“Let’s get out of this,” he stammered. “Never mind your father.”
“No, I will remain,” answered Percy, resolutely. “Don’t be frightened—shadows can not harm us.”
“Ough! I know it—but who wants to shake hands with a lot of hobgoblins? Oh, Lor’! what’s that?”
The torch had dropped from the fissure to the rocky floor. This was the cause of Cute’s alarm. It sputtered for a few moments and then expired. Cute dropped upon his knees, as an utter darkness closed about them, clutching Percy around the legs.
“‘Now I lay me down to sleep,’” he muttered, his teeth chattering as he did so. “Say your prayers, Percy—we are a couple of lost innocents. Oh! if I ever get out of this—catch me coming here again!”
“Don’t be a fool! Where’s your courage?”
“I don’t know—I think I must have left it outside, for I haven’t got it with me.”
“Hush! the Spirit is coming!”
“Oh! I wish I was going!”
A light began to appear in a distant part of the cavern, some hundred paces from where they were standing. It increased in volume until it grew vivid, lighting up the cavern with an unearthly luster. Then came a cloud of fleecy smoke, which rolled slowly upward and disclosed the White Spirit, standing upon a rocky platform, about three feet from the ground. The light fell strongly upon her face, revealing every feature, and the snowy raiment, the golden bands, the glittering gem upon her forehead, and the faultless contour of the bare limbs. It was a vision of wondrous, supernal loveliness, and Cute’s courage revived as he beheld it. He scrambled to his feet, crying out: