CHAPTER 7 UNDER THE SPALE It was not long before Jimbo realized that the house and everything connected with it spelt for him one message and one only, a message of fear. And from the first day of his imprisonment the forces of his whole being shaped themselves without further ado into one intense single concentrated desire to escape. Escape into the world beyond that terrible high wall was his only object and misleak the governess as its symbol was his only hope. He asked a lot of questions and listened to a lot of answers, but all he really cared about was how he was going to escape and when. All her other explanations were tedious and the only half listened to them. His faith in her was absolute, his patience unbounded, she had come to save him and he knew that before long she would accomplish her end. He felt a blind and perfect confidence, but meanwhile his fear of the house and his horror of the secret being who meant to keep him prisoner till at length he became one of the troop of frightened children increased by leaps and bounds. Finally the trapdoor creaked again and the governess reappeared. In her hand was a small white jug and a soup plate. Thin gruel and skim milk, she explained, pouring out a substance like paste into the soup plate and handing him a big wooden spoon. But Jimbo's hunger had somehow vanished. It wasn't real hunger, she told him, but only a sort of memory of being hungry.  It's easily satisfied at any rate, he said, looking at the paste in the soup plate. No, no one actually eats or drinks here. But I'm solid, he said, am I not? People always think they're solid everywhere, she laughed. It's only a question of degree. Solidity here means a different thing to solidity there. I can get thinner though, can't I? He asked, thinking of her remark about escape of being easier the lighter he grew. She assured him that there would be no difficulty about that, and after replying evasively to a lot more questions she gathered up the dishes and once more disappeared through the trapdoor. Although watched her going down the ladder into the black gulf below, and wondered greatly where she went to and what she did down there. But on these points the governess had refused to satisfy his curiosity, and every time she appeared or disappeared the atmosphere of mystery came and went with her. As he stared, wondering, a sound suddenly made itself heard behind him, and on turning quickly round he saw to his great surprise that the door into the passage was open. This was more than he could resist, and in another minute, with mingled feelings of dread and delight, he was out in the passage. When he was first brought to the house, two hours before, it had been too dark to see properly, and now the sun was high in the heavens and the light still increasing. He crept cautiously to the head of the stairs, and peered over into the well of the house. It was still too dark to make things out clearly, but as he looked he thought something moved among the shadows below, and for a moment his heart stood still with fear. A large grey face seemed to be staring up at him out of the gloom. He clutched at the banisters, and felt as if he hardly had strength enough in his legs to get back to the room he had just left, but almost immediately the terror passed, and he saw that the face resolved itself into the mingling of light and shadow, and the features, after all, were of his own creation. He went on slowly and stealthily down the staircase. It was certainly an empty house. There were no carpets, the passages were cold and draughty. The paper curled from the damp walls, leaving ugly discoloured patches about. Cobwebs hung in many places from the ceilings. The windows were more or less broken, and all were coated so thickly with dirt that the rain had traced little furrows from top to bottom. Shadows hung about everywhere, and Jimbo thought every minute he saw moving figures, but the figures always resolved themselves into nothing when he looked closely. He began to wonder how far it was safe to go, and why the governess had arranged for the door to be opened, for he felt that it was she who had done this, and that it was all right for him to come out. Fright, she had said, was never about in daylight. But at the same time something warned him to be ready at a moment's notice to turn and dash up the stairs again to the room where he was at least comparatively safe. So he moved along very quietly and cautiously. He passed many rooms with the doors open, all empty and silent. Some of them had tables and chairs, but no sign of occupation. The grates were black and empty, the walls blank, the windows unshuttered. Everywhere was only silence and shadows. There was no sign of the frightened children or of where they lived, no trace of another staircase leading to the region where the governess went when she disappeared down the ladder through the trap door, only hushed, listening, cold silence, and shadows that seemed forever shifting from place to place as he moved past them. This illusion of people peering at him from corners and behind doors just a jar was very strong. Yet whenever he turned his face to them, lo, they were gone, and the shadows of the house rushed in to fill their places. The spell of the empty house was weaving itself slowly and surely about his heart. Yet he went on pluckily, full of a dreadful curiosity, continuing his search. And at length, after passing through another gloomy passage, he was in the act of crossing the threshold of an open door leading out into the courtyard when he stopped short and clutched the doorposts with both hands. Someone had laughed. He turned, trying to look in every direction at once, but there was no sign of any living being, yet the sound was close beside him, and he could still hear it ringing in his ears a mocking sort of laugh in a harsh, guttural voice. The blood froze in his veins, and he hardly knew which way to turn when another voice sounded and his terror disappeared as if by magic. It was Miss Lake's voice calling to him over the banisters at the top of the house, and its tone was so cheerful that all his courage came back in a twinkling.  Jimbo answered, All right, in a rather feeble little voice, and went on down the passage and out into the yard. The dune sunshined lay hot and still over the paved court, and he looked up into the blue sky overhead. As he looked at the high wall that closed it on three sides, he realized more than ever that he was caught in a monstrous trap from which there could be no ordinary means of escape. He could never climb over such a wall, even with a ladder. He walked out a little way and noticed the rank weeds growing in patches in the corners. Decay and neglect left everywhere their dismal signs. The yard, in spite of the sunlight, seemed as gloomy and cheerless as the house itself. In one corner stood several little white upright stones, each about three feet high. There seemed to be some writing on them, and he was in the act of going nearer to inspect when a window opened and someone calling to him in a loud, exciting whisper, HIST, come in Jimbo at once, quick, run for your life. He glanced up, quaking with fear, and saw the governess leaning out of the open window.  But he had no time to look more closely, for something in Miss Lake's voice made him turn and run into the house and up the stairs as though fright himself was close at his heels. He flew up the three flights and found the governess coming out to the top landing to meet him. She caught him in her arms and dashed back into the room as if there was not a moment to be lost slamming the door behind her. How in the world did you get out? She gasped, breathless as himself almost, and pale with alarm. Another second, and he'd have had you. I found the door open. He opened it on purpose, she whispered, looking quickly round the room. He meant you to go out. But you called me to play in the yard, he said. I heard you. So of course I thought it was safe. No, she declared. I never called to you. That wasn't my voice. That was one of his tricks. I only this minute found the door open and you gone. Oh, Jimbo, that was a narrow escape.  And never believe any of these voices you hear. You'll hear lots of them, saying all sorts of things, but unless you see me, don't believe it's my voice. Jimbo promised. He was very frightened, but she could not tell him any more, saying it would only make it more difficult to escape if he knew too much in advance. He told her about the laugh and the gravestones and the faces at the other window, but she would not tell him what he wanted to know, and at last he gave up asking. A very deep impression had been made on his mind, however, and he began to realise more than he had hitherto done the horror of his prison and the power of its dreadful keeper. And when he began to look about him again, he noticed that there was a new thing in the room. The Governor said left him and was bending over it. She was doing something very busily indeed. He asked her what it was. I'm making your bed, she said. It was indeed a bed, and he felt as he looked at it that there was something very familiar and friendly about the yellow framework and the little brass knobs. I brought it up just now, she explained, but it's not for sleeping in, it's only for you to lie down on, and also partly to deceive him. Why not for sleeping? There's no sleeping at all here, she went on calmly. Why not? You can't sleep out of your body, she laughed. Why not? he asked again. Your body goes to sleep, but you don't, she explained. Oh, I see! His head was whirling, and my body, my real body, is lying asleep, unconscious they call it, in the night nursery at home. It's sound asleep, that's why you're here.  