“It must be a dream， it must， it must，” said Jill to herself. “I‘ll wake up in a moment.” But it wasn’t， and she didn‘t.
“I do wish we’d never come to this dreadful place，” said Jill. “I don‘t believe Scrubb knew any more about it than I do. Or if he did， he had no business to bring me here without warning me what it was like. It’s not my fault he fell over that cliff. If he‘d left me alone we should both be all right.” Then she remembered again the scream that Scrubb had given when he fell， and burst into tears.
Crying is all right in its way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later， and then you still have to decide what to do. When Jill stopped， she found she was dreadfully thirsty. She had been lying face downward， and now she sat up. The birds had ceased singing and there was perfect silence except for one small， persistent sound， which seemed to come from a good distance away. She listened carefully， and felt almost sure it was the sound of running water.