When he awoke and opened his eyes he saw above him the sky of evening.
“O lass, how late it is! Now I shall not have time to reach the castle. Let me go, let me go.”
“Go then, and God guide and companion you. And don’t forget me, Maquetas.”
“Give me one kiss more.”
“Take it, and may it strengthen you.”
With the kiss Maquetas felt that his strength was increased a hundredfold and he began to run along the road, the lilt of his song keeping time with his strides. And he ran and ran, leaving the other pilgrims behind him. One of them shouted to him as he passed:
“You’ll stop, Maquetas.”
Then he saw that the sun was beginning to set behind the towers of the castle and Maquetas felt a chill strike his heart. The fires of the sunset lasted but for a moment. He heard the grating of the chains of the drawbridge. And Maquetas said to himself:
“They are shutting the castle-gate.”
Night began to fall, an impenetrable night. Very soon Maquetas had to halt, for he could see nothing, absolutely nothing. Blackness enveloped everything. Maquetas stood still, silent, and in the impenetrability of the darkness he heard only the murmur of the waters of the torrent in the abyss. The cold grew denser.