The bed is only for you to rest on, for you can rest, though you can't sleep. Jimbo stared blankly at the governess for some minutes. He was debating something in his mind, something very important, and just then it was his older self and not the child that was uppermost. Apparently it was soon decided, for he walked sedately up to her and said very gravely with her serious eyes fixed on his face. Miss Lake? Are you really Miss Lake? Of course I am. You're not a trick of his like the voices, I mean. No, Jimbo, I am really Miss Lake, the discharged governess who frightened you. And there was profound anxiety in every word. Jimbo waited a minute, still looking steadily into her eyes, then he put out his hand cautiously and touched her.  The sole knowledge was in his eyes just then, not the mere curiosity of the child. And are you dead? He asked, sinking his voice to a whisper. For a moment the woman's eyes wavered. She turned white and tried to move away. But the boy seized her hand and peered more closely into her face. I mean, if we escape and I get back into my body, he whispered, will you get back into yours too? The governess made no reply and shifted uneasily on her feet. But the boy would not let her go. Please answer, he urged, still in a whisper. Jimbo, what funny questions you ask? She said at last in a husky voice, but trying to smile. But I want to know, he said. I must know. I believe you're giving up everything just to save me, everything, and I don't want to be saved unless you come too. Tell me. The color came back to her cheeks a little, and her eyes grew moist. Again she tried to slip past him, but he prevented her. You must tell me, he urged.  Jimbo knew that it was his older self speaking, the freed spirit rather than the broken body. But he felt the strain was very great. He could not keep it up much longer. Any minute he might slip back into the child again and lose interest, and be unequal to the task he now saw so clearly before him.  And if I escape, you will be left alone. Quick, answer me. Oh, be quick, I'm slipping back. Already he felt his thoughts becoming confused again as the spirit merged back into the child. In another minute the boy would usurp the older self. You see, began the governess at length, speaking very gently and sadly, I am bound to make amends whatever happens. I must atone. But already he found it hard to follow. Atone, he asked, what does atone mean? He moved back a step and glanced about the room. The moment of concentration had passed without bearing fruit. His thoughts began to wander again, like a child's. Anyhow, we shall escape together when the chance comes, aren't we? he said. Oh yes, darling, we shall. She said in a broken voice, and if you do what I tell you, it will come very soon, I hope. She drew him towards her and kissed him, and though he didn't respond very heartily, he felt he liked it, and was sure that she was good, and meant to do the best possible for him. Jimbo asked nothing more for some time. He turned to the bed where he found a mattress and a blanket, but no sheets, and sat down on the edge, and waited. The governess was standing by the window looking out. Her back was turned to him. He heard an occasional deep sigh come from her, but he was too busy now with his own sensations to trouble much about her. Looking past her, he saw the sea of green leaves dancing lazily in the sunshine. Something seemed to beckon him from beyond the high wall, and he longed to go out and play in the shade of the elms and hawthorns. For the horror of the empty house was closing in upon him steadily but surely, and he longed for escape into a bright, unhaunted atmosphere more than anything else in the whole world. His thoughts ran on and on in this vein, till presently he noticed that the governess was moving about the room. She crossed over and tried first one door, and then the other. Both were fastened. Next, she lifted the trapdoor and peered down into the black hole below. That too apparently was satisfactory. Then she came over to the bedside on tiptoe. "'Gimbo, I've got something very important to ask you,' she began. "'All right,' he said, full of curiosity. "'You must answer me very exactly. Everything depends upon it.' "'I will.' She took another long look about the room, and then in a still lower whisper bent over him and asked, "'Have you any pain?' "'Where?' he asked, remembering to be exact. "'Anywhere,' he thought for a moment. "'None, thank you.' "'None at all? Anywhere?' He said with decision. She seemed disappointed. "'Never mind. It's a little soon yet, perhaps,' she said. "'We must have patience. It will come in time.' "'But I don't want any pain,' he said, rather ruefully. "'You can't escape till it comes. I don't understand a bit what you mean.' He began to feel alarmed at the notion of escape and pain going together. "'You'll understand later, though,' she said, soothingly. And it won't hurt very much. The sooner the pain comes, the sooner we can try to escape. Nowhere can there be escape without it.' And with that she left him, disappearing without another word into the hole below the trap, and leaving him disconsolate, yet excited, alone in the room. CHAPTER 8 memory of memories. With every one, of course, the measurement of time depends largely upon the state of the emotions, but in Jimbo's case it was curiously exaggerated. This may have been because he had no standard of memory by which to test the succession of minutes, but whatever it was the hours passed very quickly, and the evening shadows were already darkening the room when at length he got up from the mattress and went over to the window. Outside the high elms were growing dim. Soon the stars would be out in the sky. The afternoon had passed away like magic, and the Governor still left him alone. He could not quite understand why she went away for such long periods. The darkness came down very swiftly, and it was night almost before he knew it, yet he felt no drowsiness, no desire to yawn and get under sheets and blankets. Sleep was evidently out of the question, and the hours slipped away so rapidly that it made little difference whether he sat up all night or whether he slept. It was his first night in the empty house, and he wondered how many more he would spend there before escape came. He stood at the window, peering out into the glowing darkness and thinking long, long thoughts. Below him yawned the black gulf of the yard, and the outline of the enclosing wall was only just visible, but beyond the elms rose far into the sky, and he could hear the winds singing softly in their branches. The sound was very sweet. It suggested freedom, and the flight of birds, and all that was wild and unrestrained. The wind could never really be a prisoner. Its voice sang of open spaces and unbounded distances, of flying clouds and mountains, of mighty woods and dancing waves, above all of wings, free, swift, and unconquerable wings. But this rushing song of wind among the leaves made him feel too sad to listen long, and he lay down upon the bed again still thinking, thinking. The house was utterly still, not a thing stirred within its walls. He felt lonely, and began to long for the companionship of the governess. He would have called aloud for her to come. Only he was afraid to break the appalling silence. He wondered where she was all this time, and how she spent the long, dark hours of the sleepless nights. Were all these things really true that she told him? Was he actually out of his body, and was his name really Jimbo? His thoughts kept groping backwards, ever seeking the other companions he had lost. But like a piece of stretched elastic, too short to reach its object, they always came back with a snap, just when he seemed on the point of finding them. He wanted these companions very badly indeed, but the struggling of his memory was painful, and he could not keep the effort up for very long at one time. The effort, once relaxed, however, his thoughts wandered freely where they would, and there rose before his mind's eye dim suggestions of memories far more distant, ghostly scenes and faces that passed before him in endless succession, but always faded away before he could properly seize and name them. This memory, so stubborn as regards quite recent events, began to play strange tricks with him. It carried him away into a past so remote that he could not connect it with himself at all, and it was like dreaming of scenes and events that had happened to somebody else. Yet, all the time, he knew quite well those things had happened to him and to none else. It was the memory of the soul asserting itself now that the clamour of the body was low. It was an underground river coming to the surface for odd minutes here and there, showing its waters to the stars just long enough to catch their ghostly reflections before it rolled away underground again. Yet, swift and transitory as they were, these glimpses brought in their train sensations that were too powerful ever to have troubled his child mind in its present body. They stirred in him the strong emotions, the ecstasies, the terrors, the yearnings of a much more distant past, whispering to him, could he but have understood of an infinitely deeper layer of memories and experiences which, now released from the burden of the intermediate years, strove to awaken into life again. The soul in that little body, covered with alpaca knickerbockers and a sailor blouse, seemed suddenly to have access to a storehouse of knowledge that must have taken centuries rather than a few short years to acquire. It was all very queer. The feeling of tremendous age grew mysteriously over him. He realised that he had been wandering for ages. He had been to the stars and also to the deeps. He had roamed over strange mountains far away from cities or inhabited places of the earth and had lived by streams whose waves were silvered by moonlight, dropping softly through whispered palm branches. Some of these ghostly memories brought him sensations of keenest happiness. I see silver radiant. Others swept through his heart like a cold wave, leaving behind a feeling of unutterable woe and a sense of loneliness that almost made him cry aloud. Then there came voices, too, voices that had slept so long in the inner kingdoms of silence that they failed to rouse in him the very slightest emotion of recognition. Worn out at length with the surging of these strange hosts through him, he got up and went to the open window again. The night was very dark and warm, but the stars had disappeared and there was the hush and the faint odour of coming rain in the air. He smelt leaves and the earth and the moist things of the ground, the wonderful perfume of the life of the soil. The wind had dropped. All was silent as the grave. The leaves of the elm trees were motionless. No bird or insect raised its voice. Everything slept. He alone was watchful. Awake. Looking over the windowsill his thoughts searched for the governess and he wondered anew where she was spending the dark hours. She too, he felt sure, was wakeful somewhere, watching with him, plotting their escape together, and all was mindful of his safety. His reverie was suddenly interrupted by the flight of an immense night bird dropping through the air just above his head. He sprang back into the room with a startled cry as it rushed past into the darkness with a great swishing of wings. The size of the creature filled him with awe. It was so close that the wind it made lifted the hair on his forehead and he could almost feel the feathers brush his cheeks. He strained his eyes to try to follow it, but the shadows were too deep and he could see nothing. Only in the distance, growing every moment fainter, he could hear the noise of big wings threshing the air. He waited a little, wondering if another bird would follow it or if it would presently return to its perch on the roof. Then his thoughts passed on to uncertain memories of other big birds, hawks, owls, eagles, and he had seen, somewhere, in places now beyond the reach of distant recollections. Soon the light began to dawn in the east and he made out the shape of the elm trees and the dreadful prison wall, and with the first real touch of morning light he heard a familiar creaking sound in the room behind him and saw the black hood of the governess rising through the trap door and the floor. But you left me alone all night, he said at once reproachfully as she kissed him. On purpose, she answered, he'd get suspicious if I stayed too much with you. It's different in the day time when he can't see properly. Where's he been all night, then? asked the boy. Last night he was out most of the time, hunting. Hunting, he repeated with excitement, hunting what? Children, frightened children, she replied, lowering her voice. That's how he found you. It was a horrible thought, fright hunting for victims to bring to his dreadful prison, and Jimbo shivered as he heard it. And how did you get on all this time? She asked, hurriedly changing the subject. I've been remembering, that is half remembering, an awful lot of things and feeling, oh, so cold. I never want to remember anything again, he said, wearily. You'll forget quick enough when you get back into your body and have only the body memories, she said with a sigh that he did not understand. But now tell me, she added in a more serious voice. Have you had any pain yet? He shook his head. She stepped up beside him. None there, she asked, touching him lightly just below the shoulder blades. Jimbo jumped as if he had been shot and uttered a piercing yell. That hurts, he screamed. I'm so glad, said the governess. That's the pain's coming at last. Her face was beaming. Coming, he echoed, I think they've come. But if they hurt as much as that, I think I'd rather not escape, he added ruefully. The pain won't last more than a minute, she said calmly. You must be brave and stand it. There's no escape without pain from anything. If there's no other way, he said, pluckily, I'll try, but you see, she went on rather absently. At this very moment the doctor is probing the wounds in your back where the horns went in. But he was not listening. Her explanations always made him want either to cry or to laugh. This time he laughed. And the governess joined him while they sat on the edge of the bed together, talking of many things. He did not understand all her explanations, but it comforted him to hear them. So long as somebody understood, no matter who, he felt it was all right. In this way several days and nights passed quickly away. The pains were apparently no nearer, but as Miss Lake showed no particular anxiety at their non-arrival, he waited patiently to, dreading the moment, yet also looking forward to it exceedingly. During the day the governess spent most of the time in the room with him. But at night when he was alone the darkness became enchanted, the room haunted, and he passed into the long, long gallery of memories. CHAPTER IX THE MEANS OF ESCAPE A week passed, and Jimbo began to wonder if the pains he so much dreaded, yet so eagerly longed for, were ever coming at all. The imprisonment was telling upon him, and he grew very thin and consequently very light. The nights, though he spent them alone, were easily born, for he was then intensely occupied, and the time passed swiftly. The moment it was dark he stepped into the gallery of memories, and in a little while passed into a new world of wonder and delight. But the daytime seemed always long. He stood for hours by the window, watching the trees and the sky, and what he saw all was set painful currents running through his blood, unsatisfied longings, yearnings, and immense desires he could never understand. The white clouds on their swift journeys took with them something from his heart every time he looked upon them. They melted into air and blue sky, and lo, that something came back to him, charged with all the wild freedom and magic of open spaces, distance, and rushing winds. But the change was close at hand. One night as he was standing by the open window, listening to the drip of the rain, he felt a deadly weakness steal over him. The strength went out of his legs. First he turned hot, and then he turned cold. Clammy perspiration broke out all over him, and it was all he could do to crawl across the room and throw himself onto the bed. But no sooner was he stretched out on the mattress than the feelings passed entirely, and behind left them an intoxicating sense of strength and lightness. His muscles became like steel springs. His bones were strong as iron, and light as cork. A wonderful vigor had suddenly come into him, and he felt as if he had just stepped from a dungeon into fresh air. He was ready to face anything in the world. But before he had time to realize the full enjoyment of these new sensations, a stinging, blinding pain shot suddenly through his right shoulder as if a red-hot iron had pierced to the very bone. He screamed out in agony, though even while he screamed the pain passed. Then the same thing happened to his other shoulder. It shot through his back with equal swiftness and was gone, leaving him lying on the bed, trembling with pain. But the instant it was gone, delightful sensations of strength and lightness returned, and he felt as if his whole body were charged with some new and potent force. The pains had come at last. Jimbo had no notion how they could possibly be connected with escape, but Miss Lake, his kind and faithful friend Miss Lake, had said that no escape was possible without them, and had promised that they should be brief, and this was true, for the entire episode had not taken a minute of time. Escape! Escape! The words rushed through him like a flame of fire, out of this dreadful empty house, into the open spaces, beyond the prison wall, out where the wind and the rain could touch him, where he could feel the grass beneath his feet, and could see the whole sky at once, instead of this narrow strip through the window. His thoughts flew to the stars and the clouds, but a strange humming of voices interrupted his flight of imagination, and he saw that the room was suddenly full of moving figures. They were passing before him with silent footsteps across the window from door to door. How they had come in, or how they went out, he never knew, but his heart stood still for an instant, as he recognized the mournful figures of the frightened children filing before him in a slow procession. They were singing, though it sounded more like a chorus of whispering of the actual singing, and as they moved past with the measured steps of their sorrowful dance, he caught the words of the song he had heard them sing when he first came into the house. We hear the little voices in the wind, singing of freedom we may never find. The window put his fingers into his ears, but still the sound came through. He heard the words almost as if they were inside himself, his own thoughts singing. We hear the little footsteps in the rain, running to help us, though they run in vain, tapping in hundreds on the window-pane. The horrible procession filed past, and melted away near the door. They were gone as mysteriously as they had come, and almost before he realized it. He sprang from the bed and tried the doors. Both were locked. How in the world had the children got in and out? The whispering voices rose again on the night air, and this time he was sure they came from outside. He ran to the open window and thrust his head out cautiously. More enough the procession was moving slowly, still with the steps of that impish dance across the courtyard-stones. He could just make out the slow, waving arms, the thin bodies, and the white little faces as they passed on silent feet through the darkness, and again a fragment of the song rose to his ears as he watched, and filled him with an overpowering sadness. We have no joy in any children's game, for happiness to us is but a name, since terror kissed us with his lips of flame. Then he noticed that the group was growing smaller. Already the numbers were less. Somewhere over there in the dark corner of the yard the children disappeared, though it was too dark to see precisely how or where. He danced with phantoms and with shadows play rose to his ears. Then suddenly he remembered the little white upright stones he had seen in that corner of the yard and understood. One by one they vanished just behind those stones. Jimbo shivered and drew his head in. He did not like those upright stones. They made him uncomfortable and afraid. Now however the last child had disappeared and the song had ceased. He realized what his fate would be if the escape were not successful. He would become one of this band of frightened children dwelling somewhere behind the upright stones, a terrified shadow, waiting in vain to be rescued, waiting perhaps for ever and ever. The thought brought the tears to his eyes, but he somehow managed to choke them down. He knew it was the young portion of him only that felt afraid, the body, the older self could not feel fear and had nothing to do with tears. He lay down again on the hard mattress and waited, and soon afterwards the first crimson streaks of sunrise appeared behind the high elms, and rooks began to core and shake their wings in the upper branches. A little later the governess came in. Before he could move out of the way, for he disliked being embraced, she had her arms round his neck and was covering him with kisses. He saw tears in her eyes. "'You darling Jimbo,' she cried, "'they've come at last.' "'How do you know?' he asked, surprised at her knowledge, and puzzled by her display of emotion. "'I heard you scream to begin with. Besides, I've been watching.' "'Watching?' "'Yes, and listening too. Every night, every single night. You've hardly been a minute out of my sight,' she added. "'I think it's awfully good of you,' he said doubtfully, but—' A flood of questions followed about the upright stones, the shadowy children, where she spent the night watching him at a hundred other things besides. Then he got little satisfaction out of her. He never did when it was Jimbo, the child, that asked, and he remained Jimbo, the child, all that day. She only told him that all was going well. The pains had come, he had grown nice and thin and light. The children had come into his room as a hint that he belonged to their band, and other things had happened about which she would tell him later. The crisis was close at hand. That was all he could get out of her. "'It won't be long now,' she said excitedly. "'They'll come to-night, I expect.' "'What will come to-night?' he asked, with tremendous wonder. "'Wait and see,' was all the answer he got. "'Wait and see.' She told him to lie quietly on the bed and to have patience, with asking questions and thinking and wondering. The day passed very quickly. With the lengthening shadows his excitement began to grow. Presently Miss Lake took her departure, and went off to her unknown and mysterious abode. He watched her disappear through the floor with mingled feelings, wondering what would have happened before he saw her again. She gave him a long, last look, as she sank away below the boards. But it was a look that brought him fresh courage, and her eyes were happy and smiling. Tingling already with expectancy, he got into the bed and lay down. His brain alive with one word—escape. From where he lay he saw the stars in the narrow strip of sky. He heard the wind whispering in the branches. He even smelt the perfume of the fields and hedges, grass, flowers, dew, and the sweet earth—the odours of freedom. The governess had, for some reason, she refused to explain, taken his blouse away with her. For a long time he puzzled over this, seeking reasons and finding none. But while in the act of stroking his bare arms, the pains of the night before suddenly returned to both shoulders at once. Fire seemed to run down his back, splitting his bones apart, and then passed even more quickly than before, leaving him with the same wonderful sensations of lightness and strength. He felt inclined to shout and run and jump, and it was only the memory of the governess's earliest caution to lie quietly that prevented his new emotions passing into acts. With very great effort he lay still all night long, and it was only when the room at last began to get light again that he turned on his side preparatory to getting up. But there was something new, something different. He rested on his elbow, waiting. Something had happened to him. Cautiously he sat on the edge of the bed, and stretched out one foot and touched the floor. It ran through him like a wave. There was a great change, a tremendous change, for as he stepped out gingerly onto the floor, something followed him from the bed. It clung to his back, it touched both shoulders at once, it stroked his ribs, and tickled the skin of his arms. Half frightened he brought the other leg over, and stood boldly upright on both feet, but the weight still clung to his back. He looked over his shoulder. Yes, it was trailing after him from the bed. It was fan-shaped and brilliant in colour. He put out a hand and touched it. It was soft and glossy. Then he took it deliberately between his fingers. It was smooth as velvet, and had numerous tiny ribs running along it. Seeing it at last with all his courage, he pulled it forward in front of him for a better view, only to discover that it would not come out beyond a certain distance, and seem to have got caught somehow between his shoulders, just where the pains had been. A second pull, more vigorous than the first, showed that it was not caught, but fastened, to his skin. It divided itself moreover into two portions, one half coming from each shoulder.  Then with a sudden flash of comprehension he saw it all and understood. They were indeed feathers, but they were something more than feathers merely. They were wings. So called his breath and stared in silence. He felt dazed. Then bit by bit the fragments of the weird mosaic fell into their proper places, and he began to understand. Escape was to be by flight. It filled him with such a whirlwind of delight and excitement that he could scarcely keep from screaming aloud. Just in wonder he took a step forward, and watched with bulging eyes how the wings followed him, their tips trailing along the floor. They were a beautiful deep red, and hung down close and warm beside his body. Glossy, sleek, magical. And when later the sun burst into the room and turned their colour into living flame, he could not resist the temptation to kiss them. He seized them and rubbed their soft surfaces over his face. Such colours he had never seen before, and he wanted to be sure that they really belonged to him and were intended for actual use. Slowly, without using his hands, he raised them into the air. The effort was a perfectly easy, muscular effort from the shoulders that came naturally, though he did not quite understand how he accomplished it. The wings rose in a fine graceful sweep, curving over his head till the tips of the feathers met, touching the walls as they rose, and almost reaching to the ceiling. He gave a howl of delight, for this sight was more than he could manage without some outlet for his pent-up emotion, and at the same moment the trap door shot open, and the governess came into the room with such a bang and a clatter that Jimbo knew at once her excitement was as great as his own. In her hand she carried the blouse she had taken away the night before. She held it out to him without a word. Her eyes were shining like electric lamps. In less than a second he had slipped his wings through the neatly made slits, but before he could practise them again Miss Lake rushed over to him, her face radiant with happiness. Jimbo, my darling Jimbo, she cried, and then stopped short, apparently unable to express her emotion. The next instant he was enveloped, wings and all, in a warm confusion of kisses, congratulations, and folds of hood. When they became disentangled again the governess went down on her knees and made a careful examination. She pulled the wings out to their full extent, and found they stretched about four feet and a half from tip to tip. They are beauties, she exclaimed enthusiastically, and full grown and strong. I'm not surprised they took so long coming. Long, he echoed, I thought they came awfully quickly. Not half so quickly as they'll go, she interrupted, adding when she saw his expression of dismay, I mean, you'll fly like the wind with them. Jimbo was simply breathless with excitement. He wanted to jump out of the window and escape at once. The blue sky and the sunshine and the white clouds sent him an irresistible invitation. He could not wait a minute longer. Quick, he cried, I can't wait, they may go again, show me how to use them, oh do show me. I'll show you everything in time, she answered. There was something in her voice that made him pause in his excitement. He looked at her in silence for some minute. But how are you going to escape? He asked at length. You haven't got? He stopped short. The Governor stepped back a few paces from him. She threw back the hood from her face. Then she lifted the long black cloak that hung like a cassock almost to her ankles, and it always enveloped her hither too. Jimbo started. Falling from her shoulders and folding over her hips, he saw the long red feathers similar to his own, and when he dashed forward to touch them with his own hands he found that they were just as sleek and smooth and glossy as his own. And you never told me all this time? He gasped. It was safe and not, she said. You'd have been stroking and feeling your shoulders the whole time and the wings might never have come at all. She spread out her wings as they spoke to their full extent. They were nearly six feet across, and the deep crimson on the underside was so exquisite, gleaming in the sunlight that Jimbo ran in and nestled between the feathers, tickling his cheeks and the fluffy surface, and running his fingers with childish delight along the slender red quills.  