He walked and walked in smouldering weariness. The way would never, never come to an end. He did not know where he was walking. He heard the tramp of those who were walking with him like the sound of perpetually falling water.
She has called! he thought. Who is that: she, whose voice is so powerful that these men, exhausted to death by utter weariness, voluntarily throw off sleep, which is the sweetest thing of all to the weary—to follow her when her voice calls?
It can’t be very much further to the centre of the earth....
Still deeper—still deeper down?
No longer any light round about, only, here and there, twinkling pocket torches, in men’s hands.
At last, in the far distance, a dull shimmer.
Have we wandered so far to walk towards the sun, thought Freder, and does the sun dwell in the bowels of the earth?
The procession came to a standstill. Freder stopped too. He staggered against the dry, cool stones.
Where are we, he thought—in a cave? If the sun dwells here, then she can’t be at home now.... I am afraid we have come in vain.... Let us turn back, brother.... Let us sleep....
He slid along the wall, fell on his knees, leant his head against the stone ... how smooth it was.