Then hand-in-hand they crept through the doorway sideways, for it was only wide enough to admit one at a time. But no sooner were they well within, the door closing of itself behind them, than they were able to stand abreast, for they found themselves in a wide passage. But before looking about them, Hildegarde stopped short for a moment.
'What has become of the little brown paper?' she said. 'Perhaps there was something else on it.'
Leonore shook her head.
'I don't think so,' she said. 'I looked at it well. Is it not in your pocket?'
No, it was not there. It had evidently disappeared, like the contents of Leonore's own nut.
'Then we are meant to find our own way now,' said Hildegarde cheerfully. 'At present there is not much difficulty, for there is plainly only one way to go,' and that was straight before them. The passage was dimly lighted, though how or from where they could not tell, but by degrees, as their eyes grew accustomed to the dusk, they saw that the way sloped downwards, and was a sort of path between rows of curiously twisted pillars or columns at each side. Leonore squeezed Hildegarde's arm.
'What are these things?' she said. 'I don't like them—they look like snakes.'
Her little friend laughed.
'You silly girl,' she replied. 'Don't you see—they are the roots of the trees. We have got right down underneath.'