I was closed in a tomb in the womb of living rock, to all intents and purposes.
But it must have been somewhere about midnight when I heard a sound that set every vein in my body tingling.

At first it was like the sort of sound that a rat makes gnawing; but there couldn't be rats eating their way through that solid stone.

I thought I heard it a second time, but Suliman's snoring made it impossible to listen properly.

I shook him violently, and he sat up.
"Keep still! Listen!" Between sleeping and waking the boy forgot all about the iron self-control he practised for Grim's exacting sake.
"What is it?
I am afraid!" "Be still, confound you! Listen!" "How close beneath us are the souls of the dead?
Oh, I am afraid!" "Silence! Breathe through your mouth.

Make no noise at all!" He took my hand and tried to sit absolutely still; but the gnawing noise began again, more distinctly, followed by two or three dull thuds from somewhere beneath us.
"Oh, it is the souls of dead men! Oh--" "Shut up, you little idiot! All right, I'll tell Jimgrim!" Fear and that threat combined were altogether too much for him.
One sprig of seedling manhood remained to him, and only one--the will to smother emotion that he could not control a second longer.