, however, of stretching himself upon the embankment within easy reach of the opening, and with his head supported against the wall, after a while dozed off.
How long his light slumber had lasted he could not say, when he was aroused by a sensation of cold. He started up, and to his horror discovered that the water had entered the anthill and was rising rapidly; it could not be long, he saw, before it reached the cells which were occupied by Hercules and Tom. He woke them at once, and told them what he had observed. The lantern was soon lighted, and they set to work to ascertain what progress the water was making. It rose for about five feet, when it was found to remain stationary.
“What is the matter, Dick?” inquired Mrs. Weldon, disturbed
