I felt very helpless before this beautiful creature who seemed so troubled and discontented.  “No,” said the voice of Amroth beside me, “it is of no use to talk; let her talk to you; let her make friends with you if she can.”

“That’s better,” she said, looking at me.  “I was afraid you were going to be grave and serious.  I felt for a minute as if I was going to be confirmed.”

“No,” I said, “you need not be disturbed; nothing will be done to you against your wish.  One has but to wish here, or to be willing, and the right thing happens.”

She came close to me as I said this, and said, “Well, I think I shall like you, if only you can promise not to be serious.”  Then she turned, and stood for a moment disconsolate, looking away from me.

All this while the atmosphere around me had been becoming lighter and clearer, as though a mist were rising.  Suddenly Amroth said, “You will have to go with her for a time, and do what you can.  I must leave you for a little, but I shall not be far off; and if you need me, I shall be at hand.  But do not call for me unless you are quite sure you need me.”  He gave me a hand-clasp and a smile, and was gone.

Then, looking about me, I saw at last that I was in a place.  Lonely and bare though it was, it seemed to me very beautiful.  It was like a grassy upland, with rocky heights to left and right.  They were most delicate in outline, those crags, like the crags in an old picture, with sharp, smooth curves, like a fractured crystal.  They seemed to be of a creamy stone, and the shadows fell blue and distinct.  Down below was a great plain full of trees and waters, all very dim.  A path, worn lightly in the grass, lay at my feet, and I knew that we must descend it.  The girl with me—­I will call her Cynthia—­was gazing at it with delight.  “Ah,” she said, “I can see clearly now.  This is something like a real place, instead of mist and light.  We can find people down here, no doubt; it looks inhabited out there.”  She pointed with her hand, and it seemed to me that I could see spires and towers and roofs, of a fine and airy architecture, at the end of a long horn of water which lay very blue among the woods of the plain.  It puzzled me, because I had the sense that it was all unreal, and, indeed, I soon perceived that it was the girl’s own thought that in some way affected mine.  “Quick, let us go,” she said; “what are we waiting for?”

The descent was easy and gradual.  We came down, following the path, over the hill-shoulders.  A stream of clear water dripped among stones; it all brought back to me with an intense delight the recollection of long days spent among such hills in holiday times on earth, but all without regret; I only wished that an old and dear friend of mine, with whom I had often gone, might be with me.  He had quitted life before me, and I knew somehow or hoped that I should before long see him; but I did not wish things to be otherwise;