 Chapter 13 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 13. Flight. Since the night when Jimbo had nearly fallen into the yard and risked capture, Fright, the horrible owner of the house, had kept himself well out of the way, and had allowed himself to be neither seen nor heard. But the boy was not foolish enough to fall into the other trap, and imagined, therefore, that he did not know what was going on. Jimbo felt quite sure that he was only waiting his chance, and the governess's avoidance of the subject tended to confirm this supposition. He's disappeared somewhere, and taken the children with him. She declared when he questioned her, and now you know almost as much as I do. But not quite, he laughed. Enough, though, she replied. We want all our energy for escape when it comes. Don't bother about anything else for the moment. During the day, when he was alone, his thoughts and fancies often terrified him. But at night, when he was rushing through the heavens, the intense delight of flying drove all minor emotions out of his consciousness, and he even forgot his one great desire, to escape. One night, however, something happened that brought it back more keenly than ever. He had been flying alone, but had not gone far when he noticed that an easterly wind had begun to rise, and was blowing steadily behind him. With his recent instructions fresh in his head, he thought it wiser to turn homewards rather than fight his way back later against a really strong wind from this quarter. Flying low along the surface of the fields, so as to avoid its full force, he suddenly rose up with a good sweep and settled on the top of the wall, enclosing the yard. The moonlight lay bright over everything. His approach had been very quiet. He was just about to sail across to the window when something caught his eye, and he hesitated a moment and stared. Something was moving at the end of the courtyard. It seemed to him that the moonlight suddenly grew pale and ghastly. The night air turned chilly. Shivers began to run up and down his back. He folded his wings and watched. At the end of the yard he saw several figures moving busily to and fro in the shadow of the wall. They were very small, but close beside them all the time stood a much larger figure which seemed to be directing their movements. There was no need to look twice. It was impossible to mistake these terrible little people and their hideous overseer. Horror rushed over the boy and a wild scream was out in the night before he could possibly prevent it. At the same moment a cloud passed over the face of the moon and the yard was shrouded in darkness. A minute later the cloud passed off, but while it was still too dark to see clearly Jimbo was conscious of a rushing, whispering sound in the air and something went past him at a tremendous pace into the sky. The wind stirred his hair as it passed and a moment later he heard voices far away in the distance. Up in the sky or within the house he could not tell. Singing mournfully the song he now knew so well. We dance with phantoms and with shadows play. And when he looked down at the yard he saw that it was deserted and the corner by the little upright stones lay in the clear moonlight empty of figures, large or small. Shivering with fright he flew across to the window ledge and almost tumbled into the arms of the governess who was standing close inside. What's the matter, child? She asked in a voice that trembled a little and still shuddering he told her how he thought he had seen the children working by the gravestones. All her efforts to calm him at first failed but after a bit she drew his thoughts to pleasanter things and he was not so certain after all that he had not been deceived by the cunning of the moonlight and the shadows. A long interval passed and no further sign was given by the owner of the house or his band of frightened children. Jimbo soon lost himself again in the delights of flying and the joy of his increasing powers. Most of all he enjoyed the quiet, starlit nights before the moon was up for the moon dazzled the eyes in the rarefied air where they flew whereas the stars gave just enough light to steer by without making it uncomfortable. Moreover the moon often filled him with a kind of faint terror as of death. He could never gaze at her white face for long without feeling that something enters his heart with those silver rays something that bode him no good. He never spoke of this to the governess. Indeed he only recognized it himself when the moon was near the fall but it lay always in the depths of his being and he felt dimly that it would have to be reckoned with before he could really escape for good. He took no liberties when the moon was at the full. He loved to hover for he had learned by this time that most difficult of all flying feats to hold the body vertical and were the wings without rising or advancing. He loved to hover on windless nights over ponds and rivers and see the stars reflected in their steel pools. Indeed sometimes he hovered till he dropped and only saved himself from a wetting by sweeping up in a tremendous curve along the surface of the water and thus up into the branches of the trees where the governess sat waiting for him. And then after a little rest they would launch forth again and fly over fields and woods sometimes even as far as the hills that ran down the coast of the sea itself. They usually flew at a height of about a thousand feet and the earth passed beneath them like a great street shadow. But as soon as the moon was up the whole country turned into a fairy land of wonder. Her light touched the woods with a softened magic and the fields and hedges became frosted most delicately. Beneath a thin transparency of mist the water shone with a silvery brilliance that always enabled them to distinguish it from the land at any height while the farms and country houses were swathed in tender grey shadows through which the trees and chimneys pierced in slender lines of black. It was wonderful to watch the shadows everywhere spinning their blue veil of distance that lent even to the commonest objects something of enchantment and mystery. Those were wonderful journeys they made together into the pathways of the silent night along the unknown courses into that hushed centre where they could almost hear the beatings of her great heart like winged thoughts searching the huge vault till the boy ached with the sensations of speed and distance and the old yellow moon seemed to stagger across the sky. Sometimes they rose very high into the freezing air so high that the earth became a dull shadow speckled with light. They saw the trains running in all directions with thin threads of smoke shining in the glare of the open fireboxes but they seemed very tiny trains indeed and stirred in him no recollections of the semi-annual visits to London town when he went to the dentist and lunched with the dreaded grandmother or the stiff and fashionable aunts. And when they came down again from these perilous heights the sense of the earth rose to meet them the perfume of woods and fields and the smells of the open country. There was, to the delight, the curious delight of windy nights when the wind smote and buffeted them knocking them suddenly sideways whistling through their feathers as if it wanted to tear them from their sockets rushing furiously up underneath their wings with repeated blows turning them round and backwards and forwards washing them from head to foot in a tempestuous sea of rapid and unexpected motion. It was, of course, far easier to fly with a wind than without one. The difficulty with a violent wind was to get down not to keep up. The gusts drove against the undersurfaces of their wings and kept them afloat so that by merely spreading them like sails they could sweep and circle without a single stroke. Jimbo soon learned to manoeuvre so that he could turn the strength of a great wind to his own purposes and revel in its boisterous waves and currents like a strong swimmer in a rough sea and to listen to the wind as it swept backwards and forwards over the surface of the earth below was another pleasure for everything it touched gave out a definite note. He soon got to know the long sad cry from the willows and the little whispering in the tops of the poplar trees the crisp silvery rattle of the birches and the deep roar from the oaks and beech woods. The sound of a forest was like the shouting of the sea but far more lovely when they descended a little and the wind was more gentle were the whispers among the reeds and the little wayward murmurs under the hedge-rows. The pine trees, however, drew them most with their weird voices now far away, now near rising upwards with a wind of size. There was a grove of these trees that trooped down to the waters of a little lake in the hills and to this spot they often flew when the wind was low and the music likely, therefore, to beat to their taste. And even when there was no perceptible wind these trees seemed always full of mysterious, mournful whisperings for their branches held soft music that never quite died away even when all other trees were silent and motionless. Besides these special expeditions they flew everywhere and anywhere. They visited the birds in the nests in lofty trees and exchanged the time of night with wise-eyed owls staring out upon them from the ivy. They hovered up the face of great cliffs and passed the hawks asleep on perilous ledges skimmed over lonely marshes frightening the water birds paddling in and out among the trees. They followed the windings of streams singing among the meadows and flew along the wet sands as they watched the moon rise out of the sea. These flights were unadulterated pleasure and Jimbo thought he could never have enough of them. He soon began to notice too that the trees emanated something that affected his own condition. When he sat in their branches this was very noticeable. Currents of force passed from them into himself and even when he flew over their crests he was aware that some words exhaled vigorous life-giving forces while others tired and depleted him. Nothing was actually visible but fine waves seemed to beat up against his eyes and thoughts making him stronger or weaker happy or melancholy full of hope and courage or listless and indifferent. These emanations of the trees this giving forth of their own personal forces were of course very varied in strength and character. Oaks and pines were the best combination. He found before the stress of a long flight the former giving him steadiness and the latter steely endurance and the power to steer insinuous swift curves without taking thought or trouble. Other trees gave other powers all gave something. It was impossible to sit among their branches without absorbing some of the subtle and exhilarating tree life. He soon learned how to gather it all into himself and turn it to account in his own being. Sit quietly, the governess said. Let the forces creep in and stir about. Do nothing yourself. Give them time to become part of yourself and mix properly with your own currents. Effort on your part prevents this and you weaken them without gaining anything yourself. Jimbo made all sorts of experiments with trees and rocks and water and fields. Learning gradually the different qualities of force they gave forth and how to use them for himself. Nothing, he found, was really dead and sometimes he got himself into strange difficulties in the beginning of his attempts to master and absorb these nature forces. Remember, the governess warned him more than once when he was inclined to play tricks. They are in quite a different world to ours. You cannot take liberties with them. Even a sympathetic soul like yourself only touches the fringe of their world. You exchange surface messages with them, nothing more. Some trees have terrible forces just below the surface. They could extinguish you all together, absorb you into themselves. Others are naturally hostile. Some are mere tricksters. Others are shifty and treacherous like the hollies that move about too much. The oak and the pine and the elm are friendly and you can always trust them absolutely. But there are others. She held up a warning finger and Jimbo's eyes nearly dropped out of his head. No, she added in reply to his questions. You can't learn all this at once. Perhaps, she hesitated a little, perhaps if you don't escape we should have time for all manner of adventures among the trees and other things. But then we are going to escape so there's no good wasting time over that. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 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 14 An Adventure But Miss Lake did not always accompany him on these excursions into the night. Sometimes he took long flights by himself and she rather encouraged him in this, saying it would give him confidence in case he ever lost her and was obliged to find his way about alone. But I couldn't get really lost, he said once to her. I know the winds perfectly now and the country round for miles and I never go out in fog. But these are only practice flights, she replied. The flight of escape is a very different matter. I want you to learn all you possibly can so as to be prepared for anything. Jimbo felt vaguely uncomfortable when she talked like this. But you'll be with me in the escape flight, the final one of all, he said, and nothing ever goes wrong when you're with me. I should like to be always with you, she answered tenderly. But it's well to be prepared for anything just the same. And more than this the boy could never get out of her. On one of these lonely flights, however, he made the unpleasant discovery that he was being followed. At first he only imagined there was somebody after him because of the curious vibrations of the very rarefied air in which he flew. Every time his flight slackened and the noise of his own wings grew less, there reached him from some other corner of the sky a sound like the vibrations of large wings beating the air. It seemed behind and generally below him, but the swishing of his own feathers made it difficult to hear with distinctness or to be certain of the direction. Evidently it was a long way off, but now and again, when he took a spurt and then sailed silently for several minutes on outstretched wings, the beating of distant, following feathers seemed unmistakably clear and he raced on again at full speed more than terrified. At other times, however, when he tried to listen there was no trace of this other flyer and then his fear would disappear and he would persuade himself that it had been imagination. So much on these flights he knew to be imagination, the sentences, voices, and laughter, for instance, that filled the air and sounded so real yet were actually caused by the wind rushing past his ears, the rhythm of the wingbeats and the tips of the feathers occasionally rubbing against the sides of his body. But at last one night the suspicion that he was followed became a certainty. He was flying far up in the sky, passing over some big city when the sound rose to his ears and he paused, sailing on stretched wings to listen. Looking down into the immense space below, he saw, plainly outlined against the luminous patch above the city the form of a large flying creature moving by with rapid strokes. The pulsations of its great wings made the air tremble so that he both heard and felt to them. It may have been that the vapours of the city distorted the thing just as the Earth's atmosphere magnifies the rising or setting of the moon. But even so it was easy to see that it was something a good deal larger than himself and with a much more powerful flight. Fortunately it did not seem this time to be actually on his trail for it swept by at a great pace and was soon lost in the darkness far ahead. Perhaps it was only searching for him and his great height had proved his safety. But in any case he was exceedingly terrified and at once turned round pointed his head for the Earth and shot downwards in the direction of the empty house as fast as ever he could. But when he spoke to the governess she made light of it and told him there was nothing to be afraid of. It might have been a flock of hurrying night birds she said or an owl distorted by the city's light or even his own reflection magnified in water. Anyhow she felt sure it was not chasing him and he need pay no attention to it. Jimbo felt reassured but not quite satisfied. He knew a flying monster when he saw one and it was only when he had been for many more flights alone without its reappearance that his confidence was fully restored and he began to forget about it. Certainly these lonely flights were very much to his taste. His older self with its dim hauntings of a great memory somewhere behind him took possession then and he was able to commune with nature in a way that the presence of the governess made impossible. With her his older self rarely showed itself above the surface for long. He was always the child. But when alone nature became alive. He drew force from the trees and flowers and felt that they all shared a common life together. Had he been imprisoned by some wizard of old in a tree form knowing of the sunset and the dawn only by the sweet messages that rustled in his branches the wind could hardly have spoken to him with a more intimate meaning or the life of the fields eternally patient have touched him more nearly with their joys and sorrows. It seemed almost as if from his leafy cell he had gazed before this into the shining pools with which the summer rains jeweled the meadows sending his soul in a stream of unsatisfied yearning up to the stars. It all came back dimly when he heard the wind among the leaves and carried him off to the woods and fields of an existence