“But let us to thy den, man, for it is ill for thy health to stand here talking in the open air.”
“Thou art right, Hobgoblin,” replied the smith; and going to the little thicket of gorse on the side nearest to the circle, and opposite to that at which his customer had so lately couched, he discovered a trap-door curiously covered with bushes, raised it, and, descending into the earth, vanished from their eyes. Notwithstanding Tressilian’s curiosity, he had some hesitation at following the fellow into what might be a den of robbers, especially when he heard the smith’s voice, issuing from the bowels of the earth, call out, “Flibbertigibbet, do you come last, and be sure to fasten the trap!”
“Have you seen enough of Wayland Smith now?” whispered the urchin to Tressilian, with an arch sneer, as if marking his companion’s uncertainty.
“Not yet,” said Tressilian, firmly; and shaking off his momentary irresolution, he descended into the narrow staircase, to which the entrance led, and was followed by Dickie Sludge, who made fast the trap-door behind him, and thus excluded every glimmer of daylight. The descent, however, was only a few steps, and led to a level passage of a few yards’ length, at the end of which appeared the reflection of a lurid and red light. Arrived at this point, with his drawn sword in his hand, Tressilian found that a turn to the left admitted him and Hobgoblin, who followed closely, into a small square vault, containing a smith’s forge, glowing with charcoal, the vapour of which filled the apartment with an oppressive smell, which would have been altogether suffo-
