We stopped arguing about why they didn't come to look for us, each privately wondering if it was possible that we had strayed too ingeniously ever to be found.

We talked of many things to try to keep up our spirits, the conviction of the _St.
James's Gazette_ that American young ladies live largely upon chewing-gum, and other topics far removed from our surroundings, but the effort was not altogether successful.

Dicky had just permitted himself to make a reference to his mother in Chicago when a sound behind us made us both start violently, and then cheered us immensely--a snore from Mrs.Portheris within the tomb.

It was not, happily, a single accidental snore, but the forerunner of a regular series, and we hung upon them as they issued, comforted and supported.

We were vaguely aware that we could have no better defence against disembodied Early Christians, when, in the course of an hour, Mrs.Portheris sat up suddenly among the bones of the original occupant and asked what time it was.