But it was the sound of something crashing heavily through the top branches of the elms that made the boy realise he was actually being followed; and all his efforts became concentrated into the desire to put as much distance as possible between himself and the horror of the Empty House.

He heard the noise of big wings far beneath him, and his one idea was to out-distance his pursuer and then come down again to earth and rest his wings in the branches of a tree till he could devise some plan how to find the governess.  So at first he raced at full speed through the air, taking no thought of direction.

When he looked down, all he could see was that something vague and shadowy, shaking out a pair of enormous wings between him and the earth, move along with him.  Its path was parallel with his own, but apparently it made no effort to rise up to his higher level.  It thundered along far beneath him, and instinctively he raised his head and steered more and more upwards and away from the world.

The gap at the end of his right wing where the feathers had been torn out seemed to make no difference in his power of flight or steering, and he went tearing through the night at a pace he had never dared to try before, and at a height he had never yet reached in any of the practice flights.  He soared higher even than he knew; and perhaps this was fortunate, for the friction of the lower atmosphere might have heated him to the point of igniting, and some watcher at one of earth’s windows might have suddenly seen a brilliant little meteor flash through the night and vanish into dust.

At first the joy of escape was the only idea his mind seemed able to grasp; he revelled in a passionate sense of freedom, and all his energies poured themselves into one concentrated effort to fly faster, faster, faster.  But after a time, when the pursuer had been apparently outflown, and he realised that escape was an accomplished fact, he began to search for the governess, calling to her, rising and falling, darting in all directions, and then hovering on outstretched wings to try and catch some sound of a friendly voice.

But no answer came, either from the stars that crowded the vault above, or from the dark surface of the world below; only silence answered his cries, and his voice was swallowed up and lost in the immensity of space almost the moment it left his lips.

Presently he began to realise to what an appalling distance he had risen above the world, and with anxious eyes he tried to pierce the gaping emptiness beneath him and on all sides.  But this vast sea of air had nothing to reveal.  The stars shone like pinholes of gold pricked in a deep black curtain; and the moon, now rising slowly, spread a veil of silver between him and the upper regions.  There was not a cloud anywhere and the winds were all asleep.  He was alone in space.  Yet, as the swishing of his feathers slackened and the roar in his ears died away, he heard in the short pause the ominous beating of great wings somewhere in the depths beneath him, and knew that the great pursuer was still on his track.

The glare of the moon now made it impossible to distinguish anything properly, and in these huge spaces, with nothing to guide the eye, it was difficult to know exactly from what direction the sound came.  He was only sure of one thing ­that it was far below him, and that for the present it did not seem to come much nearer.  The cry for help that kept rising to his lips he suppressed, for it would only have served to guide his pursuer; and, moreover, a cry ­a little thin, despairing cry ­was instantly lost in these great heavens.  It was less than a drop in an ocean.

On and on he flew, always pointing away from the earth, and trying hard to think where he would find safety.  Would this awful creature hunt him all night long into the daylight, or would he be forced back into the Empty House in sheer exhaustion?  The thought gave him new impetus, and with powerful strokes he dashed onwards and upwards through the wilderness of space in which the only pathways were the little golden tracks of the starbeams.  The governess would turn up somewhere; he was positive of that.  She had never failed him yet.

So, alone and breathless, he pursued his flight, and the higher he went the more the tremendous vault opened up into inconceivable and untold distances.  His speed kept increasing; he thought he had never found flying so easy before; and the thunder of the following wings that held persistently on his track made it dangerous for him to slacken up for more than a minute here and there.  The earth became a dark blot beneath him, while the moon, rising higher and higher, grew weirdly bright and close.  How black the sky was; how piercing the points of starlight; how stimulating the strong, new odours of these lofty regions!  He realised with a thrill of genuine awe that he had flown over the very edge of the world, and the moment the thought entered his mind it was flung back at him by a voice that seemed close to his ear one moment, and the next was miles away in the space overhead.  Light thoughts, born of the stars and the moon and of his great speed, danced before his mind in fanciful array.  Once he laughed aloud at them, but once only.  The sound of his voice in these echoless spaces made him afraid.

The speed, too, affected his vision, for at one moment thin clouds stretched across his face, and the next he was whirling through perfectly clear air again with no vestige of a cloud in sight.  The same reason doubtless explained the sudden presence of sheets of light in the air that reflected the moonlight like particles of glittering ice, and then suddenly disappeared again.  The terrific speed would explain a good many things, but certainly it was curious how creatures formed out of the hollow darkness, like foam before a steamer’s bows, and moved noiselessly away on either side to join the army of dim life that crowded everywhere and watched his passage.  For, in front and on both sides, there gathered a vast assembly of silent forms more than shadows, less than bodily shapes, that opened up a pathway as he rushed through them, and then immediately closed up their ranks again when he had passed.  The air seemed packed with living creatures.  Space was filled with them.  They surrounded him on all sides.  Yet his passage through them was like the passage of a hand through smoke; it was easy to make a pathway, but the pathway left no traces behind it.  More smoke rushed in and filled the void.

