In the twinkling of an eye the sky closed again, and the darkness was more dense than before, while, as Mark sat thinking of the wonderful contrast between lying in his bed at home in North London and being there, once more came the deep, booming, heavy, metallic thunder.
Again a pause, with the three sleepers breathing regularly.

Mark was weary, his legs and back ached, and there was a suggestion of a blister on one heel; but he felt no inclination now to sleep, and lay there upon his chest listening for the dull sound of footsteps on the sand in company with the murmur of voices.
Who would come?
he asked himself.

Mr Gregory and two men, or Small?
He came to the conclusion that it would be Small, and at times he almost fancied that he heard the distant murmur of the boatswain's deep rough voice.
Then came another flash more vivid than ever.

And this time it was as he turned in the direction where Jimpny lay sleeping.

The result was that he saw the poor fellow's swarthy panic-stricken countenance, and the dog and the monkey snuggled up together as comfortably as they could make themselves; and they did not even start as a tremendous peal of thunder broke, seeming as if it would shake the rocks down above their heads.
Then all was pitchy blackness again, and the silence by contrast was awful.
Another flash, and while it was quivering in the air the thunder came with one sudden instantaneous crash as if some magazine of powder had been exploded, while after the first burst the peal rolled round and round and slowly died away, as if it were passing along vast metallic corridors to be emptied far away in space.
As Mark sat listening to the dying away of the thunder and watching for the next flash, comparing the noise with that which he heard from the jungle, and wondering why the one should be looked upon as a matter of course while the other caused the most acute horror, he became aware of a strange hissing sound, apparently at a great distance, but evidently coming on rapidly.