Almost opposite to them, in the centre of the stream, a small island rose, its low beach being so covered with fungi that scarcely a yard of it was visible. It seemed one mass of glistening vegetation--an island of silver against the dark background of the muddy river. The hounds were already splashing across the stream, and, following their lead, the party entered the water, wading past the upper end of the island. The water was at no point above their hips, so that they found no difficulty in gaining the further bank. Here the hounds set up a clamorous baying, nosing about amid the mud of the river side. Stooping, Seymour examined the ground, and what he saw caused him some uneasiness. A call brought Chenobi off his steed to his side in a moment. “See,” said the baronet, pointing to certain great impressions in the mud, “what tracks are these?” The Ayuti’s face grew white as he noted the footprints. _“The terror of the jungle!”_ he muttered; “may Ramouni preserve us!” With a word he stilled the noise of the hounds, and they retired, whining, to heel. “We must move with caution,” he said to the wondering Seymour; “the prints are those of the most fearsome beast of the jungle, whom my people called ‘the terror.’ I fear me that the baying of the hounds will have roused them if any be within hearing. Howbeit, we will move silently.” Though they knew not what this beast might be, the adventurers were aware that it must be terrible to encounter, else Chenobi, who seemed almost fearless, would not be uneasy at the proofs of its presence in this part of the jungle. Accordingly their advance was as noiseless as possible, and their caution was redoubled. Every rustle from the fungi on either hand brought them to a halt, wondering if the jungle terror were upon them. But as the time went by, and there came no sign of the beasts, their spirits rose. They ceased to listen for suspicious sounds, and, though their progress was just as silent, their thoughts were fixed rather upon the end of their trip than upon the monstrous inhabitants of the jungle. What was to be the result of their quest? Would they find a way of escape through the passage whence the light came, or would their journey end in failure? They were tired of this underworld, wonderful though it was. They longed for the sunlight and the singing of birds, for the murmur of the wind amid the tree-tops. As the blind man craves for sight, so yearned they for these things. Even Mervyn, with all his scientific zeal, would gladly have exchanged the rare treasures of the land of eternal twilight for the humbler ones of his own sphere. So they pondered, until suddenly they were recalled to a sense of the dangers of their present position as a cry broke the stillness of the underworld, a cry so full of dreadful menace, so thrilling with murderous purpose, that the adventurers pulled up, trembling in every limb. “Great Heaven!” Seymour cried, “what was that?”