Her reply in his ear was like a voice in a tiny trumpet, far away, very soft. ‘Come along! Follow me!’
‘I’m coming. But it’s so dark.’
‘Hush,’ she whispered. ‘We’re in a dream together. I’m not sure where exactly. Keep close to me.’
‘I’m coming,’ he repeated, blundering over the roots beside her; ‘but where are we? I can’t see a bit.’
‘Tread softly. We’re in a lost forest—just before the dawn,’ he heard her voice answer faintly.
‘A forest underground——? You mean a coal measure?’ he asked in amazement.
She made no answer. ‘I think we’re going to see the wind,’ she added presently.
Her words thrilled him inexplicably. It was as if—in that other world of gross values—some one had said, ‘You’re going to make a million!’ It was all hushed and soft and subdued. Everything had a coating of plush.
‘We’ve gone backwards somewhere—a great many years. But it’s all right. There’s no time in dreams.’
‘It’s dreadfully dark,’ he whispered, tripping again.