After a time the polished rocky sides of the shaft grew to be of a solemn sameness. Clewe ceased to take notes. He tried to imagine what he would come to when he reached the bottom; it would be some sort of a cave, he thought, in which his shell had made an opening. He began to imagine what sort of a cave it would be, and how high the roof was from the floor. Clewe then suddenly wondered whether his gardener had remembered what he had told him about the flower-beds in front of the house; he wished certain changes made which Margaret had suggested. He tried to keep his mind on the flower-beds, but it drifted away to the cave below. He thought of the danger of coming into some underground body of water, where he would be drowned; but he knew that was a silly idea. If the shell had gone through subterranean reservoirs, the water of these would have run out, and before it reached the bottom of the shaft would have dissipated into mist.

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