ut his eyes and made a picture of the outside of it in his
mind. Then he came in at the door of the picture, and yet kept the
picture before him all the time--for you can do that kind of thing in
your mind--and took every turn of the stair over again, always watching
to remember, every time he turned his face, how the tower lay, and then
when he came to himself at the top where he stood, he knew exactly
where it was, and walked at once in the right direction.

On his way, however, he came to another stair, and up that he went, of
course, watching still at every turn how the tower must lie. At the
top of this stair was yet another--they were the stairs up which the
princess ran when first, without knowing it, she was on her way to find
her great-great-grandmother. At the top of the second stair he could
go no farther, and must therefore set out again to find the tower,
which, as it rose far above the rest of the house, must have the last
of its stairs inside itself.

Having watched every turn to the very last, he still knew quite well in
what direction he must go to find it, so he left the stair and went
down a passage that led, if not exactly toward it, yet nearer it. This
passage was rather dark, for it was very long, with only one window at
the end, and although there were doors on both sides of it, they were
all shut. At the distant window glimmered the chill east, with a few
feeble stars in it, and its like was dreary and old, growing brown, and
looking as if it were thinking about the day that was just gone.
Presently he turned into another passage, which also had a window at
the end of it; and in at that window shone all that was left of the
sunset, just a few ashes, with here and there a little touch of warmth:
it was nearly as sad as the east, only there was one difference--it was
very plainly thinking of tomorrow.

But at present Curdie had nothing to do with today or tomorrow; his
business was with the bird, and the tower where dwelt the grand old
princess to whom it belonged. So he kept on his way, still eastward,
and came to yet another passage, which brought him to a door. He was
afraid to open it without first knocking. He knocked, but heard no
answer. He was answered nevertheless; for the door gently opened, and
there was a narrow stair--and so steep that, big lad as he was, he,
too, like the Princess Irene before him, found his hands needful for
the climbing. And it was a long climb, but he r