Then, without warning, he became conscious of a curious sinking sensation, as though the solid lawn beneath him had begun to undulate. The turf grew soft like air, and swam up over him in green waves till his head was covered. His ears became muffled; Nixie’s voice no longer reached him as something outside himself; it was within—curiously running, so to speak, with his blood. He sank deeper and deeper into a delicious, soothing medium that both covered and penetrated him. The child had him by the hand, that was all he knew, then—a long sliding motion, and forgetfulness. ‘I’m off,’ he remembered thinking, ‘off at last into a real aventure!’ Down they sank, down, down; through soft darkness, and long, shadowy places, passing through endless scented caverns, and along dim avenues that stretched, for ever and ever it seemed, beneath the gloom of mighty trees. The air was cool and perfumed with earth. They were in some underworld, strangely muted, soundless, mysterious. It grew very dark. ‘Where are we, Nixie?’ He did not feel alarm; but a sense of wonder, touched delightfully by awe, had begun to send thrills along his nerves. Her reply in his ear was like a voice in a tiny trumpet, far away, very soft. ‘Come along! Follow me!’ ‘I’m coming. But it’s so dark.’ ‘Hush,’ she whispered. ‘We’re in a dream together. I’m not sure where exactly. Keep close to me.’ ‘I’m coming,’ he repeated, blundering over the roots beside her; ‘but where are we? I can’t see a bit.’ ‘Tread softly. We’re in a lost forest—just before the dawn,’ he heard her voice answer faintly. ‘A forest underground——? You mean a coal measure?’ he asked in amazement. She made no answer. ‘I think we’re going to see the wind,’ she added presently. Her words thrilled him inexplicably. It was as if—in that other world of gross values—some one had said, ‘You’re going to make a million!’ It was all hushed and soft and subdued. Everything had a coating of plush. ‘We’ve gone backwards somewhere—a great many years. But it’s all right. There’s no time in dreams.’ ‘It’s dreadfully dark,’ he whispered, tripping again. The persuasion of her little hand led him along over roots and through places of deep moss. Great spaces, he felt, were about him. Shadows coated everything with silence. It was like the vast primeval forests of his country across the seas. The map of the world had somehow shifted, and here, in little England, he found the freedom of those splendid scenes of desolation that he craved. Millions of huge trees reared up about them through the gloom, and he felt their presence, though invisible. ‘The sun isn’t up yet,’ she added after a bit. He held her hand tightly, as they stumbled slowly forward together side by side. He began to feel extraordinarily alive. Exhilaration seized him. He could have shouted with excitement. ‘Hush!’ whispered his guide, ‘_do_ be careful. You’ll upset us both.’ The trembling of his hand betrayed him. ‘You stumble like an om’ibus!’