Always remember that I really love you, no matter what happens, remember that, and I'll save you. And we shall escape together, he asked, submitting for once to the caresses with a good grace. We shall escape from the empty house together, she replied evasively. How far we can go after that depends on you. On me? If you love me enough as I love you, Jimbo, we can never separate again because love ties us together forever, only, she added, it must be mutual. I love you very much, he said, puzzled a little. Of course I do. If you've really forgiven me for being the cause of your coming here, she said, questioningly, we can always be together, but I don't remember, but I've forgiven you, that old you, long ago, he said simply, if you hadn't brought me here, I should never have met you. That's not real forgiveness, quite, she sighed, half to herself. But Jimbo could not follow this sort of conversation for long. He was too anxious to try his wings for one thing. Is it very difficult to use them, he asked? Try, she said. He stood in the centre of the floor and raised them again and again. They swept up easily, meeting over his head, and the air whistled musically through them. Evidently they had their proper muscles, for it was no great effort, and when he folded them again by his side they fell into natural curves over his arms, as if they had been there all his life. The sound of the feathers threshing the air filled him with delight, and made him think of the big night bird that had flown past the window during the night. He told the governess about it, and she burst out laughing. I was that big bird, she said. You! I perched on the roof every night to watch over you. I flew down that time because I was afraid you were trying to climb out of the window. This was indeed a proof of devotion, and Jimbo felt that he could never doubt her again. And when she went on to tell him about his wings and how to use them, he listened with his very best attention and tried hard to learn and understand. The great difficulty is that you can't practice properly, she explained. There's no room in here, and yet you can't get out till you fly out. It's the first swoop that decides all. You'll have to drop straight out of this window, and if you use the wings properly, they will carry you in a single swoop over the wall and right up into the sky. But if I miss, you can't miss, she said with decision, but if you did, you would be a prisoner here forever. He would catch you in the yard and tear your wings off. It is just as well that you should know this at once. Jimbo shuddered as he heard her. When can we try? he asked anxiously. Very soon now. The muscles must harden first, and that takes a little time. You must practice flapping your wings until you can do it easily, four hundred times a minute. When you can do that, it will be time for the first start.  The novelty of the motion, the ground rushing up into your face and the whistling of the wind, are apt to confuse at first, but it soon passes, and you must have confidence. I can only help you up to a certain point. The rest depends on you. And the first jump? You'll have to make that by yourself, she said. But you'll do it all right. You're very light and won't go too near the ground. You see, we are like bats, and cannot rise from the earth. We can only fly by dropping from a height, and that's what makes the first plunge rather trying. But you won't fall, she added, and remember I shall always be within reach. You're awfully kind to me," said Jimbo, feeling his little soul more than ever invaded by the force of her unselfish care. I promise you I'll do my best. He climbed onto her knee and stared into her anxious face. Then you are beginning to love me a little, aren't you?" She asked softly, putting her arms round him. Yes, he said decidedly, I love you very much already. Four hundred times a minute sounded a very great deal of wing-flapping. But Jimbo practised eagerly, and though at first he could only manage about twice a second, or one hundred and twenty times a minute, he found this increased very soon to a great deal more, and before long he was able to do the full four hundred, though only for a few minutes at a time. He stuck at it pluckily, getting stronger every day. The governess encouraged him as much as possible, but there was very little room for her while he was at work, and he found the best way to practise was at night, when she was out of the way. He told him that a large bird moved its wings about four times a second, two upstrokes and two downstrokes, but a small bird, like a partridge, moved its wings so rapidly it was impossible for the eye to distinguish or count the strokes. A middle course of four hundred suited his own case best, and he bent all his energies to acquire it. He also learned that the convex, upside curve of wings allowed the wind to escape over them, while the underside, being concave, held every breath. Thus the upward stroke did not simply counterbalance the downward, and keep him stationary. Moreover, she showed him how the feathers underlapped each other, so that the downward stroke pressed them closely together to hold the wind, whereas in the upward stroke they opened and separated, letting the air slip easily through them, thus offering less resistance to the atmosphere. By the end of the week Jimbo had practised so hard that he could keep himself off the floor in mid-air for half an hour at a time, and even then without feeling any great fatigue. His excitement became intense, and meanwhile, in his body on the nursery bed, though he did not know it, the fever was reaching its crisis. He could think of nothing else but the joys of flying, and what the first awful plunge would be like, and when Miss Lake came up to him one afternoon and whispered something in his ear, he was so wildly happy that he hugged her for many minutes without the slightest coaxing. It's bright and clear, she exclaimed, and fright will not come after us, for he fears the light and can only fly on dark and gloomy nights. So we can start? he stammered joyfully. Tonight, she answered, for our first practised flight. End of Chapter 9. Chapter 10 of Jimbo. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Jimbo by Algernon Blackwood, read by Adrian Pretzelis. Chapter 10. The Plunge. To enter the world of wings is to enter a new state of existence. The apparent loss of weight, the ability to attain full speed in a few seconds, and to stop suddenly in a headlong rush without fear of collapse, the power to steer instantly in any direction by merely changing the angle of the body, the altered and enormous view of the green world below, looking down upon forests, seas, and clouds, the easy voluptuous rhythm of rising and falling in long, swinging undulations, and a hundred other things that simply defy description, and can be appreciated only by actual experience. These are some of the delights of the new world of wings and flying, and the fearful joy of a very high speed, especially when the exhilaration of escape is added to it means a condition little short of real ecstasy. Yet Jimbo's first flight, the governess had been careful to tell him, could not be the flight of final escape. For even if the wings proved equal to a prolonged effort, escape was impossible until there was somewhere safe to escape to. So it was understood that the practised flights might be long or might be short. The important thing, meanwhile, was to learn to fly as well as possible. For skilled flying is very different to mere headlong rushing, and both patience and perseverance are necessary to acquire it. With rare common sense Miss Lake had said very little about the possibility of failure. Having warned him about the importance of not falling, she had then stopped, and the power of suggestion had allowed to work only in the right direction of certain success. While the boy knew that the first plunge from the window would be a moment fraught with the highest danger, his mind only recognised the mere off chance of falling and being caught. He felt confidence in himself, and by so much, therefore, were the chances of disaster lessened. For the rest of the afternoon Jimbo saw nothing of his faithful companion. He spent the time practising and resting, and when weary of everything else he went to the window and indulged in thrilling calculations about the exact height from the ground. A drop of three stories into a paved courtyard with a monster waiting to catch him, and a high wall too close to allow proper swing was an alarming matter from any point of view. Fortunately his mind dwelt more on the delight of prospective flight and freedom than on the chances of being caught. The yard lay hot and naked in the afternoon glare, and the enclosing wall had never looked more formidable, but from his lofty perch Jimbo could see beyond into soft hay fields and smiling meadows yellow with cow slips and butter cups. Everything that flew he watched with absorbing interest, swift black birds whistling as they went and crows their wings purple in the sunshine. The song of the larks, invisible in the sea of blue air, sent a thrill of happiness through him. He too might soon know something of that glad music. And even the stately flight of the butterflies, which occasionally ventured over into the yard, stirred anticipations in him of joys to come. The day waned slowly. The butterflies vanished. The rook sailed homewards through the sunset. The wind dropped away and the shadows of the high elms lengthened gradually and fell across the window. The mysterious hour of the dusk, when the standard of reality changes and other worlds come close and listen, began to work its subtle spell upon his soul. And perceptibly the shadows deepened as the veil of night drew silently across the sky. A gentle breathing filled the air. Trees