"Suppose it is—a harbinger, so to speak—then what, in the name of wonder, can that light be?"
"That, of course, we can not tell. It may be phosphorescent or auroral, or its origin may be one of which no man of our own world ever has even dreamed. I believe that I forgot to mention, when we were speaking of this the other day, that even human beings sometimes evolve light.[12] One thing, however, is certain: there is light somewhere in this underground world. And I believe, Bill, that we are drawing near to it now."
"I certainly hope that we are. But look at our ghost. It is moving again—thank Heaven (even if it is only a mass of light) away from us."
"Yes," said Rhodes. "But look down there. There is another one coming."
It came, and another and another. I don't know how many. On they came through the cavern, now lingering, now hovering; on they passed like some unearthly, ghostly procession. And, even though one knew that these phantoms, so dim and so misty, were perfectly innocuous, were as natural (as though there is anything that can not be natural!) as the light of the fire-fly, as the glow of the auroral arches and streamers—all the same, I say, the sight of that spectral company, passing, passing, was one indescribably strange and uncanny.
However, a man can get used to anything. I got used to them and ere very long was asleep once more. In the morning, not a single ghost was to be seen. Nor did we see one until near midafternoon. That ghost was all by its lonesome and so dim that it vanished when our lights drew near. But soon they were about us in all directions. One of these phantoms, large, amorphous, writhing (its light so strong that it was bright in the rays of the lamps but not of the electric ones) came crawling along, swaying and shaking, straight toward us. Rhodes and I, as if by instinct, moved over so as to miss it; but Drorathusa and the others walked right into it. As they emerged from the spectral, phosphorescent cloudlet, the light clung to them like wraiths of fog, to be slowly dissipated as they advanced in little streams and eddies behind them.
It was during this afternoon, too, that Rhodes made the first discovery of animal life in this fearsome place—little fish, like those in the Mammoth Cave, totally blind. But, though they could not see, they could feel the light. When the rays fell upon the stream, they would drop to the bottom and seek the concealment of the shadow-places. Poor little blind things! What an existence! And yet how like them, after all, are we poor humans! How often have I thought of these sad words of Dr. Whewell's:
"It is not necessary here to inquire why those faculties which appear to be bestowed upon us for the discovery of truth, were permitted by Providence to fail so signally in answering that purpose."
Yes, blind are we, though we have eyes; our souls shrinking from the light to wander, lost and happy and doubting and fearful, in psychic caves and labyrinths more terrible even sometimes than this cavern through which we were making our way—making our way to we knew not what.
We journeyed on until about seven o'clock, when we reached another depot, and there we halted for the night. All were much fatigued, but the Dromans were in high spirits, and ours rose, too. Whether we were drawing towards the end of our strange journey was not clear; but there could be no doubt that a great change was imminent.