far anti-dating this one. And on gentle nights when the wind itself was half asleep and dreaming the pine trees drew him most of all for theirs was the song he loved above all others. He would fly round and round that little grove by the mountain lake listening for hours together to their sighing voices. But the governess was never told of this whatever she may have guessed for it seemed to him a joy too deep for words the pains and sweetness being mingled too mysteriously for him ever to express in awkward sentences. Moreover it all passed away and was forgotten the moment the child took possession and usurped the older memory. One night when the moon was high and the air was cool and fragrant after the heat of the day Jimbo felt a strong desire to get off by himself for a long flight. He was full of energy and the space craving cried to be satisfied. For several days he had been content with slow stupid expeditions with the governess. I'm off alone tonight. He cried balancing on the window ledge. But I'll be back before dawn. Goodbye. She kissed him as she always did now and with her goodbye ringing in his ears he dropped from the window and rose rapidly over the elms and away from earth. This night for some reason the stars and the moon seemed to draw him and with tireless wings he mounted up, up, up to a height he had never reached before. The intoxication of the strong night air rose into his brain and he dashed forward ever faster with a mad delight into the endless space before him. Mile upon mile laid behind him as he rushed onwards always pointing a little on the upward slope drunk with speed. The earth faded away to a dark expanse of shadow beneath him and he no longer was conscious of the deep murmur that usually flowed steadily upward from its surface. He had often before risen out of reach of the earth's noises but never so far that this dull reverberating sound combined of all the voices of the world merged together failed to make itself heard. Tonight however he heard nothing. The stars above his head changed from yellow to diamond white and the cold air stung his cheeks and brought the water to his eyes. But at length the governess's warning as he explored these forbidden regions came back to him and in a series of gigantic bounds that took his breath away completely he dropped nearer to the earth again and kept on at a much lower level. The hours passed and the position of the moon began to alter noticeably. Some of the constellations that were overheard when he started were now dipping below the horizon. Never before had he ventured so far from home and he began to realise that he had been flying much longer than he knew or intended. The speed had been terrific. The change came imperceptibly. With the discovery that his wings were not moving quite so easily as before he became suddenly aware that this had really been the case for some little time. He was flying with greater effort and for a long time this effort had been increasing gradually before he actually recognised the fact. Although no longer pointing towards the earth he seemed to be sinking. It became increasingly difficult to fly upwards. His wings did not seem to fail or weaken nor was he conscious of feeling tired but something was ever persuading him to fly lower almost as if a million tiny threads were coaxing him downwards drawing him gradually nearer the world again. Whatever it was the earth had come much closer to him in the last hour and its familiar voices were pleasant to hear after the boundless heights he had just left but for some reason his speed grew insensibly less and less. His wings moved apparently as fast as before but it was harder to keep up. In spite of himself he kept sinking. The sensation was quite new and he could not understand it. It almost seemed as though he were being pulled downwards. Jimbo began to feel uneasy. He had not lost his bearings but he was a very long way from home and quite beyond reach of the help he was so accustomed to. With a great effort he mounted several hundred feet into the air and tried hard to stay there. For a short time he succeeded but he soon felt himself sinking gradually downwards again. The force drawing him was a constant force without rise or fall and with a deadly feeling of fear the boy began to realize that he would soon have to yield to it altogether. His heart beat faster and his thoughts turned to the friend who was then far away but who alone could save him. She at least could have explained it and told him what best to do but the governess was beyond his reach. This problem he must face alone. Something however had to be done quickly and Jimbo acting more as the man than as the boy turned and flew hurriedly forward in another direction. He hoped this might somehow counteract the force that still drew him downwards and for a time it apparently did so and he flew level. But the strain increased every minute and he looked down with something of a shudder as he realized that before very long he would be obliged to yield to this deadly force and drop. It was then for the first time he noticed a change had come over the surface of the earth below. Instead of the patchwork of field and wood and road he saw a vast cloud stretching out white and smooth in the moonlight. The world was hidden beneath the snowy fog dense and impenetrable. It was no longer even possible to tell him what direction he was flying for there was nothing to steer by. This was a new and unexpected complication and the boy could not understand how the change had come about so quickly. For the last time he had glanced down for indications to steer by everything was clear and easily visible. It was very beautiful this carpet of white mist with the silver moon shining above it but it thrilled him now with an unpleasant sense of dread and still more unpleasant was a new sound which suddenly broke in upon the stillness and turned his blood into ice. He was certain that he heard wings behind him. He was being followed and this meant that it was impossible to turn and fly back. There was nothing now to do but to fly forwards and hope to distance the huge wings but if he was being followed by the powerful flyer he had seen a few nights before the boy knew that he stood little chance of success and he did it because it seemed the only thing possible. The cloud was dense and chill as he entered it its moisture clung to his wings and made them heavy. His muscles seemed to stiffen and motion became more and more difficult. The wings behind him meanwhile came closer. He was flying along the surface of the mist now his body and wings hidden and his head just above the level. He could see along its white even top. If he sank a few more inches it would be impossible to see at all or even to judge where he was going. Soon it rose level with his lips and at the same time he noticed a new smell in the air faint at first but growing every moment stronger. It was a fresh sweet odour yet it somehow added to his alarm and stirred in him new centers of uneasiness. He tried vainly to increase his speed and distance the wings which continued to gain so steadily upon him from behind. The cloud apparently was not everywhere of the same density for here and there he saw the tops of green hills below him as he flew but he could not understand why each green hill seemed to have a little lake on its summit a little lake in which the reflected moon stared straight up into his face nor could he quite make out what the sounds were which rose to his ears through the muffling of the cloud sounds of tumultuous rushing hissing and tumbling. They were continuous these sounds and once or twice he thought he heard with them a deep thunderous roar that almost made his heart stop beating as he listened. Was he perhaps over a range of high mountains and was this the sound of the tumbling torrents? Then suddenly it came to him with a shock that the ordinary sounds of the earth had wholly ceased. Jimbo felt his head beginning to whirl. He grew weaker every minute less able to offer resistance to the remorseless forces that were sucking him down. Now the mist had closed over his head and he could no longer see the moonlight. He turned again shaking with terror and drove forward headlong through the clinging vapor. A sensation of choking rose in his throat he was tired out ready to drop with exhaustion. The wings of the following creature were now so close that he thought every minute he would be seized from behind and plunged into the abyss to his death. It was just then that he made the awful discovery that the world below him was not stationary. The green hills were moving. They were sweeping past with a rushing, thundering sound in regular procession and their huge sides were streaked up with white. The reflection of the moon leaped up into his face as each hill rolled hissing and gurgling by and he knew at last with the shock of an utterable