The trees were growing thicker and closer here; in front the wood seemed almost dark, though here and there a streak of sunshine broke the gloom. But of a door of any kind she could see no trace! She gazed downwards, for she had a vague idea that it might be a trap-door in the ground—a great stone with a ring in it, such as one reads of in old stories of enchantment and magic; but no, there was nothing of the kind to be seen, and she was on the point of calling back to Hildegarde that she could find no trace of a door, when, lifting her eyes suddenly, she caught sight of a gleam—a tiny spot of light—on the trunk of a tree in front of her.
It was an old tree; the trunk was much thicker than those around it, the bark was rugged. Leonore hastened close up to it, the thread seeming to become elastic to allow of her doing so. To her delight, as she peered in at the spot, she descried the outline of a very small keyhole in bright gold. She almost screamed with pleasure, and had to conquer her first impulse, which was to try to unlock it at once, for this would have been contrary to what she and Hildegarde had planned. So she did as she had promised, giving a soft jerk to the thread, the signal agreed upon.
And in a minute Hildegarde was beside her, her blue eyes sparkling, her fair hair flying behind her.
'You have found it?' she cried; and Leonore, too excited to speak, pointed to the golden rim.
'The key,' exclaimed Hildegarde, and with careful though trembling fingers Leonore fitted it into the lock. It turned without the slightest difficulty, and there before them stood open a narrow entrance into what looked like a dark hole, about as high as the children themselves.
Leonore was darting forwards when her friend stopped her.
'Take out the key,' she said, 'it must not be left in the lock'; but when Leonore turned to obey her, lo and behold, the key was no longer there, and the thread had slipped from the hold of both! Only a very tiny shiny ball, like a gold bead, was lying among the fir-needles at their feet, and as Hildegarde stooped to pick it up, it seemed to sink into the ground, and disappeared!
She stood up again, laughing.
'All right,' she said, 'it has done its work.'