"Nothing," replied the other.
"But I heard it," the boy insisted; "something rushing."
"I'm rather out of breath, perhaps."
The boy looked at him reproachfully. His expression suggested "Why are you so noisy and enormous? It's hopeless, really!" But aloud he merely said, "It's got awfully dark all of a sudden."
"It's the wood does that," replied Uncle Felix. "Outside it's only twilight. I think we'd better be getting on."
"We're getting there," observed the boy.
"But we shan't be able to see the sign if this darkness gets worse," said the other apprehensively.
The answer gave him quite a turn. "It's been—ages and ages ago!"
The idea of rescue meanwhile had merged insensibly into escape, but neither remarked upon the change. It was only that the original emotion had spread a bit. Tim and Uncle Felix stood close together in this solemn clearing, waiting, peering about them, listening intently. But Tim had seen the sign; he knew what he was doing all the time; he was in more intimate relations with the Being of the Wood than his great floundering Uncle possibly could be.
"Which way, do you think?" asked the latter anxiously.