On every side opened red and yellow ways, sunny glades, labyrinthine paths, long aisles, all dim with the blue haze like the cloudy incense in stone cathedrals, but nothing moved in them save the creatures of the forest.

Without the hollow there was no sign.

The leaves looked undisturbed, or others, drifting down, had hidden any marks there might have been; no footprints, no broken branches, no token of those who had left the hollow.

Down which of the painted ways had they gone, and where were they now?
Sparrow and I sat our horses, and stared now down this alley, now down that, into the blue that closed each vista.
"The Santa Teresa is just off the big spring," he said at last.

"She must have dropped down there in order to take in water quietly." "The man that came upon her is still in town,--or was an hour agone," I replied.
"Then she has n't sailed yet," he said.
In the distance something grew out of the blue mist.