'Go on a little bit,' he said, shouldering his pickaxe. In a few moments he had cleared a larger opening and followed her. They went on, down and down with the running water, Curdie getting more and more afraid it was leading them to some terrible gulf in the heart of the mountain. In one or two places he had to break away the rock to make room before even Irene could get through--at least without hurting herself. But at length they spied a glimmer of light, and in a minute more they were almost blinded by the full sunlight, into which they emerged. It was some little time before the princess could see well enough to discover that they stood in her own garden, close by the seat on which she and her king-papa had sat that afternoon. They had come out by the channel of the little stream. She danced and clapped her hands with delight. 'Now, Curdie!' she cried, 'won't you believe what I told you about my grandmother and her thread?' For she had felt all the time that Curdie was not believing what she told him. 'There!--don't you see it shining on before us?' she added. 'I don't see anything,' persisted Curdie. 'Then you must believe without seeing,' said the princess; 'for you can't deny it has brought us out of the mountain.' 'I can't deny we are out of the mountain, and I should be very ungrateful indeed to deny that you had brought me out of it.' 'I couldn't have done it but for the thread,' persisted Irene. 'That's the part I don't understand.' 'Well, come along, and Lootie will get you something to eat. I am sure you must want it very much.' 'Indeed I do. But my father and mother will be so anxious about me, I must make haste--first up the mountain to tell my mother, and then down into the mine again to let my father know.' 'Very well, Curdie; but you can't get out without coming this way, and I will take you through the house, for that is nearest.' They met no one by the way, for, indeed, as before, the people were here and there and everywhere searching for the princess. When they got in Irene found that the thread, as she had half expected, went up the old staircase, and a new thought struck her. She turned to Curdie and said: 'My grandmother wants me. Do come up with me and see her. Then you will know that I have been telling you the truth. Do come--to please me, Curdie. I can't bear you should think what I say is not true.' 'I never doubted you believed what you said,' returned Curdie. 'I only thought you had some fancy in your head that was not correct.' 'But do come, dear Curdie.' The little miner could not withstand this appeal, and though he felt shy in what seemed to him a huge grand house, he yielded, and followed her up the stair. CHAPTER 22 The Old Lady and Curdie