Even at that rate of progress, the journey upward seemed an endless one. They paused sometimes to go into one of the rooms on a landing for a moment's rest, and at those times they looked out of a window. It was not long before they were so high that on looking out, the City's lights were no more than a glowing blur. At the last window on their upward progress they looked up at the cloud; it was immediately above their heads. After that there were no more windows. They went on upward in silence, aware in the darkness of the swift flow of steps downward under them as they raised their feet. Each observed that as he raised his foot the sand in his hour-glass flowed downward a thousand times more rapidly, as if time were suddenly running faster than it was used to running. The walls of the tower were by this time coming closer together, and the stair was even steeper than before. They were panting for breath, and Mr. Punch and Mr. Toby seemed to be all but exhausted. "We are almost at the top," said Mr. Hanlon. "Keep on. Don't give up." It was now, because there were no more rooms nor windows, completely dark. The face of the sick youth could not be seen, and no one knew whether he was still living. Even the sand in their hour-glasses they were now unable to see. "We are almost there," said Mr. Hanlon. "Only another minute or two. 'Tis easy work to what I had in coming up alone." Mr. Punch gave a groan. "Hi carn't go another step," said he. "Hi'm completely--" At this moment Mr. Hanlon stopped upon a landing. It had been a long while since there had been a landing, and they were all glad to rest upon it. They crowded about Mr. Hanlon in the dark. "The door is over there," said he. "Keep close to me." He walked a few feet forward across the level floor, and came to a stop again. "'Tis the top of the tower," said he. "I hope we're not too late to save the young lad's life. Stand close behind me." He moved forward again, and stopped; he was evidently feeling a wall with his hands. "Ah!" said he. "'Tis the door itself. Now, thin, we'll see!" He knocked upon the door with his knuckles. There was no response. He knocked again. There was a sound upon the other side of the door, as of the rattling of a chain and the sliding of a bolt. A slit of light appeared up and down in the dark wall; it became wider; it was apparent that the door was opening; and in another moment the door was flung wide, and in the doorway stood an Old Man, holding up in his right hand a lantern in which glimmered a candle. CHAPTER XXVII THE SORCERER'S DEN He was an old man, rather stout, dressed in a short gown tied in with a cord about the middle, and wearing sandals on his feet. He stooped somewhat; a white beard hung to his waist; his head was bald, except for a forelock of white hair which drooped over his forehead towards his eyes. There was a humorous twinkle in his eye, and a smile overspread his broad round face.