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turned them all to jeering laughter. Tom begged her to pluck up hope again, and
she said she could not. He fell to blaming and abusing himself for getting her
into this miserable situation; this had a better effect. She said she would try to
hope again, she would get up and follow wherever he might lead if only he
would not talk like that any more. For he was no more to blame than she, she
said.

So they moved on, again-aimlessly-simply at random-all they could do was to
move, keep moving. For a little while, hope made a show of reviving-not with
any reason to back it, but only because it is its nature to revive when the spring
has not been taken out of it by age and familiarity with failure.

By and by Tom took Becky’s candle and blew it out. This economy meant so
much! Words were not needed. Becky understood, and her hope died again. She
knew that Tom had a whole candle and three or four pieces in his pockets-yet
he must economize.

By and by, fatigue began to assert its claims; the children tried to pay no
attention, for it was dreadful to think of sitting down when time was grown to
be so precious; moving, in some direction, in any direction, was at least progress
and might bear fruit; but to sit down was to invite death and shorten its pursuit.
At last Becky’s frail limbs refused to carry her farther. She sat down. Tom rested
with her, and they talked of home, and the friends there, and the comfortable
beds and above all, the light! Becky cried, and Tom tried to think of some way of
comforting her, but all his encouragements were grown threadbare with use,
and sounded like sarcasms. Fatigue bore so heavily upon Becky that she
drowsed off to sleep. Tom was grateful. He sat looking into her drawn face and
saw it grow smooth and natural under the influence of pleasant dreams; and by
and by a smile dawned and rested there. The peaceful face reflected somewhat
of peace and healing into his own spirit, and his thoughts wandered away to
bygone times and dreamy memories. While he was deep in his musings, Becky
woke up with a breezy little laugh-but it was stricken dead upon her lips, and a
groan followed it.

“O, how could I sleep! I wish I never never had waked! No! No, I don’t, Tom!
Don’t look so! I won’t say it again.” “I’m glad you’ve slept, Becky; you’ll feel
rested, now, and we’ll find the way out.” “We can try, Tom; but I’ve seen such a
beautiful country in my dream. I reckon we are going there.”

“Maybe not, maybe not. Cheer up, Becky, and let’s go on trying.” They rose up
and wandered along, hand in hand and hopeless. They tried to estimate how
long they had been in the cave, but all they knew was that it seemed days and
weeks, and yet it was plain that this could not be, for their candles were not gone
yet. A long time after this-they could not tell how long-Tom said they must go
softly and listen for dripping water-they must find a spring. They found one
presently, and Tom said it was time to rest again. Both were cruelly tired, yet
Becky said she thought she could go on a little farther. She was surprised to hear
Tom dissent. She could not understand it. They sat down, and Tom fastened his
candle to the wall in front of them with some clay. Thought was soon busy;