Flashing around me, and from Lakla and O'Keefe, were nimbuses of flickering scarlet flames. And always the steady hurling forward--appallingly mechanical. Another barrier of rock--a gleam of white waters incorporating themselves into my--_drawing out_--even as were the flowered moss lands, the slicing, rocky walls--still another rampart of cliff, dwindling instantly into the vertical plane of those others. Our flight checked; we seemed to hover within, then to sway onward--slowly, cautiously. A mist danced ahead of me--a mist that grew steadily thinner. We stopped, wavered--the mist cleared. I looked out into translucent, green distances; shot with swift prismatic gleamings; waves and pulsings of luminosity like midday sun glow through green, tropic waters: dancing, scintillating veils of sparkling atoms that flew, hither and yon, through depths of nebulous splendour! And Lakla and Larry and I were, I saw, like shadow shapes upon a smooth breast of stone twenty feet or more above the surface of this place--a surface spangled with tiny white blossoms gleaming wanly through creeping veils of phosphorescence like smoke of moon fire. We were shadows--and yet we had substance; we were incorporated with, a part of, the rock--and yet we were living flesh and blood; we stretched--nor will I qualify this--we _stretched_ through mile upon mile of space that weirdly enough gave at one and the same time an absolute certainty of immense horizontal lengths and a vertical concentration that contained nothing of length, nothing of space whatever; we stood _there_ upon the face of the stone--and still we were _here_ within the faceted oval before the screen of radiance! "Steady!" It was Lakla's voice--and not beside me _there_, but at my ear close before the screen. "Steady, Goodwin! And--see!" The sparkling haze cleared. Enormous reaches stretched before me. Shimmering up through them, and as though growing in some medium thicker than air, was mass upon mass of verdure--fruiting trees and trees laden with pale blossoms, arbours and bowers of pallid blooms, like that sea fruit of oblivion--grapes of Lethe--that cling to the tide-swept walls of the caverns of the Hebrides.