I grasped a projection of rock, drew myself up into the tunnel and advanced as rapidly and silently as possible, the light and the alpenstock in my left hand, the revolver in the right. But it was not very silently, what with the creepers. At times they grated harshly; it was as if spirit-things were mocking me with suppressed, demoniacal laughter. Yet I could not pause to remove those grating shoes of toothed steel. Every second even might be precious now. I drew near the turn, the revolver thrust forward in readiness for instant action. I reached it, and there just beyond, a dark figure was standing, framed in a blaze of light. It was Milton Rhodes. He turned his head, and I saw a smile move athwart his features. "Well, we've found it, Bill!" said he. I was drawing near to him. "That scream?" I said. "Who gave that terrible scream?" "Terrible? It didn't sound terrible to me," smiled Milton Rhodes. "Fact is, Bill, I'd like to hear it again." "What on earth are you talking about?" "'Tis so." "Who was it? Or what was it?" "Why, the angel herself!" he told me. "Where is she now?" "Gone, Bill; she's gone. When she saw me, she fetched up, gave that scream, then turned and vanished--around that next turn." "What is she like, Milton?" "I wish that I could tell you! But how can a man describe Venus? I know one thing, Bill: if all the daughters of Drome are as fair as this one that I saw, I know where all the movie queens of the future are coming from." I looked at him, and I laughed. "Wait till you see her, Bill. Complexion like alabaster, white as Rainier's purest snow! And hair! Oh, that hair, Bill! Like ten billion dollars' worth of spun gold!" "Gosh." "Wait till you see her," said Milton. "And the demon?" I queried. "I didn't see any demon, Bill." There was silence for a little space. "Then," I said, "the whole thing is true, after all." "You mean what grandfather Scranton set down in his journal, and the rest of it?" I nodded. "I never doubted that, Bill." "At times," I told him, "I didn't doubt it. Then, again, it all seemed so wild and unearthly that I didn't know what to think." "I think," he said with a wan smile, "that you know what to think now--now when you are standing in this very way to Drome, whatever Drome may be." "Yes. And yet the thing is so strange. Think of it. A world of which men have never dreamed, save in the wildest romance! An underground world. Subterranean ways, subterranean cities, men and women there--" "Cavernicolous Aphrodites!" said Milton Rhodes. "And all down there in eternal darkness!" I exclaimed. "Why, the thing is incredible. No wonder that I sometimes find myself wondering if I am not in a dream." Said Milton Rhodes: "'_All_ that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.' "But come, Bill," he added. "Don't let this _a priori_ stuff bowl you over. In the first place, it isn't dark down there--when, that is, you get down far enough."