As he hastened onwards the wood grew darker
and more impervious. Here and there the moonbeams crept fantastically
through the boughs, like fairy lamps glimmering on his path. Sometimes,
preternaturally bright, the wood seemed lit up as though for some magic
festival. He followed the directions he had received, pausing not until
he saw the dark fir-tree rearing its broad crest and gigantic arms into
the clear and twinkling heaven. It looked like the guardian genius of
the place,--a huge monster lifting its terrific head, as though to watch
and warn away intruders. Beside this was the rock where his adventure
must terminate.
With more of desperation than courage he scrambled through the bushes.
Not daring to look behind him--for he felt as though his steps were
dogged, an idea for which he could not account--he made his way with
difficulty by the crag until he came to a fallen tree that had
apparently tumbled from the rock. Laying hold of the trunk he whistled
faintly. It was answered; an echo, or something even more indistinct,
gave back the sound. His heart misgave him; but he stood committed to
the task, and durst not withdraw.
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