horror that it was the sea. He was flying over the sea and the waters were drawing him down. The immense green waves that rolled along through the seafog carrying the moon's face on their crests, foaming and gurgling as they went were already leaping up to seize him by the feet and drag him into their depths. He dropped several feet deeper into the mist and towards the sea terror-stricken and blinded. Then turning frantically not knowing what else to do he struck out with his last strength for the upper surface and the moonlight. But as he did so turning his face towards the sky he saw a dark form hovering just above him covering his retreat with huge outstretched wings. It was too late he was hemmed in on all sides. At that moment a huge rolling wave bigger than all the rest swept past and wet him to the knees. His heart failed him. The next wave would cover him. Already it was rushing towards him with foaming crest. He was in its shadow, he heard its thunder, darkness rushed over him. He saw the vast sides streaked with grey and white. When suddenly the owner of the wings plucked him in the back midway between the shoulders and lifted him bodily out of the fog so that the wave swept by without even wetting his feet. The next minute he saw a dim white sheet of silvery mist at his feet and found himself far above it in the sweet clean moonlight. And when he turned almost dead with terror to look upon his captor he found himself looking straight into the eyes of the governess. The sense of relief was so great that Jimbo simply closed his wings and hung a dead weight in the air. "'Use your wings,' cried the governess sharply, and still holding him while he began to flap feebly she turned and flew in the direction of the land. "'You,' he gasped at last, "'it was you following me?' "'Of course it was me. I never let you out of my sight. I've always followed you, every time you've been out alone.'" Jimbo was still conscious of the drawing power of the sea, but he felt that his companion was too strong for it. After fifteen minutes of fierce flight he heard the sounds of earth again and knew that they were safe. Then the governess loosened her hold and they flew along side by side in the direction of home. "'I won't scold you, Jimbo,' she said presently, "'for you've suffered enough already.' She was the first to break the silence and her voice trembled a little. But remember, the sea draws you down just as surely as the moon draws you up. Everything would please him better than to see you destroyed by one or the other.'" Jimbo said nothing, but when once they were safe inside the room again he went up and cried his eyes out on her arm while she folded him into her heart as if he were the only thing in the whole world she had to love. CHAPTER 15 THE CALL OF THE BODY One night, towards the end of the practice flights, a strange thing happened which showed that the time for the final flight of escape was drawing near. They had been out for several hours flying through a rainstorm, the thousand little drops of which stung their faces like tiny gunshot. About two in the morning the wind shifted and drove the clouds away as by magic. The stars came out, at first like the eyes of children, still dim with crying, but later with a clear brilliance that filled Jimbo and the governess with keen pleasure. The air was washed and perfumed, the night luminous, alive and singing. All its tenderness and passion entered their hearts and filled them with the wonder of its glory. Come on, Jimbo, said the governess, and we'll lie in the trees and smell the air after the rain. Yes, added the boy, whose older self had been leading him far down the gallery of memories, and watch the stars and hear them singing. She led the way to some beech trees that lined a secluded lane, and he settled himself comfortably in the top branches of the largest, while the governess soon found a resting place beside him. It was a deserted spot, far from human habitation. Here and there through the foliage they could see little pools of rainwater reflecting the sky. The group of trees swung in the wind, dreaming great woodland dreams, and overhead the stars looked like a thousand orchards in the sky, filling the air with a radiance of their blossoms. How brilliant they are tonight, said the governess, after watching the boy keenly for some minutes as they lay side by side in the great forked branch. I never saw the constellations so clear. But they have so little shape, he answered dreamily. If we wore lights when we flew about we should make much better constellations than they do. The big and little child, instead of the big and little bear, she laughed, still watching him. I'm slipping away, he began suddenly, and then stopped. He saw the expression in his companion's eyes, which were looking him through and through with the most poignant love and yearning mingled in their gaze, and something clutched at his heart that he could not understand. Not slipping out of the tree, he went on vaguely, but slipping into some new place or condition. I don't understand it. Am I going off somewhere where you can't follow? I thought suddenly I was losing you. The governess smiled at him sadly and said nothing. She stroked his wings and then raised them to her lips and kissed them. Jimbo watched her and folded his other wing across into her hands. He felt unhappy, and his heart began to swell within him, and he didn't know what to say, and the older self began slowly to fade away again. But the stars, he went on, have they got things they send out to, forces I mean, like the trees? Do they send out something that makes us feel sad or happy or strong or weak? She did not answer for some time. She lay watching his face and fondling his smooth red wings, and presently, when she did begin to explain, Jimbo found that the child in him was then paramount again, and he could not quite follow what she said. He tried to answer properly and seemed interested, but her words were very long and hard to understand, and after a time he thought she was talking to herself more than to him, and he gave up all serious effort to follow. Then he became aware that her voice had changed. The words seemed to drop down upon him from a great height. He imagined she was standing on one of those far stars he had been asking about, and was shouting at him through an immense tube of sky and darkness. The words pricked his ears like needle-points, only he no longer heard them as words but as tiny explosions of sound, meaningless and distant. After flashes of light began to dance before his eyes, and suddenly from underneath a tree a wind rose up and rushed, laughing across his face. Darkness in a mass dropped over his eyes, and he sank backwards somewhere into another corner of space altogether. The governess, meanwhile, lay quite still, watching the limp form in the branches beside her, and still holding the tips of his red wings. Presently tears stole into her eyes, and began to run down her cheeks. One deep sigh after another escaped from her lips, but the little boy, or the old soul, who was the cause of all her emotion, apparently was far away and knew nothing of it. For a long time she lay in silence, and then leaned a little nearer to him, so as to see his full face. The eyes were wide open and staring, but they were looking at nothing she could see, for the consciousness cannot be in two places at the same time, and Jimbo just then was off in a little journey of his own, a journey that was but preliminary to the great final one of all. Jimbo whispered the girl between her tears and sighs, Jimbo, where have you gone to? Tell me, are they getting ready for you at last, and am I to lose you after all? Is this the only way I can save you by losing you? There was no answer, no sign of movement, and the governess hid her face in her hands, and cried quietly to herself, while her tears dropped down through the branches of the tree, and fell into rain-pools beneath. For Jimbo's state of oblivion in the tree was, in reality, a momentary return to consciousness in his body on the bed, and the repaired mechanism of the brain and muscles had summoned him back on a sort of trial visit. He remembered nothing of it afterwards, any more than one remembers the experiences of deep sleep. But the fact was that, with the descent of the darkness upon him in the branches, he had opened his eyes once again on the scene in the night nursery bedroom where his body lay. He saw figures standing round the beds and about the room. His mother, with the same white face as before, was still bending over the bed, asking him if he knew her. A tall man in a long black coat moved noiselessly to and fro, and he saw a shaded lamp on a table a little to the right of the bed. Nothing seemed to have changed very much, though there had probably been time enough since he had last opened his eyes for the black-coated doctor to