re of a change in the nature of the space
about him. His weary arms and legs held him against the solidity of a
wall, yet the impression that there was no longer another wall at his
back grew stronger with every niche which swung him downward. And he was
as sure as if he could see it, that he was now in a wide-open space,
another cavern; perhaps, but this one totally dark.

Deprived of sight, he relied upon his ears. And there was a sound,
faint, distorted perhaps by the acoustics of this place, but keeping up
a continuous murmur. Water! Not the wash of waves with their persistent
beat, but rather the rippling of a running stream. Water must lie below!

And just as his weariness had grown with his leaving behind the fog, so
now did both hunger and thirst gnaw at Shann, all the sharper for the
delay. The Terran wanted to reach that water, could picture it in his
mind, putting away the possibility--the probability--that it might be
sea-born and salt, and so unfit to drink.

The upper opening to the cavern of the fog was now so far above him that
he had to strain to see it. And that warmth which had been there was
gone. A dank chill wrapped him here, dampened the holds to which he
clung until he was afraid of slipping. While the murmur of the water
grew louder, until its _slap-slap_ sounded within arms' distance. His
boot toe skidded from a niche. Shann fought to hold on with numbed
fingers. The other foot went. He swung by his hands, kicking vainly to
regain a measure of footing.

Then his arms could no longer support him, and he cried out as he fell.
Water closed about him with an icy shock which for a moment paralyzed
him. He flailed out, fighting the flood to get his head above the
surface where he could gasp in precious gulps of air.

There was a current here, a swiftly running one. Shann remembered the
one which had carried him into that cavern in which the Warlockians had
their strange dwelling. Although there were no clusters of crystals in
this tunnel to supply him with light, the Terran began to nourish a
faint hope that he was again in that same stream, that those light
crystals would appear, and that he might eventually return to the
starting point of this meaningless journey.

So he strove only to keep his head above water. Hearing a splashing
behind him, he called out: "Thorvald?"

"Lantee?" The answer came back at once; the splashing grew louder as the
other swam to catch up.

Shann swallowed a mout