Then he lost the trail altogether. The last piece of blue was caught on a stone at the bottom of a mighty face of rock. No matter where he looked, there was no shred of blue to cheer him. He ran his hand over the surface of the rock, it was of a reddish sandstone and quite smooth. All around was a low-lying valley with neither a stone nor a tree behind which any one could hide. He could see for about ten miles, and there was no sign of the fugitives. Backward and forward he walked by the mighty wall of rock, and always his journey ended by the last little flutter of blue. The cliff rose sheer perhaps three hundred feet, and the solid wall extended as far as eye could reach. It was unthinkable that Kulmervan had scaled the wall—yet whither had he gone? Suddenly he heard a rumbling noise; the sound of a thousand people whispering, and in front of him a huge slab of rock swung back, revealing a cavity within. The whispering grew louder and louder. He looked round for a hiding place. There was none—so without a moment’s hesitation he leapt inside the darkened cavern. A narrow path led downwards, and it was up this path the whispering seemed to be coming; whispering that sounded like a veritable army speaking in hushed tones. There was a piece of rock jutting out—Alan slipped into its embracing shadows, and waited. The sounds came nearer and nearer—then Kulmervan appeared with Waiko at his side. “The voices whispered that a stranger was coming. The voices are never wrong. See, my Waiko, see yonder if Alan the Evil is approaching.” The voice whispered and rolled in the darkness. The whole place was unwholesome and terrifying. Kulmervan followed Waiko into the sunlight. Immediately they were out of sight, Alan slipped from his hiding place and ran swiftly down the narrow passageway. The faster he ran, the faster he drew in his breath, and it seemed as if a thousand men were mocking him. He sighed as his breath caught in his throat—immediately there were a thousand sighs behind him. Quicker, quicker he tore down the passage, to where he hoped, somewhere he would find his love hidden. The path was steep and narrow and was in total darkness, and he risked his life in his mad rush through the whispering horrors. He heard the voices again! Kulmervan and Waiko had returned. Blindly he rushed on—stumbling here, tripping there, in his haste to reach the Ipso-Rorka. The path took an upward turn—he tripped over something. Putting his hands out before him, he felt on the ground. Rough steps had been cut out of the rock. Steadily he mounted upwards—upwards—the darkness was intense—the whispering shadows terrifying; but he never ceased his mad pace, so eager was he to reach Chlorie.