We ran in vast strides.  But that running, you must understand, was an altogether different thing from any running on earth.  On earth one leaps and almost instantly hits the ground again, but on the moon, because of its weaker pull, one shot through the air for several seconds before one came to earth.  In spite of our violent hurry this gave an effect of long pauses, pauses in which one might have counted seven or eight.  “Step,” and one soared off!  All sorts of questions ran through my mind:  “Where are the Selenites?  What will they do?  Shall we ever get to that tunnel?  Is Cavor far behind?  Are they likely to cut him off?” Then whack, stride, and off again for another step.

I saw a Selenite running in front of me, his legs going exactly as a man’s would go on earth, saw him glance over his shoulder, and heard him shriek as he ran aside out of my way into the darkness.  He was, I think, our guide, but I am not sure.  Then in another vast stride the walls of rock had come into view on either hand, and in two more strides I was in the tunnel, and tempering my pace to its low roof.  I went on to a bend, then stopped and turned back, and plug, plug, plug, Cavor came into view, splashing into the stream of blue light at every stride, and grew larger and blundered into me.  We stood clutching each other.  For a moment, at least, we had shaken off our captors and were alone.

We were both very much out of breath.  We spoke in panting, broken sentences.

“You’ve spoilt it all!” panted Cavor.  “Nonsense,” I cried.  “It was that or death!”

“What are we to do?”

“Hide.”

“How can we?”

“It’s dark enough.”

“But where?”

“Up one of these side caverns.”

“And then?”

“Think.”

“Right—­come on.”

We strode on, and presently came to a radiating dark cavern.  Cavor was in front.  He hesitated, and chose a black mouth that seemed to promise good hiding.  He went towards it and turned.

“It’s dark,” he said.

“Your legs and feet will light us.  You’re wet with that luminous stuff.”

“But—­”

A tumult of sounds, and in particular a sound like a clanging gong, advancing up the main tunnel, became audible.  It was horribly suggestive of a tumultuous pursuit.  We made a bolt for the unlit side cavern forthwith.  As we ran along it our way was lit by the irradiation of Cavor’s legs.  “It’s lucky,” I panted, “they took off our boots, or we should fill this place with clatter.”  On we rushed, taking as small steps as we could to avoid striking the roof of the cavern.  After a time we seemed to be gaining on the uproar.  It became muffled, it dwindled, it died away.

I stopped and looked back, and I heard the pad, pad of Cavor’s feet receding.  Then he stopped also.  “Bedford,” he whispered; “there’s a sort of light in front of us.”

I looked, and at first could see nothing.  Then I perceived his head and shoulders dimly outlined against a fainter darkness.  I saw, also, that this mitigation of the darkness was not blue, as all the other light within the moon had been, but a pallid gray, a very vague, faint white, the daylight colour.  Cavor noted this difference as soon, or sooner, than I did, and I think, too, that it filled him with much the same wild hope.