Late in the day--about six o'clock--and when the western sky was beginning to glow with the hues of a soapbubble, the adventurer found himself in a less toilsome position. After the choked stream, where the trees met overhead, it was a relief to float into an immense pool, fenced in by precipitous red cliffs draped with vividly green vegetation. Gerald emerged into this haven with a feeling of thankfulness, and laid down his paddle, both to rest his weary muscles and to examine his romantic surroundings. The pool was nearly circular, and, as the narrow Ruddle flowed in at one end, and out at the other, the whole resembled a bead on a string. On the placid waters, brimming like those of a mill-dam, the canoe floated idly until it touched the left bank. Haskins therefore saw, on the right hand, a tall cliff of ruddy earth, overgrown with bushes, and surmounted by a fringe of trees. Between these, he espied a ruinous gray stone wall, clothed thickly with ivy. As there were two or three small windows in this wall, Gerald guessed that it formed the side of a dwelling-place--and guessed moreover that from one of those same windows the sealed message had been thrown into the pool. It was, of, course, merely a surmise that the Pixy's House was built on the top of this inland cliff, but, bearing in mind the cylinder with its attached bladder, Haskins felt certain that he was correct. The imprisoned Mavis Durham could only have launched her message from the cliff top. Gerald had now practically arrived at his journey's end, as he had discovered the palace of the Sleeping Beauty, shut in by Enchanted Woods. He therefore paddled swiftly under the cliff itself, to see how he could storm the castle. Tod would have called it a lunatic asylum, in his coarse way, but Gerald the poet preferred the more romantic appellation. Also, after hearing that wonderful voice, he made up his rash mind that he would not believe in the alleged insanity of Mavis Durham until he had seen her, and had spoken with her. If she were really a homicidal maniac he could return with some regrets to the workaday world; but if she was all that he hoped she would be,--well! Gerald drew a long breath as he thought thus. If she were as beautiful as her voice, as poetic as her message, he did not know what would happen. Yet, as a young man, dizzy with the wine of life, he should have known. But such things, for good or for evil, were yet on the knees of the most high gods.