have gone and come again for a second visit. He held an instrument in his hands that shone brightly in the damp light. Jimbo saw this plainly and wondered what it was. He felt as if he was just waking up of a nice deep sleep, dreamless and undisturbed. The empty house, the governess, fright, and the children had all vanished from his memory, and he knew no more about wings and feathers than he did about the science of meteorology. But the bedroom scene was a mere glimpse after all. His eyes were already beginning to close again. First they shut out the figure of the doctor, then the bed-curtains, and then the nurse moved her arm, making the whole scene quiver for an instant, like some huge jelly-shape before it dipped into profound darkness and disappeared altogether. His mother's voice ran off into a thin trickle of sound, miles and miles away, and the light from the lamp followed him with its glare for less than half a second. All had vanished. Jimbo, dear, where have you been? Can you remember anything? Asked the soft voice beside him as he looked first at the stars overhead, and then from the tracery of branches and leaves beneath him to the great sea of treetops and open country all around. But he could tell her nothing. He seemed dreamy and absent-minded, lying and staring at her as if he hardly knew who she was or what she was saying. His mind was still hovering near the borderline of the two states of consciousness, like the region between sleeping and waking, where both worlds seemed unreal and wholly wonderful. He could not answer her questions, but he evidently caught some reflex in her emotions, for he leaned towards her across the branches and said he was happy and never wanted to leave her. Then he crawled to the edge of the big bow and sprang out into the air with a shout of delight. He was the child again, the flying child, wild with the excitement of tearing through the night air at fifty miles an hour. The governor soon followed him, and they flew home together, taking a long turn by the sea and past the great chalk cliffs, where the sea sang loud beneath them. These lapses became, with time, more frequent, as well as of longer duration, and with them the boy noticed that the longing to escape became once again intense. He wanted to get home, wherever home was. He experienced the sort of nostalgia for the body, though he could not remember where that body lay. But when he asked the governor what this feeling meant, she only mystified him by her answers, saying that everyone in the body or out of it felt a deep longing for their final home, though they might not have the least idea where it lay, or even to be able to recognise much less label their longing. His normal feelings, too, were slowly returning to him. The older self became more and more submerged. As he approached the state of ordinary, superficial consciousness, the characteristics of that state reflected themselves more and more in his thoughts and feelings. His memory still remained a complete blank, but he somehow felt that the things, places and people he wanted to remember, had moved much nearer to him than before. Every day brought them more and more within his reach. All these forgotten things will come back to me soon, I know, he said one day to the governess, and then I'll tell you all about them. Perhaps you'll remember me, too, then? She answered, a shadow passing across her face. Jimbo clapped his hands with delight. Oh! he cried, I should like to remember you, because that would make you a sort of two-paple governess, and I should love you twice as much. But with the gradual return to former conditions, the feelings of age and experience grew dim and indefinite. His knowledge lessened, becoming obscure and confused, showing itself only in vague impressions and impulses, until at last it became quite the exception for the child consciousness to be broken through by flashes of intuition and inspiration from the more deeply hidden memories. For one thing, the deep horror of the empty house and its owner now returned to him with full force. Fear settled down again over the room, and lurked in the shadows over the yard. A vivid dread seized him of the other door in the room, the door through which the frightened children had disappeared, and which had never opened since. It gradually became for him a personality in the room, a staring, silent, listening thing, always watching, always waiting. One day it would open and he would be caught. In a dozen ways like this the horrors of the house entered his heart and made him long for escape with all the force of his being. But the governess too seemed changing. She was becoming more vague and more mysterious. Her face was always sad now, and her eyes wistful. Her manner became restless and uneasy, and in many little ways the child could not fail to notice that her mind was intent upon other things. He begged her to name the day of the final flight, but she always seemed to have some good excuse for putting it off. I feel frightened when you don't tell me what's going on, he said to her. It's the preparations for the last flight, she answered, the flight of escape. He'll try to prevent us going together, so that you should get lost. But it's better you shouldn't know too much, she added. Trust me and have patience. Oh, that's what you're so afraid of, he said, separation. He was very proud indeed of the long word, and said it over several times to himself. And the governess, looking out of the window at the fading sunlight, repeated to herself more than to him the word he was so proud of. Yes, that's what I'm so afraid of, separation. But if it means your salvation, and her sentence remained unfinished as her eyes wandered far above the tops of the trees into the shadows of the sky, and Jimbo, drawn by the sadness of her voice, turned towards the window and noticed to his utter amazement that he could see right through her, he could see the branches of the trees through her body. But the next instant she turned and was no longer transparent, and before the boy could say a word, she crossed the room and disappeared downstairs through the trapdoor. End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 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 16. Preparation. Now that he was preparing to leave it, Jimbo began to realize more fully how things in this world of delirium, so the governess sometimes called it, were all terribly out of order and confused. So long as he was wholly in it and of it, everything had seemed all right, but as he approached his normal condition again, the disorder became more and more apparent, and the next few hours brought it home with startling clearness, and increased the desire for the final escape to fever heat. It was not so much a nonsense world, it was too alarming for that, as a world of nightmare, wherein everything was distorted. Events in it were all out of proportion. Effects no longer sprang from adequate causes, things happened in a dislocated sort of way, and there was no sequence in the order of their happening. Tiny occurrences filled him with disproportionate inconceivable horror, and great events, on the other hand, passed him scatheless. The spirit of disorder, monstrous, uncouth, terrifying, reign supreme, and Jimbo's whole desire, though inarticulate, was to escape back into order and harmony again. In contrast to all this dreadful uncertainty, the conduct of the governess stood out alone as the one thing he could count on. She was sure and unfailing. He felt absolute confidence in her plans for his safety, and when he thought of her, his mind was at rest. Come what might, she would always be there in time to help. The adventure over the sea had proved that, but, childlike, he thought chiefly of his own safety, and had ceased to care very much whether she escaped with him or not. It was the older Jimbo that preferred captivity to escape without her, whereas every minute now he was sinking deeper into the normal child state in which the intuitive flashes from the buried soul became more and more rare. Meanwhile there was preparation going on, secret and mysterious. He could feel it. Someone else beside the governess was making plans, and the boy began to dread the moment of escape almost as much as he desired it. The alternative appalled him to live forever in the horror of this house, bounded by the narrow yard, watched by fright, listening ever at his elbow, and visited by the horrible frightened children. Even the governess herself began to inspire him with something akin to fear, as her personality grew more and more mysterious. He thought of her as she stood by the window with the branches of the tree visible through her body, and the thought filled him with a dreadful and haunting distress. But this was only when she was absent. The moment she came into the room and he looked into her kind eyes, the old feeling of security