It was not so difficult as it sounds. From the moment of Kathleen’s disappearance the sense of magic—which is rather like very sleepy comfort and sweet scent and sweet music that you just can’t hear the tune of—had been growing stronger and stronger. And there are some things so horrible that if you can bring yourself to face them you simply _can’t_ believe that they’re true. It did not seem possible—when they came quite close to the idea—that a Mermaid could really come and talk so kindly and then drown the five children who had rescued her. “It’s all right,” Francis cried as they jumped. “I ...” He shut his mouth just in time, and down they went. You have probably dreamed that you were a perfect swimmer? You know the delight of that dream-swimming, which is no effort at all, and yet carries you as far and as fast as you choose. It was like that with the children. The moment they touched the water they felt that they belonged in it—that they were as much at home in water as in air. As they sank beneath the water their feet went up and their heads went down, and there they were swimming downward with long, steady, easy strokes. It was like swimming down a well that presently widened to a cavern. Suddenly Francis found that his head was above water. So was Mavis’s. “All right so far,” she said, “but how are we going to get back?” “Oh, the magic will do that,” he answered, and swam faster. The cave was lighted by bars of phosphorescence placed like pillars against the walls. The water was clear and deeply green and along the sides of the stream were sea anemones and starfish of the most beautiful forms and the most dazzling colors. The walls were of dark squarish shapes, and here and there a white oblong, or a blue and a red, and the roof was of mother-of-pearl which gleamed and glistened in the pale golden radiance of the phosphorescent pillars. It was very beautiful, and the mere pleasure of swimming so finely and easily swept away almost their last fear. This, too, went when a voice far ahead called: “Hurry up, France—Come on, Mavis,”—and the voice was the voice of Kathleen. They hurried up, and they came on; and the gleaming soft light grew brighter and brighter. It shone all along the way they had to go, making a path of glory such as the moon makes across the sea on a summer night. And presently they saw that this growing light was from a great gate that barred the waterway in front of them. Five steps led up to this gate, and sitting on it, waiting for them, were Kathleen, Reuben, Bernard and the Mermaid. Only now she had no tail. It lay beside her on the marble steps, just as your stockings lie when you have taken them off; and there were her white feet sticking out from under a dress of soft feathery red seaweed.