On they went, through shadowy streets, the deep blue sky overhead cut by castellated walls and pierced by towers, dark with age.
Then, with a final "Ee ... ah!" from the driver, a last flourish of whip, they swerved aside through the frowning arch of the palace into the vast courtyard.
Here the sun had found its way, bathing one side in golden light. The fountain leaped in a dazzling cloud; the delicate marble stairs curved up, fairy-like, to the gallery; and about them was the beat of wings...
"Look at the pigeons!"—Jill cried. "Where are we?"
The carriage stopped. He helped her down and hurried her on, up the shining silvery steps.
"Peter! What is this?" Jill asked. But McTaggart only smiled to himself.
"Come along"—he grasped her arm—"this way..." Narrow shafts of light through the twisted columns made a path, like striped satin under their feet.
Dark doors were swung wide, and they stood in the dim tapestried hall, the inquisitive sunshine following them and playing among the crystal lustres.
Jill, dazed, saw servants stand, bowing before her, heard a hum of respectful greetings rise and fall as McTaggart swept her, ever on, down a corridor lined with statues, and into a room, endlessly long, with a painted ceiling and polished floor.
"Now!" said Peter. He laughed aloud, throwing a challenge to the walls, where on every side faces peered, measuring them with liquid eyes.