'I can do no more than tell you the truth now,' she rejoined. 'It
is a bad thing indeed to forget one who has told us the truth. Now
go.'

Curdie obeyed, and took a few steps toward the door. 'Please,
ma'am - what am I to call you?' he was going to say; but when he
turned to speak, he saw nobody. Whether she was there or not he
could not tell, however, for the moonlight had vanished, and the
room was utterly dark. A great fear, such as he had never before
known, came upon him, and almost overwhelmed him. He groped his
way to the door, and crawled down the stair - in doubt and anxiety
as to how he should find his way out of the house in the dark. And
the stair seemed ever so much longer than when he came up. Nor was
that any wonder, for down and down he went, until at length his
foot struck a door, and when he rose and opened it, he found
himself under the starry, moonless sky at the foot of the tower.

He soon discovered the way out of the garden, with which he had
some acquaintance already, and in a few minutes was climbing the
mountain with a solemn and cheerful heart. It was rather dark, but
he knew the way well. As he passed the rock from which the poor
pigeon fell wounded with his arrow, a great joy filled his heart at
the thought that he was delivered from the blood of the little
bird, and he ran the next hundred yards at full speed up the hill.
Some dark shadows passed him: he did not even care to think what
they were, but let them run. When he reached home, he found his
father and mother waiting supper for him.