returned, and he felt safe and happy. Once during the day she came up to see him, and this time with final instructions, Jimbo listened with rapt attention. Tonight or tomorrow night we start, she said in a quiet voice. You must wait till you hear me calling. But can't we start together? He interrupted. Not exactly, she replied. I'm doing everything possible to put him off the scent, but it's not easy. For once fright knows you, he's always on the watch. Even if he can't prevent your escape, he'll try to send you home to your body with such a shock that you'll be only half there for the rest of your life. Jimbo did not quite understand what she meant by this, and returned at once to the main point. Then the moment you call, I'm to start. Yes, I shall be outside somewhere. It depends on the wind and the weather a little. But probably I shall be hovering above the trees. You must dash out of the window and join me the moment you hear me call. Hear the wall without sinking into the yard, and mind he doesn't tear your wings off as you fly by. What will happen, though, if I don't find you? He asked. You might get lost. If he succeeds in getting me out of the way first, you're sure to get lost. But I've had long flights without getting lost, he objected. Nothing to this one, she replied. It will be tremendous. You see, Jimbo, it's not only distance, it's change of condition as well. I don't mind what it is, so long as we escape together, he said, puzzled by her words. He kept his eyes fixed on her face. It seemed to him she was changing, even as he looked at her, a sort of veil lifted from her features. He fancied he could see the shape of the door through her body. Oh, please, Miss Lake! He began in a frightened voice, taking a step towards her. What is the matter? You look so different. Nothing, dear boys, the matter, she replied faintly. I feel sad at the thought of our going, that's all. But that's nothing, she added more briskly. And remember, I've told you exactly what to do, so you can't make any mistake. Now good-bye for the present. There was a smile on her face that he had never seen there before, and an expression of tenderness and love that even he could not fail to understand. But even as he looked, she seemed to fade away into a delicate, thin shadow as she moved slowly towards the trapped door. Jimbo stretched out his arms to touch her, for the moment of dread had passed, and he wanted to kiss her. No, she cried sharply, don't touch me, child, don't touch me. But he was already close beside her, and in another second would have had his arms round her, when his foot stumbled over something, and he fell forward into her with his full weight. Instead of saving himself against her body, however, he fell clean through her. Nothing stopped him. He met nothing more solid than air, and fell full length onto the floor. Before he could recover from his surprise and pick himself up, something touched him on the lips, and he heard a voice that was faint as a whisper, saying, Goodbye, darling child, and bless you. The next moment he was on his feet again, and the room was empty. The governess had gone through the trapped door, and he was alone. It was all very strange and confusing, and he could not understand what was happening to her. He never for a moment realized that the change was in himself, and that as the tie between himself and his body became closer, the things of this other world he had been living in for so long must fade gradually away into shadows and emptiness. But Jimbo was a brave boy, and there was nothing of the coward in him, though his sensitive temperament made him sometimes hesitate where an ordinary child with less imagination would have acted promptly. The desire to cry, he thrust down, and repressed, fighting his depression by the thought that, within a few hours, the voice might sound that should call him to the excitement of the last flight, and freedom. The rest of the daylight slipped away very quickly, and the room was full of shadows almost before he knew it. Then came the darkness. Outside the wind rose and fell fitfully, booming in the chimney with hollow music, and sighing round the walls of the house. A few stars peeped between the branches of the elms, but masses of cloud hid most of the sky, and the air felt heavy with coming rain. He lay down on the bed and waited. At the least sound he started, thinking it might be the call from the governess. But the few sounds he did hear always resolved themselves into the moaning of the wind, and no voice came. With his eyes on the open window, trying to pierce the gloom and find the stars, he lay motionless for hours, while the night wore on, and the shadows deepened. And during those long hours of darkness and silence, he was conscious that a change was going on within him. Dream it, he could not. But somehow it made him feel that living people like himself were standing near him, trying to speak, beckoning, anxious to bring him into their own particular world. The darkness was so great that he could see only the square outline of the open window, but he felt sure that any sudden flash of light would have revealed a group of persons round his bed with arms outstretched, trying to reach him. The emotion they roused in him was not fear, for he felt sure they were kind and eager only to help him, and the more he realized their presence, the less he thought about the governess who had been doing so much to make his escape possible. In two, voices began to sound somewhere in the air, and he could not tell whether they were actually in the room or outside in the night, or even within himself, in his own head. Strange faint voices, whispering, laughing, shouting, crying, fragments of stories, rhymes, riddles, odd names of people and places, jostled one another with varying degrees of clearness, now loud, now soft, till he wondered what it all meant and longed for the light to come. And besides all this, something else too was abroad that night, something he could not name or even think about without shaking with terror down to the very roots of his being. And when he thought of this, his heart called loudly for the governess, and the people hidden in the shadows of the room seemed quite useless and unable to help. Thus he hovered between the two worlds and the two memories, phantoms and realities shifting and changing places every few minutes. A little light would have saved him much suffering if only the moon were up. Moonlight would have made all the difference. Even a moon half hidden would have put the shadows farther away from him. Dear old misty moon! He cried half aloud to himself on the bed. Why aren't you here to-night, my last night? Misty moon, misty moon! The words kept ringing in his ear. Misty moon, misty moon! They swam around in his blood in an odd tumultuous rhythm. Every time the current of blood passed through his brain in the course of its circulation, it brought the words with it, all to the little, and singing like a voice. Like a voice! Suddenly he made a discovery that it actually was a voice, and not his own. There was no longer the blood singing in his veins, it was someone singing outside the window. The sound began faintly and far away, up above the trees. Then it came gradually nearer, only to die away again, almost to a whisper. If it was not the voice of the governess, he could only say it was a very good imitation of it. The words forming out of the empty air rose and fell with the wind, and taking his thoughts flung them in a stream through the dark sky towards the hidden misty moon. O misty moon, dear misty moon! The nights are long without thee. The shadows creep across my sleep and fold their wings about me. And another silvery voice that might have been the voice of a star took it up faintly, evidently from a much greater distance. O misty moon, sweet misty moon! The stars are dim behind thee, and low thy beams swing through my dreams, and weave a veil to blind me. The sound of this beautiful voice so delighted, Jimbo, that he sprang from his bed and rushed to the window, hoping that he might be able to hear it more clearly. But before he got halfway across the room, he stopped short, trembling with terror. Underneath his very feet, in the depths of the house, he heard the awful voice he dreaded more than anything else. It roared out the lines with a sound like the rushing of a great river. O misty moon, pale misty moon! Thy songs are nightly driven, eternally from sky to sky, all the old gray hills of heaven. And after the voice Jimbo heard a great peel of laughter that seemed to shake the walls of the house and rooted his feet to the floor. It rolled away with thundering echoes into the very bowels of the earth. He just managed to crawl back to his mattress and lie down when another voice took up the song. But this time in accents so tender that the child felt something within him melt into tears