Dean turned and stood side by side with his cousin, who then gave the order to step out.
“Yes,” he continued, as they began to move back slowly, “I am beginning to want to get out of this. It makes one feel confused. I wish, though, we could hear Mak rustling through the bushes.”
“How could he rustle through the bushes when there are none to rustle through? It’s just like being in an awful great temple, with the tall smooth pillars supporting the roof.”
“Pish! What nonsense!” cried Mark. “Let’s get on. We are just inside the edge of a great forest, and what’s the good of imagining all sorts of things? Come along, and let’s walk fast.”
Dean made no reply, and the two lads stepped out, giving up in despair all efforts to keep on in a straight line, for they had to turn to right or left every minute to pass round the huge trunk of some enormous tree.
This went on for nearly a quarter of an hour, a quarter which seemed half, and then Mark stood still.
“Dean,” he said sharply, “we are going wrong.”
Dean was silent.
“I say we are going wrong,” repeated Mark. “If we had been right we should have been outside this horrible place minutes ago.”
“Oh, don’t talk like that,” said Dean, in a whisper, as if afraid of being heard, when all the time his heart would have leaped with joy if he had heard some other voice. “Listen,” said Mark.