and fields were gathering themselves to sleep. Stars were peeping. Wings were being folded. But the boys' wings, trembling with life to the very tips of their long feathers, these were not being folded. Just with excitement like himself they were gathering all their forces for the supreme effort of their first journey out into the open spaces where they might touch the secret sources of their own magical life. For a long, long time he waited, but at last the trapdoor lifted and Miss Lake appeared above the floor. The moment she stood in the room he noticed that her wings came through two little slits in her gown and folded down close to the body. They almost touched the ground. Hush, she whispered, holding up a warning finger. She came over on tiptoe and they began to talk in low whispers. He's on the watch. We must speak very quietly. We couldn't have a better night for it. The wind's in the south and the moon won't be up till we're well on our way. Now that the actual moment was so near, the boy felt something of fear steal over him. The night seemed so vast and terrible all of a sudden, like an immense black ocean with no friendly islands where they could fold their wings and rest. Don't waste your strength thinking, whispered the governess. When the time comes act quickly, that's all. She went over to the window and peered out cautiously, after a while beckoning the child to join her. He's there, she murmured in his ear. Jimbo could only make out an indistinct shadowy object crouching under the wall and he was not even positive of that. Does he know we're going? he asked in an awed whisper. He's there on the chance, replied the governess, drawing back into the room. When there's a possibility of anyone getting frightened, he's bound to be lurking about somewhere near. That's fright all over.  Because you're not going to get frightened. And also he can only fly when it's dark, and tonight we shall have the moon. I'm not afraid, declared the boy in spite of a rather fluttering heart. Are you ready? was all she said. At last then the moment had come. It was actually beside him, waiting full of mystery and wonder, with alarm not far behind. The sun was buried below the horizon of the world, and the dusk had deepened into night. Stars were shining overhead, the leaves were motionless, not a breath stirred. The earth was silent and waiting. Yes, I'm ready, he whispered, almost inaudibly. Then listen, she said, and I'll tell you exactly what to do. Jump upwards from the window-ledge as high as you can, and the moment you begin to drop, open your wings and strike with all your might. You'll rise at once. The thing to remember is to rise as quickly as possible, because the wall prevents a long, easy sweeping rise, and whatever happens you must clear that wall. I can't touch the ground then, asked a faint little voice. Of course not, you'll get near it, but the moment you use your wings you'll stop sinking and rise up, up, up, ever so quickly. And where to? To me. You'll see me waiting for you above the trees. Steering will come naturally, it's quite easy. Jimbo was already shaking with excitement. He could not help it, and he knew, in spite of all Miss Lake's care, that Fright was waiting in the yard to catch him if he fell or sank too near the ground. I'll go first, added the governess, and the moment you see I've cleared the wall you must jump after me, only do not keep me waiting. The girl stood for a moment in silence, arranging her wings. Her fingers were trembling a little. Suddenly she drew the boy to her and kissed him passionately. Be brave, she whispered, looking searchingly into his eyes, and strike hard, you can't possibly fail. In another minute she was climbing out of the window. For one second he saw her standing on the narrow ledge with black space at her feet. The next, without even a cry, she sprang out into the darkness and was gone. Jimbo called his breath and ran to see. She dropped like a stone, turning over sideways in the air, and then at once her wings opened on both sides, and she righted. The darkness swallowed her up for a moment, so that he could not see clearly, and only heard the threshing of the huge feathers, but it was easy to tell from the sound that she was rising. Then suddenly a black form cleared the wall and rose swiftly in a magnificent sweep into the sky, and he saw her outlined darkly against the stars above the high elm trees. She was safe. Now it was his turn. Act quickly. Don't think, rang in his ears. If only he could do it all as quickly as she had done it. But insidious fear had been working all the time below the surface, and his refusal to recognise it could not prevent it weakening his muscles and checking his power of decision. Fortunately something of his older self came to the rescue. The emotions of fear, excitement, and intense anticipation combined to call up the power of his deeper being. The boy trembled horribly, but the old experience part of him sang with joy. Cautiously he began to climb out onto the windowsill. First one foot, and then the other hung over the ledge. He sat there, staring down into the black space beneath. For a minute he hesitated to spare rushed over him in a wave. He could never take that awful jump into emptiness and darkness. It was impossible. Better be a prisoner for ever than to risk so fearful a plunge. He felt cold, weak, frightened, and made a half movement back into the room. The wings caught somehow between his legs and nearly flung him headlong into the yard. �Jimbo, I'm waiting for you� came at that moment in a faint cry from the stars, and the sound gave him just the impetus he needed before it was too late. He could not disappoint her, his faithful friend. Such a thing was impossible. He stood upright on the ledge, his hands clutching the window sash behind, balancing as best he could. He clenched his fists, drew a deep, long breath, and jumped upwards and forwards into the air. Up rushed the darkness with a shriek. The air whistled in his ears. He dropped at fearful speed into nothingness. At first everything was forgotten—wings, instructions, warnings, and all. He even forgot to open his wings at all, and in another second he would have dashed upon the hard paving stones of the courtyard where his great enemy lay, waiting to seize him. But just in the nick of time he remembered and the long hours of practice bore fruit. That flew the great red wings in a tremendous sweep on both sides of him, and he began to strike with every atom of strength he possessed. He had dropped to within six feet of the ground, but at once the strokes began to tail, and oh, magical sensation! He felt himself rising easily, lightly, swiftly. A very slight effort of those big wings would have been sufficient to lift him out of danger, but in his terror and excitement he had quite miscalculated their power, and in a single moment he was far out of reach of the dangerous yard and anything it contained.  He felt dizzy and confused, and instead of clearing the wall he landed on the top of it and clung to the crumbling coping with his hands and feet, panting and breathless. The dizziness was only momentary, however. In less than a minute he was on his feet and in the act of taking his second leap into space. This time it came more easily. He dropped, and the field swung up to meet him. Even the powerful strokes of his wings drove him at great speed upwards, and he bounded ever higher towards the stars. Overhead the governess hovered like an immense bird, and as he rose up he caught the sound of her wings beating the air, while far beneath him he heard with a shudder a voice like the rushing of a great river. It made him increase his pace, and in another minute he found himself among the little whirlwinds that raced about from the beating of Miss Lake's great wings. "'Well done,' cried the delighted governess, "'safe at last. Now we can fly to our heart's content.' Jimbo flew up alongside, and together they dashed forward into the night. CHAPTER 11 THE FIRST FLIGHT There was not much talking at first. The stress of conflicting emotions was so fierce that the words choked themselves in his throat, and the desire for utterance found its only vent in hard breathing. The intoxication of rapid motion carried him along headlong in more senses than one. At first he felt as if he never would be able to keep up, then it seemed as if he would never get down again. For with wings it is almost easier to rise than to fall, and a first flight is, before anything else, a series of vivid and audacious surprises. For a long time Jimbo was so dizzy with excitement and the novelty of the sensation that he forgot his deliverer altogether. And what a flight it was! Instead of the steady race of the carrier pigeon or of the rook's homeward bound at evening, it was the seesaw motion of the Wren's swinging journey across the lawn, only heavier, faster, and with more terrific impetus. Up and down each time with a rise and a fall of twenty feet he careened, whistling through the summer night. At the drop of each curve so low that the scents of dewy grass rose into his face. At the crest of it so high that the trees and hedges often became mere blots upon the dark surface of the earth. The fields rushed by beneath him, the white roads flashed past like streaks of snow. Sometimes he shot across streaks of water and felt the cooler air strike his cheeks. Sometimes over sheltered meadows where the sunshine had slept all day, and the air was still soft and warm. On and on as easily as rain dropping from the sky or wind rushing earthwards from between the clouds. Everything flew past him at an astonishing rate. Everything but the bright stars that gazed calmly down overhead, and when he looked up and saw their steadfastness, it helped him keep within the bounds the fine alarm of this first excursion into the great vault of the sky. "'Gently, child,' gasped Miss Lake behind him, "'we shall never keep it up at this rate.' "'Oh, but it's so wonderful,' he cried, drawing in the air loudly between his teeth and shaking his wings rapidly like a hawk before it drops. The pace slackened a little, and the girl drew up alongside. For some time they flew forward together in silence. They had been skirting the edge of a wood, then suddenly the trees fell away, and Jimbo gave a scream and rose fifty feet into the air with a single bound. Right in front of him loomed an immense glaring disk that seemed to swim suddenly up into the sky above the trees. It hung there before his eyes and dazzled him. "'It's only the moon,' cried Miss Lake from below. Jimbo dropped through the air to her side again with a gasp. I thought it was a big hole in the sky with fire rushing through,' he exclaimed, breathlessly.  "'Look out,' cried the governess, seizing his hand. Wish-woo-wa-ra!' A large bird whipped past them, like some winged imp of darkness, vanishing among the trees far below. There would certainly have been a collision but for the girl's energetic interference. "'You must be on the lookout for these nightbirds,' she said. "'They fly so unexpectedly, and of course they don't see us properly. Half-wires and church steeples are a bad two, but then we shan't fly over cities much. Keep a good height. It's safer.' They altered their course a little, flying at a different angle, so that the moon no longer dazzled them. Steering came quite easily by turning the body, and Jimbo still led the way, the governess following heavily, and with a mighty business of wings and flapping. It was something to remember, the glory of that first journey through the air, sixty miles an hour, and scarcely in effort, skimming the long ridges of the hills and rushing through the pure air of mountaintops, threading the star-beams, bathing themselves from head to foot in an ocean of cool, clean wind, swimming on the waves of viewless currents, currents warmed only by the magic of the stars, and kissed by the burning lips of flying meteors. Far below them the moonlight touched the fields with silver, and the murmur of the world rose faintly to their ears, trembling, as it were, with the inarticulate dreams of millions. Somewhere about them thrilled and sang the unspeakable power of the night. The mystery of its great heart seemed laid bare before them. It was like a wonder journey in some eastern fairy-tale. Sometimes they passed through zones of sweeter air, perfumed with the sense of hay and wild flowers. At others the fresh, damp odour of plowed fields rose up to them. For again they went spinning over leagues of forest where the treetops stretched beneath them like the surface of a wide green sea sleeping in the moonlight. And when they crossed open water the stars shone reflected in their faces, and all the while the wings, whirring and purring softly through the darkness, made pleasant music in their ears. I'm tired, declared Jimbo presently. Then we'll go down and rest, said his breathless companion with obvious relief. She showed him how to spread his wings, sloping them towards the ground at an angle that enabled him to shoot rapidly downwards, at the same time regulating his speed by the least upward tilt. It was a glorious motion, without effort or difficulty, though the pace made it hard to keep the eyes open and breathing became almost impossible. They dropped to within ten feet of the ground, and then shot forward again. But while the boy was watching his companion's movements and paying too little attention to his own, there rose suddenly before him out of the ground a huge bulky form of something, and crash! He flew headlong into it. Fortunately it was only a haystack, but the speed at which he was going lodged his head several inches under the thatch, whence he projected horizontally into space, feet, arms and wings gyrating furiously. The governess however soon released him with much laughter, and they dropped down into the fallen hay upon the ground, with no worse result than a shaking.  Except that larks are hardly night-birds, she laughed, helping him. They settled with folded wings in the shadow of the haystack, and the big moon, peeping over the edge at them, must have surely wondered to see such a funny couple in such a place, and at such an hour. Mushrooms! Suddenly cried the governess, springing to her feet, there must be lots in this field, I'll go down and pick some while you rest a bit. Off she went, traipsing over the field in the moonlight. Her wings folded behind her, her body bent a little forward as she searched, and in ten minutes she came back with her hands full. That was undoubtedly the time to enjoy mushrooms at their best, with the dew still on their tight little jackets, and the sweet odour of the earth caught under their umbrellas.  He felt cosy and dozy, full of mushrooms inside, and covered with hay and feathers outside. The governess had once told him that a sort of open-air sleep sometimes came after a long flight. It was, of course, not a real sleep, but a state in which everything about oneself is forgotten, no dreams, no movement, no falling asleep and waking up in the ordinary sense, but a condition of deep repose, in which recuperation is very great. Jimbo would have been greatly interested, no doubt, to know that his real body on the bed had also just been receiving nourishment, and was now passing into a quieter and less feverish condition. The parallel always held true between himself and his body in the nursery, but he could not know anything about this, and only suppose that it was this open-air sleep that he felt so gently stealing over him. It brought at first strange thoughts that carried him far away to other woods and other fields.  It was always stopped just short of them. He never could quite see their faces, yet his thoughts continued their search, groping in the darkness.  They ought to have been sitting beside him at that very moment, eating mushrooms, combing their wings, comparing the length of their feathers, and snuggling with him into the warm hay. But they obstinately hovered just outside his memory, and refused to come in and surrender themselves. He could not remember who they were, and his yearnings went unsatisfied up to the stars, as yearnings generally do, while his thoughts returned weary from their search, and he yielded to the seductions of the soothing open-air sleep. The moon, meanwhile, rose higher and higher, drawing a silver veil over the clouds. Upon the field the dews of midnight fell silently. A faint mist rose from the ground and covered the flowers in their dim seclusion under the hedge-rows. The hours slipped away silently. Come on, Jimbo, boy, cried the governess at length. The moon's below the hills, and we must be off. The boy turned and stared sleepily at her from his nest in the hay. We've got miles to go. Remember the speed we came at, she explained, getting up and arranging her wings. Jimbo got up slowly and shook himself. I've been miles away, he said dreamily, miles and miles, but I'm ready to start at once. They looked about for a raised place to jump from. A ladder stood against the other side of the haystack. The governess climbed up it, and Jimbo followed her drowsily. And in hand they sprang into the air from the edge of the thatched roof, and their wings spread out like sails to catch the wind. It smoked their faces pleasantly as they plunged downwards and forwards, and the exhilarating rush of cool air banished from the boy's head the last vestige of the open-air sleep. We must keep up a good pace, cried the governess, taking a stream and the hedge beyond in a single sweep. There's a light in the east already. As she spoke, a dog howled in the farmyard beneath them, and she shot upwards as though lifted by a sudden gust of wind. We're too low, she shouted from above. That dog felt us near. Come up higher, it's easier flying, and we've got a long way to go. Jimbo followed her up till they were several hundred feet above the earth, and the keen air stung their cheeks. Then she led him still higher till the meadows looked like the squares on a chessboard, and the trees were like little toy shrubs. Here they rushed along at a tremendous speed, too fast to speak, their wings churning the air into little whirlwinds and eddies as they passed, whizzing, whistling, tearing through space. The fields, however, were still dim in the shadows that precede the dawn, and the stars only just beginning to fade when they saw the dark outline of the empty house below them, and began carefully to descend. Soon they topped at the high elm, startling the rooks into noisy coring, and then, skimming the wall, sailed stealthily on outspread wings across the yard. Corsiously dropping down to the level of the window, they crawled over the sill into the dark little room, and folded their wings. CHAPTER 12 THE FOUR WINDS The governess left the boy to his own reflections almost immediately. He spent the hours thinking and resting, going over again in his mind every incident of the great flight, and wondering when the real final escape would come and what it would be like. Thus, between the two states of excitement, he forgot for a while that he was still a prisoner, and the spell of horror was temporarily lifted from his heart. The day passed quickly, and when Miss Lake appeared in the evening, she announced that there could be no flying again that night, and that she wished instead to give him important instruction for the future. There were rules, and signs, and times which he must learn carefully. The time might come when he would have to fly alone, and he must be prepared for everything. The first thing I have to tell you, she said exactly as though it was a schoolroom, is never fly over the sea. Our kind of wings quickly absorb the finer particles of water, and get clogged and heavy over the sea.  