of joy, and he was on the verge of recognizing for the first time since his accident the voice of his mother. O misty moon, shy misty moon! Once comes the blush that trembles in sweet disgrace or half thy face when night her stars assembles. But his memory, of course, failed him just as he seemed about to grasp it, and he was left wondering why the sound of that one voice had brought him a moment of radiant happiness in the midst of so much horror and pain. Meanwhile the answering voices went on, each time different, and in new directions, but the next verse somehow brought back to him all the terror he had felt in his flight over the sea, when the sound of the hissing waters had reached his ear through the carpet of fog. O misty moon, persuasive moon, earth's tides are ever rising by the awful grace of thy weird white face, leap the seas to thy enticing. Then followed the voice that had started the horrid song. This time he was sure it was not Miss Lake's voice, but only a very clever imitation of it. Moreover it again ended in a shriek of laughter that froze his blood. O misty moon, deceiving moon, thy silvery glance bring sadness, who flies to thee from land or sea shall end his days in madness. Other voices began to laugh and sing, but Jimbo stopped his ears, for he simply could not bear any more. He felt certain, too, that these strange words to the moon had all been part of a trap, a device to draw him to the window. He shuddered to think how nearly he had fallen into it and determined to lie on the bed and wait till he heard his companion calling, and knew beyond all doubt that it was she. But the night passed away, and the dawn came, and no voice had called him forth to the last flight. The two in all his experiences there had been only one absolute certainty, the appearance of the governess with the morning light. But this time sunrise came, and the clouds cleared away, and the sweet smells of field and air stole into the little room, yet without any sign of the governess. The hours passed, and she did not come, till finally he realized she was not coming at all, and he would have to spend the whole day alone. Something had happened to prevent her, or else it was all part of her mysterious plan. He did not know, and all he could do was to wait, and wonder, and hope. All day he lay and waited, and all day long he was alone. The trap door never once moved. The courtyard remained empty and deserted. There was no sound on the landing or on the stairs. No wind stirred the leaves outside, and the hot sun poured down out of a cloudless sky. He stood by the open window for hours watching the motionless branches. Everything seemed dead. Not even a bird crossed his field of vision. The loneliness, the awful silence, and above all the dread of the approaching night, was sometimes more than he seemed to be able to bear, and he wanted to put his head out of the window and scream, or lie down on the bed and cry his heart out. But he yielded to neither impulse. He kept a brave heart, knowing that this would be his last night in prison, and that, in a few hours' time, he would hear his name called out of the sky, and would dash through the window to liberty and the last wild flight. This thought gave him courage, and he kept all his energy for the great effort. Gradually once more the sunlight faded, and the darkness began to creep over the land. Never before had the shadows under the elms looked so fantastic, nor the bushes in the field beyond assumed such sinister shapes. The empty house was being gradually invested. The enemy was masquerading already under the cover of these very shadows. Very soon he felt the attack would begin, and he must be ready to act. The night came down at last with a strange suddenness, and with it the warning of the governess came back to him, and he thought quakingly of the stricken children who had been caught and deprived of their wings. And then he pulled out his long red feathers, and tried their strength, and gained thus fresh confidence in their power to save him when the time came. CHAPTER XVII The full darkness, a whole army of horrors crept nearer. He felt sure of this, though he could actually see nothing. The house was surrounded, the courtyard crowded. Outside on the stairs, in the other rooms, even on the roof itself, waited dreadful things ready to catch him, to tear off his wings, to make him prisoner for ever and ever. The possibility that something had happened to the governess now became a probability. Imperceptibly the change was wrought. He could not say how or when exactly, but he now felt almost certain that the effort to keep her out of the way had succeeded. If this were true, the boy's only hope lay in his wings, and he pulled them out to their full length, and kissed them passionately, speaking to the strong red feathers as if they were living little persons. You must save me, you will save me, won't you? He cried in his anguish. And every time he did this, and looked at them, he gained fresh hope and courage. The problem where he was going to fly to had not yet insisted on a solution, though it lay always at the back of his mind, for the final flight of escape without a guide had never been even a possibility before. Lying there alone in the darkness, waiting for the sound of the voice so longed for, he found his thoughts turning again to the moon, and the strange words of the song that had puzzled him the night before. What in the world did it all mean? Why all this about the moon? Why was it a cruel moon? And why should it attract and persuade and entice him? He felt sure, the more he thought of it, that this had all been a device to draw him to the window, and perhaps even farther. The darkness began to terrify him. He dreaded more and more the waiting, listening things that it concealed. Oh, when would the governess call to him? When would he be able to dash through the open window and join her in the sky? He thought of the sunlight that had flooded the yard all day, so bright it seemed to have come from a sun fresh made and shining for the first time. He thought of the exquisite flowers that grew in the fields just beyond the high wall, and the night smells of the earth reached him through the window, wafted in upon a heavy wind, with secrets of woods and fields. They all came from a land of magic, that after tonight might be forever beyond his reach, and they went straight to his heart and immediately turned something solid there into tears. But the tears did not find their natural expression, and Jimbo lay there fighting with his pain, keeping all his strength for the one great effort, and waiting for the voice that, at any minute now, might sound above the treetops. But the hours passed, and the voice did not come. How he loathed the room and everything in it! The ceiling stretched like a white, staring countenance above him, the walls watched and listened, and even the mantelpiece grew into the semblance of a creature with drawn-up shoulders bending over him. The whole room, indeed, seemed to his frightened soul to run into the shape of a monstrous person whose arms were outstretched in all directions to prevent his escape. His hands never left his wings now. He stroked and fundled them, arranging the feathers smoothly, and speaking to them under his breath, just as though they were living things. To him they were indeed alive, and he knew when the time came they would not fail him. The fierce passion for the open spaces took possession of his soul, and his whole being began to cry out for freedom, rushing wind, the stars, and a pathless sky. Slowly the power of the great open night entered his heart, bringing with it a courage that enabled him to keep the terrors of the house at a distance. So far the boy's strength had been equal to the task, but a moment was approaching when the tension would be too great to bear, and the long pent-up force would rush forth into an act. Jimbo realized this quite clearly, though he could not exactly express it in words, he felt that his real hope of escape lay in the success of that act. Meanwhile, with more than a child's wisdom, he stored up every particle of strength he had for the great moment when it should come. A light wind had risen soon after sunset, but as the night wore on it began to fail, dropping away into little silences that grew each time longer. In the heart of one of these spells of silence Jimbo presently noticed a new sound, a sound that he recognized. Far away at first, but growing in distinctness with every dropping of the wind, this new sound rose from the interior of the house below and came gradually upon him. It was voices faintly singing, and the tread of stealthy footsteps. Further and nearer came the sound, till at length they reached the door, and there passed into the room a wave of fine, gentle sound that awoke no echo, and scarcely seemed to stir the air into vibration at all. The