At that the song ceased, and the woman raised her face. It was beautiful as the moon's self, though her hair was silver and her face without a trace of color. Her clear, pale eyes seemed to look through and far beyond them.
"You are strangers," she said in a voice that might have come from very far away, clear and sweet as a silver bell. "Yet your lives, too, are in my web. Aye! They are mine-bound up fast in my web that you see not. From here on go forward-go deeper! Heed not the mockings of the dancing Shadow People. Heed not the voice of mine enemy, who would keep you forever bound in the shallows of Ulithia. Go forward-go deeper-go forward!"
With that she ceased speaking, and, taking up her song where she had left it, she made the empty shuttle fly like a living thing from hand to hand.
Drayton eyed his companions doubtfully. "If the lady would make her advice a little clearer we might try to follow it. We have to go on somewhere, you know, Terry."
But Viola shook her head, staring at the Weaver with hostile, questioning glance. "Have you so soon forgotten?" she said. "'Beware the Weaver and her song!'"
At that the Weaver again ceased singing. Her thin lips were curled in a smile, but her eyes were like pale blue ice.
"Aye," she murmured, "beware of the Weaver-the White Weaver of the Years-beware! But your feet are set in her web. The door opens before you. There is no way out but on-and what is Ulithia, phantom borderland of life, to such as you? Go forward-go deeper-go forward!"
Trenmore took one step toward her, with what intent he himself scarcely knew. But as he took it Drayton laughed with a touch of weariness.
"You have frightened the lady away, Terry."
It was true. As Trenmore had stepped toward the "White Weaver" that cold-eyed lady had vanished and taken her song and her shuttle with her. As the three again proceeded Viola waved her hand in a wide gesture, indicating the plain they traversed.