He could never see these things properly, face to face; they always kept just out of the line of vision, like shadows that follow a lonely walker in a wood and vanish the moment he turns to look at them over his shoulder.  But ever by his side, with a steady, effortless motion, he knew they kept up with him ­strange inhabitants of the airless heights, immense and misty-winged, with veiled, flaming eyes and silent feathers.  He was not afraid of them; for they were neither friendly nor hostile; they were simply the beings of another world, alien and unknown.

But what puzzled him more was that the light and the darkness seemed separate things, each distinctly visible.  After each stroke of his wings he saw the darkness sift downwards past him through the air like dust.  It floated all round him in thinnest diaphanous texture ­visible, not because the moonlight made it so, but because in its inmost soul it was itself luminous.  It rose and fell in eddies, swirling wreaths, and undulations; inwoven with starbeams, as with golden thread, it clothed him about in circles of some magical primordial substance.

Even the stars, looking down upon him from terrifying heights, seemed now draped, now undraped, as if by the sweeping of enormous wings that stirred these sheets of visible darkness into a vast system of circulation through the heavens.  Everything in these oceans of upper space apparently made use of wings, or the idea of wings.  Perhaps even the great earth itself, rolling from star to star, was moved by the power of gigantic, invisible wings!...

Jimbo realised he had entered a forbidden region.  He began to feel afraid.

But the only possible expression of his fear, and its only possible relief, lay in his own wings ­and he used them with redoubled energy.  He dashed forward so fast that his face begun to burn, and he kept turning his head in every direction for a sign of the governess, or for some indication of where he could escape to.  In the pauses of the wild flight he heard the thunder of the following wings below.  They were still on his trail, and it seemed that they were gaining on him.

He took a new angle, realising that his only chance was to fly high; and the new course took him perpendicularly away from the earth and straight towards the moon.  Later, when he had out-distanced the other creature, he would drop down again to safer levels.

Yet the hours passed and it never overtook him.  A measured distance was steadily kept up between them as though with calculated purpose.

Curious distant voices shouted from time to time all manner of sentences and rhymes in his ears, but he could neither understand nor remember them.  More and more the awful stillness of the vast regions that lie between the world and the moon appalled him.

Then, suddenly, a new sound reached him that at first he could not in the least understand.  It reached him, however, not through the ears, but by a steady trembling of the whole surface of his body.  It set him in vibration all over, and for some time he had no idea what it meant.  The trembling ran deeper and deeper into his body, till at last a single, powerful, regular vibration took complete possession of his whole being, and he felt as though he was being wrapped round and absorbed by this vast and gigantic sound.  He had always thought that the voice of Fright, like the roar of a river, was the loudest and deepest sound he had ever heard.  Even that set his soul a-trembling.  But this new, tremendous, rolling-ocean of a voice came not that way, and could not be compared to it.  The voice of the other was a mere tickling of the ear compared to this awful crashing of seas and mountains and falling worlds.  It must break him to pieces, he felt.

Suddenly he knew what it was, ­and for a second his wings failed him: ­he had reached such a height that he could hear the roar of the world as it thundered along its journey through space!  That was the meaning of this voice of majesty that set him all a-trembling.  And before long he would probably hear, too, the voices of the planets, and the singing of the great moon.  The governess had warned him about this.  At the first sound of these awful voices she told him to turn instantly and drop back to the earth as fast as ever he could drop.

Jimbo turned instinctively and began to fall.  But, before he had dropped half a mile, he met once again the ascending sound of the wings that had followed him from the Empty House.

It was no good flying straight into destruction.  He summoned all his courage and turned once more towards the stars.  Anything was better than being caught and held for ever by Fright, and with a wild cry for help that fell dead in the empty spaces, he renewed his unending flight towards the stars.

But, meanwhile, the pursuer had distinctly gained.  Appalled by the mighty thunder of the stars’ voices above, and by the prospect of immediate capture if he turned back, Jimbo flew blindly on towards the moon, regardless of consequences.  And below him the Pursuer came closer and closer.  The strokes of its wings were no longer mere distant thuds that he heard when he paused in his own flight to listen; they were the audible swishing of feathers.  It was near enough for that.

Jimbo could never properly see what was following him.  A shadow between him and the earth was all he could distinguish, but in the centre of that shadow there seemed to burn two glowing eyes.  Two brilliant lights flashed whenever he looked down, like the lamps of a revolving lighthouse.  But other things he saw, too, when he looked down, and once the earth rose close to his face so that he could have touched it with his hands.  The same instant it dropped away again with a rush of whirlwinds, and became a distant shadow miles and miles below him.  But before it went, he had time to see the Empty House standing within its gloomy yard, and the horror of it gave him fresh impetus.

