His mind was now oppressed by the change which comes in dreams, and turns them sometimes from phantasy to horror. There sat opposite him a man somewhat older than himself, with a face vigorous and yet despairing, not without energy, and trained in self-command. And this man answered his thoughts at once, as thoughts are answered in dreams. He said that it was of no use wondering why any guest left that feast, nor what there was, if there was anything, beyond the door through which this inconsequential passage was made. Even as he was saying this he himself, suddenly looking towards it with an expression of extreme sadness and abandonment, rose abruptly, bowed to no one, and went out. At his departure the dreamer heard a little sigh, and he who had sighed said that doors of their nature led from one place to another, and then he tittered a little as though he had said a clever thing. Then another, a large happy man, laughed somewhat too loudly, and said that only fools discussed what none could know. A third, still upon that same theme, said in fixed, contented manner, that, in the nature of things, nothing was beyond the door. At which, the first who had spoken tittered again, and said doors of their nature led somewhere. Even as he said it his eyes filled with tears, and he also rose and went out. For the first time during this increasing pressure of mystery and disaster (for so the dreamer felt it) he watched the figure of that guest; none of his companions about him dared or chose to do so; but the dreamer fixedly watched, and he saw the figure going down the long perspective of the hall very rapidly and very directly. It did not hesitate nor look back for one moment, it passed through--it was gone. The dreamer suddenly felt the wine of that feast, the words spoken round him, more full of meaning and of novelty; the noise of speech, though more confused, was more pleasing and louder; the candles were far more bright. He had forgotten, or was just forgetting, all that other mood of his dream, when it seemed to him that in a sense all that converse was struck dumb. He heard no sound; he was cut off. Their hands still moved, their eyes and lips framed words and repeated glances, but around him, and for him, there was silence. The candles burned bright through the length of the room, and brightest, as in a guiding manner, towards the end of it where was the Door. He felt a thrill pass from his face. He rose and walked directly--no one speaking to him or noticing him at all--down the long, narrow space behind their chairs. It took him but a moment, innumerable as were those whom he must pass. His hand was upon the latch; with his head bent forward somewhat, and downwards, in the attitude of a man hurrying, he passed through. And, not knowing what he did, but doing it as though by habit, he shut the door between him and the feast, and immediately he was in a complete and utterly silent darkness. But he still was.