"Swinburne," said Rupert suddenly, from above, "what are we doing?
Let's get down again," and by the mere sound of his voice I knew
that he too felt the shock of wakening to reality.
"We can't leave poor Basil," I said. "Can't you call to him or get
hold of him by the leg?"
"He's too far ahead," answered Rupert; "he's nearly at the top
of the beastly thing. Looking for Lieutenant Keith in the rooks'
nests, I suppose."
We were ourselves by this time far on our frantic vertical
journey. The mighty trunks were beginning to sway and shake
slightly in the wind. Then I looked down and saw something which
made me feel that we were far from the world in a sense and to a
degree that I cannot easily describe. I saw that the almost
straight lines of the tall elm trees diminished a little in
perspective as they fell. I was used to seeing parallel lines
taper towards the sky. But to see them taper towards the earth
made me feel lost in space, like a falling star.
"Can nothing be done to stop Basil?" I called out.
"No," answered my fellow climber. "He's too far up. He must get
to the top, and when he finds nothing but wind and leaves he may
go sane again. Hark at him above there; you can just hear him
talking to himself."
"Perhaps he's talking to us," I said.
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