There was the Danger-light. There was the dismal mouth of the tunnel.
There were the high wet stone walls of the cutting. There were the stars
above them.
"Do you see it?" I asked him, taking particular note of his face. His
eyes were prominent and strained; but not very much more so, perhaps,
than my own had been when I had directed them earnestly towards the
same point.
"No," he answered. "It is not there."
"Agreed," said I.
We went in again, shut the door, and resumed our seats. I was thinking
how best to improve this advantage, if it might be called one, when
he took up the conversation in such a matter-of-course way, so assuming
that there could be no serious question of fact between us, that I felt
myself placed in the weakest of positions.
"By this time you will fully understand, sir," he said, "that what
troubles me so dreadfully is the question, What does the spectre mean?"
I was not sure, I told him, that I did fully understand.
"What is its warning against?" he said, ruminating, with his eyes on
the fire, and only by times turning them on me.
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