So be very careful. When you are flying high, it is often difficult to know where the land ends and the sea begins, especially on moonless nights, but you can always be certain of one thing. If there are no sounds below you, horses' hoofs, voices, wheels, you are certainly over the sea. Yes, said the child listening with great attention, and what else? The next thing is, don't fly too high. Though we fly like birds, remember we are not birds, and we can fly where they can't. We can fly in the ether. Where's that? He interrupted, half afraid of the sound. She stooped and kissed him, laughing at his fear. There's nothing to be frightened about, she explained. The air gets lighter and lighter as you go higher, till at last it stops altogether. Then there's only ether left. Birds can't fly in ether because it's too thin. We can because. Is that why it was good for me to get lighter and thinner? He interrupted again in a puzzled voice. Partly yes. And what happens in the ether, please? It still frightened him a little. Nothing except that if you were to fly too high you reach a point where the earth ceases to hold you and you dash off into space. Weight leaves you then, and the wings move without effort.  You may be sucked into anything that happens to come your way, a comet or a shooting star or the moon. I should like a shooting star best, observed the boy, deeply interested. The moon frightens me. I think it looks so dreadfully clean. You wouldn't like any of them when the time comes, she laughed. No one ever gets out again who once gets in, but shall never be caught that way after what I've told you, she added with decision. I shall never want to fly as high as that, I'm sure, said Jimbo. And now, please, what comes next? The next thing she went on to explain was the weather which, to all flying creatures, was of the utmost importance. Before starting for a flight he must always carefully consider the state of the sky and the direction in which he wished to go. For this purpose he must master the meaning and character of the four winds and be able to recognise them in a moment. Once you know these, she said, you cannot possibly go wrong. To make it easier I've put each wind into a little simple rhyme for you. I'm listening, he said eagerly. The north wind is one of the worst and most dangerous because it blows so much faster than you think.  In starting with the north wind always fly against it, then it will bring you home easily. If you fly with it you may be swept so far that the day will catch you before you can get home, and then you're as good as lost. Even birds fly warily when this wind is about. It has no lulls or resting places in it. It blows steadily on and on, and conquers everything it comes against, everything except the mountains. And it's rhyme, asked Jimbo, all ears. It will show you the joy of the birds, my child. You shall know their terrible bliss. It will teach you to hide when the night is wild, from the storms too passionate kiss. For the wind of the north is a volleying forth that will lift you with springs in the heart of your wings, and may sweep you away to the edge of the day. So beware the wind of the north, my child. Fly not with the wind of the north. I think I like him all the same, said Jimbo, but I'll remember always to fly against him. The east wind is worst still for it hurts, continued the governess. It stings and cuts. It's like the breath of an ice-creature. It brings hail and sleet and cold rain that beat down wings and blind the eyes. Like the north wind, too, it is dreadfully swift and full of little whirlwinds, and may easily carry you into the night of the day that would prove your destruction. Did it always know hiding places safe from it? This is the rhyme. It will teach you the secrets the eagles know of the tempests and whirlwinds' birth, and the magical weaving of rain and snow as they fall from the sky to the earth. But an easterly wind is for ever unkind. It will torture and twist you and never assist you, but will drive you with might to the verge of the night. So beware the wind of the east, my child, fly not with the wind of the east. The west wind is really a very nice and jolly wind in itself, she went on, but it's dangerous for a special reason. It will carry you out to sea. The empty house is only a few miles from the coast, and a strong west wind would take you there almost before you had time to get down to earth again. And there's no you struggling against a really steady west wind, for it's simply tireless. Luckily, it rarely blows at night and goes down with the sun. Often too it blows hard to the coast, and then drops suddenly, leaving you among the fogs and the mists of the sea. Rather a nice exciting sort of wind, remarked Jimbo, waiting for the rhyme.  For the wind of the west is a wind unblessed. It is lifted and kissed by the spirits of mist. It will clasp you and flee to the wastes of the sea. So beware the wind of the west, my child. Fly not with the wind of the west. A jolly wind, observed Jimbo again, but that doesn't leave much over to fly with, he added sadly. They all seem dangerous or cruel. Yes, she laughed, and so they are till you can master them. Then they're kind. The only one that's really always safe and kind is the wind of the south. It's a sweet, gentle wind, beloved of all that flies, and you can't possibly mistake it. You can tell it at once by the murmuring way it stirs the grasses and the tops of the trees. Its taste is soft and sweet in the mouth like wine, and there's always a faint perfume about it, like gardens in summer. It is the joy of this wind that makes all flying things sing. With the south wind you can go anywhere, and no harm can come to you. Dear old south wind, cried Jimbo, rubbing his hands with delight, I hope it will blow soon. Its rhyme is very easy too, though you will always be able to tell it without that, she added. For this is the favorite wind of all, beloved of stars and night. In the rustle of leaves you shall hear it call to the passionate joys of flight. It will carry you forth in its wonderful hair, to the faraway courts of the sky, and the breath of its lips is a murmuring prayer for the safety of all who fly. For the wind of the south is like wine in the mouth, with its whispering showers and perfume of flowers, when it falls like a sky from the heart of the sky. Oh, interrupted Jimbo, rubbing his hands, that is nice, that's my wind. It will bear you aloft with pressure so soft, that you hardly shall guess who's the gentle caress. Hooray! he cried again. It's the kindest of weathers for our red feathers, and blows open the way to the gardens of play. So fly out with the wind of the south, my child, with the wonderful wind of the south. Oh, I love the south wind already. He shouted, clapping his hands again. I hope it will blow very, very soon. It may be rising even now, answered the governess, leading him to the window. But as they gazed at the summer landscape lying in the dying light of the sunset, all was still and resting. The air was hushed, the leaves motionless. There was no call just then to flight from among the treetops, and he went back into the room, disappointed. But why can't we escape at once? he asked again, after he had given his promise to remember all she had told him, and to be extra careful if he ever went out flying alone. Jimbo, dear, I've told you before. It's because your body isn't ready for you yet, she answered patiently. There's hardly any circulation in it, and if you forced your way back now, the shock might stop your heart beating altogether. Then you'd be really dead, and escape would be impossible. The boy sat on the edge of the bed, staring intently at her while she spoke. Something clutched at his heart. He felt his older self with its greater knowledge rising up out of the depths within him. The child struggled with the old soul for possession. Have you got any circulation? he asked abruptly at length. I mean, has your heart stopped beating? But the smile called up by his words froze on her lips. She crossed to the window and stood with her back to the fading light, avoiding his eyes. My case, Jimbo, is a little different to yours, she said presently. The important thing is to make certain about your escape, never mind about me. But escape without you is nothing, he said, the older self now wholly in possession. I simply wouldn't go. I'd rather stay here with you. The governess made no reply, but she turned her back to the room and leaned out of the window. Jimbo fancily heard a sob. He felt a great big heart swelling up within his little body, and he crossed over beside her. For some minutes they stood there in silence, watching the stars that were already shining faintly in the sky. Whatever happens, he said, nestling against her. I shan't go from here without you. Remember that. He was going to say a lot more, but somehow or other, when she stooped over to kiss his head, he hardly came up to her shoulder. It all ran suddenly out of his mind, and the little child dropped back into possession again. The tide of his thoughts that seemed about to rise, fast and furious, sunk away completely, leaving his mind a clean washed slate without a single image, and presently without any more words, the governess left him, and went through the trap door into the silence and mystery of the house below. Several hours later, about the middle of the night, there came over him a most disagreeable sensation of nausea and dizziness. The ground rose and fell beneath his feet, the walls swam about sideways, and the ceiling slid off into the air. It only lasted a few minutes, however, and Jimbo knew from what she had told him that it was the flying sickness which always followed the first long flight. But about the same time another little body, lying in a night nursery bed, was being convulsed with a similar attack, and the sickness of the little prisoner in the empty house had its parallel, strangely enough, in the half-tenanted body, miles away, in a different world.