All at once I lose sight of M. VESQUIER. He must
have turned off to the right or left--_which?_--and I shall see his
light in the distance when I reach the opening into the right, or
left, passage.... What's that? A shriek? a howl? a flash!--"_He la
bas_!" and at a rapid pace out of the blackest darkness emerge two
wine-demons on a trolly. I have just time to reduce myself to the
smallest possible compass against the barrels, when the wine-demons
brandishing a small torch-light have whizzed past,--"Ho! Ho!"--goblin
laughter in the distance, as heard in _Rip Van Winkle_, and described
in _Gabriel Grub_--"Ho! Ho!"--and before I have recovered myself, they
have vanished into outer and blacker darkness, and all around me the
gloom is gloomier than ever.
[Illustration]
"_He!_ Monsieur VESQUIER!" I shout. I have taken a wrong turning;
that is, I have taken some turning or other to the right, and there
is no sign of my guide. My fears have come true. My forebodings
are realised. I stumble on--over the tram-way lines--against the
casks--"_He, la bas! He!_ M. VESQUIER!!"--O dear!--"_Home Sweet
Home!_" What was that negro melody that now recurs to me as a sort of
singing in my ears--"Home once more! Home once more! Shall I _ever_
see my home once more!!"--A shout in the distance--or is it an
echo--no! Is it VESQUIER! I shout in return--then in the far distance
I descry a light .
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