door had opened, and a number of voices were singing softly under their breath. And after the sounds, creeping slowly like some timid animal, they came into the room a small, black figure, just visible in the faint starlight. It peered round the edge of the door, hesitated a moment, then advanced with an odd, rhythmical sort of motion. And after the first figure came a second. And after the second, a third, and then several entered together until a whole group of them stood on the floor between Jimbo and the open window. Then he recognized the frightened children, and his heart sank. Even they he saw what arrayed against him, and took it for granted that he already belonged to them. Oh, why did not the governess come for him? Why was there no voice in the sky? He glanced with longing towards the heavens, and as the children moved past he was almost certain he saw the stars through their bodies too. Slowly they shuffled across the floor till they formed a semicircle round the bed, and then they began a silent, impish dance that made the flesh creep. Their thin forms were dressed in black gowns like shrouds, and as they moved through the steps of this bizarre dance he saw that their legs were little more than mere skin and bone. Their faces, what he could see of them when he dared to open his eyes, were pale as ashes, and their beady little eyes shone like the facets of cut stones flashing in all directions. And while they danced in and out amongst each other, never breaking the semicircle round the bed, they sang a low mournful song that sounded like the wind whispering through a leafless wood, and the words stirred in him that vague yet terrible fear known to all children who have been frightened and made to feel afraid of the dark. Evidently his sensations were being merged very rapidly now into those of the little boy in the night's nursery bed. There is someone in the nursery whom we never saw before. Why hangs the moon so red? And he came not by the passage or the window or the door. Why hangs the moon so red? And he stands there in the darkness in the center of the floor. See where the moon hangs red? Someone's hiding in the passage where the door begins to swing. Why drive the clouds so fast? In the corner by the staircase there's a dreadful waiting thing. Why drive the clouds so fast? Past the curtain creeps a monster with a black and fluttering wing. See where the clouds drive fast? In the chilly dusk of evening, in the hush before the dawn, why drips the rain so cold? In the twilight of the garden, in the mist upon the lawn, why drips the rain so cold? Faces stare and mouth upon us, faces white and weird and drawn. See how the rain drips cold? Close beside us in the night time, waiting for us in the gloom. Oh, why sings the wind so shrill? In the shadows by the cupboard in the corners of the room. Oh, why sings the wind so shrill? From the corridors and landings voices call us to our doom. Oh, how the wind sings shrill? By this time the dreadful dancers had come much closer to him, shifting stealthily nearer to the bed under cover of their dancing, and always between him and the window. Suddenly their intention flashed upon him. They meant to prevent his escape. With a tremendous effort, he sprang from the bed. As he did so, a dozen pairs of thin, shadowy arms shot out towards him as though to seize his wings. But with an agility born of fright, he dodged them and rang swiftly into the corner by the mantelpiece. Standing with his back against the wall, he faced the brutal children and strove to call out for help to the governess. But this time there was an entirely new difficulty in the way, for he found to his utter dismay that his voice refused to make itself heard. His mouth was dry, and his tongue would hardly stir. Not a sound issued from his lips, but the children instantly moved forwards and hemmed him in between them and the wall, and to reach the window he would have to break through this semicircle of whispering, shadowy forms. Above their heads he could see the stars shining, and any moment he might hear Miss Lake's voice calling to him to come out. His heart rose with passionate longing within him, and he gathered his wings tightly about him ready for the final dash. It would take more than the frightened children to hold him a prisoner when once he heard that voice, or even without it. Whether they were astonished at his boldness, or merely waiting their opportunity later, he could not tell. But anyhow they kept their distance for a time, and made no further attempt to seize his feathers. Whispering together under their breath, sometimes singing their mournful, sighing songs, sometimes sinking their voices into a confused murmur, they moved in and out amongst each other, with soundless feet, like the shadows of branches swaying in the wind. Then suddenly they moved closer, and stretched out their arms towards him, their bodies swaying rhythmically together, while their combined voices raised just above a whisper, saying to him, Dare you fly out tonight when the moon is so strong? Though the stars are so bright, there is death in their song. You're a hostage to fright, and to us you belong. Dare you fly out alone through the shadows that wave when the course is unknown, and there's no one to save? You are bone of our bone. And for ever his slave, and following these words, came from somewhere in the air outside that much more dreaded voice, like the thunder of a river. Jimbo knew only too well to whom it belonged, as he listened to the rhyme of the West Wind. For the wind of the West is a wind unblessed, and its dangerous breath will entice you to death. Fly not with the wind of the West, oh child, with the terrible wind of the West. But Jimbo knew perfectly well that these efforts to stop him were all part of a trap. They were lying to him. It was not the wind of the West at all. It was the South Wind, that at least he knew by the odours that were wafted in through the window. Again he tried to call the governess, but his tongue lay stiff in his mouth, and no sound came. Meanwhile the children began to draw closer, hemming him in. They moved almost imperceptibly, but he saw plainly that the circle was growing smaller and smaller. His legs began to tremble, and he felt that soon he would collapse and drop at their feet, for his strength was failing, and the power to act and move was slowly leaving him. The little shadowy figures were almost touching him, when suddenly a new sound broke the stillness, and set every nerve tingling in his body. Something was shuffling along the landing. He heard it outside pushing against the door. The handle turned with a rattle, and a moment later the door slowly opened. For a second Jimbo's breath failed him, and he nearly fell in a heap upon the floor. Round the edge of the door he saw a dim, huge figure come crawling into the room creeping along the floor, and trailing behind it a pair of immense black wings that stretched along the boards. For one brief second he stared, horror-stricken, and wondering what it was, but before the whole length of the creature was in he knew it was fright himself, and he was making steadily for the window. The shock instantly galvanized the boy into a state of activity again. He recovered the use of all his muscles and all his faculties. His voice, released by terror, rang out in a wild shriek for help to the governess, and he dashed forward across the room in a mad rush for the window. Unless he could reach it before the other he knew he would be a prisoner for the rest of his life. It was now or never. The instant he moved the children came straight at him with hands outstretched to stop him, but he passed through them as if they were smoke, and with almost a single bound sprang upon the narrow window sill. To do this he had to clear the head and shoulders of the creature on the floor, and though he accomplished it successfully he felt himself clutched from behind. For a second he balanced doubtfully on the window ledge. He felt himself being pulled back into the room, and he combined all his forces into one tremendous effort to rush forward. There was a ripping, tearing sound as he sprang into the air with a yell of mingled terror and exultation. His prompt action and the fierce impetus had saved him. He was free, but in the awful hand that seized him he had left behind the end feathers of his right wing. A few inches more and it would have been not merely the feathers, but the entire wing itself. He dropped to within three feet of the stones in the yard and then borne aloft by the kind rushing wind of the south. He rose in a tremendous sweep, far over the tops of the high elms and out into the heart of the night. Only there was no governess's voice to guide him, and behind him a little lower down, a black pursuing figure, with huge wings flapped heavily as it followed him with laborious flight through the darkness.