Its enormous
rhythm lulled their senses with a deep and drowsy peace, and as they
climbed from storey to storey it is doubtful if the children caught
their leader's words at all. There were no echoes--the spaces were too
vast for that--and they swung away from spar to spar, and from rafter
to rafter, as easily as acrobats on huge trapezes. Jimbo and Monkey
shot upwards into space.
'I shall explore the lower storeys first,' he called after them, his
words fluttering in feathers of sound far up the vault. 'Keep the fire
in sight to guide you home again ...' and he moved slowly towards the
vast ground-floor chambers of the Night. Each went his independent way
along the paths of reverie and dream. He found himself alone.
For he could not soar and float as they did; he kept closer to the
earth, wandering through the under chambers of the travelling building
that swung its way over vineyards, woods, and village roofs. He kept
more in touch with earth than they did. The upper sections where the
children climbed went faster than those lower halls and galleries, so
that the entire framework bent over, breaking ever into a crest of
foaming stars. But in these under halls where he stood and watched
there was far less movement. From century to century these remained
the same. Between the bases of the mighty columns he watched the wave
of darkness drown the world, leading it with a rush of silence towards
sleep.
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