Another time when the world raced up close to his eyes he saw a scene of a different kind that stirred a passionately deep yearning within him ­a house overgrown with ivy and standing among trees and gardens, with laburnums and lilacs flowering on smooth green lawns, and a clean gravel drive leading down to a big pair of iron gates.  Oh, it all seemed so familiar!  Perhaps in another minute the well-known figures would have appeared and spoken to him.  Already he heard their voices behind the bushes.  But, just before they appeared, the earth dropped back with a roar of a thousand winds, and Jimbo saw instead the shadow of the Pursuer mounting, mounting, mounting towards him.  Up he shot again with terror in his heart, and all trembling with the thunder of the great star-voices above.  He felt like a leaf in a hurricane, “lost, dizzy, shelterless.”

Voices, too, now began to be heard more frequently.  They dropped upon him out of the reaches of this endless void; and with them sometimes came forms that shot past him with amazing swiftness, racing into the empty Beyond as though sucked into a vast vacuum.  The very stars seemed to move.  He became part of some much larger movement in which he was engulfed and merged.  He could no longer think of himself as Jimbo.  When he uttered his own name he saw merely a mass of wind and colour through which the great pulses of space and the planets beat tumultuously, lapping him round with the currents of a terrific motion that seemed to swallow up his own little personality entirely, while giving him something infinitely greater....

But surely these small voices, shrill and trumpet-like, did not come from the stars! these deep whispers that ran round the immense vault overhead and sounded almost familiarly in his ears ­

“Give it him the moment he wakes.”

“Bring the ice-bag ... quick!”

“Put the hot bottle to his feet IMMEDIATELY!”

The voices shrieked all round him, turning suddenly into soft whispers that died away somewhere among his feathers.  The soles of his feet began to glow, and he felt a gigantic hand laid upon his throat and head.  Almost it seemed as if he were lying somewhere on his back, and people were bending over him, shouting and whispering.

“Why hangs the moon so red?” cried a voice that was instantly drowned in a chorus of unintelligible whispering.

“The black cow must be killed,” whispered some one deep within the sky.

“Why drips the rain so cold?” yelled one of the hideous children close behind him.  And a third called with a distant laughter from behind a star ­

“Why sings the wind so shrill?”

“QUIET!” roared an appalling voice below, as if all the rivers of the world had suddenly turned loose into the sky.  “QUIET!”

Instantly a star, that had been hovering for some time on the edge of a fantastic dance, dropped down close in front of his face.  It had a glaring disc, with mouth and eyes.  An icy hand seemed laid on his head, and the star rushed back into its place in the sky, leaving a trail of red flame behind it.  A little voice seemed to go with it, growing fainter and fainter in the distance ­

“We dance with phantoms and with shadows play.”

But, regardless of everything, Jimbo flew onwards and upwards, terrified and helpless though he was.  His thoughts turned without ceasing to the governess, and he felt sure that she would yet turn up in time to save him from being caught by the Fright that pursued, or lost among the fearful spaces that lay beyond the stars.

For a long time, however, his wings had been growing more and more tired, and the prospect of being destroyed from sheer exhaustion now presented itself to the boy vaguely as a possible alternative ­vaguely only, because he was no longer able to think, properly speaking, and things came to him more by way of dull feeling than anything else.

It was all the more with something of a positive shock, therefore, that he realised the change.  For a change had come.  He was now sudden by conscious of an influx of new power ­greater than anything he had ever known before in any of his flights.  His wings now suddenly worked as if by magic.  Never had the motion been so easy, and it became every minute easier and easier.  He simply flashed along without apparent effort.  An immense driving power had entered into him.  He realised that he could fly for ever without getting tired.  His pace increased tenfold ­ increased alarmingly.  The possibility of exhaustion vanished utterly.  Jimbo knew now that something was wrong.  This new driving power was something wholly outside himself.  His wings were working far too easily.  Then, suddenly, he understood:  His wings were not working at all!

He was not being driven forward from behind; he was being drawn forward from in front.

He saw it all in a flash:  Miss Lake’s warning long ago about the danger of flying too high; the last song of the Frightened Children, “Dare you fly out alone through the shadows that wave, when the course is unknown and there’s no one to save?” the strange words sung to him about the “relentless misty moon,” and the object of the dreadful Pursuer in steadily forcing him upwards and away from the earth.  It all flashed across his poor little dazed mind.  He understood at last.

He had soared too high and had entered the sphere of the moon’s attraction.

“The moon is too strong, and there’s death in the stars!” a voice bellowed below him like the roar of a falling mountain, shaking the sky.

The child flew screaming on.  There was nothing else he could do.  But hardly had the roar died away when another voice was heard, a tender voice, a whispering, sympathetic voice, though from what part of the sky it came he could not tell ­

“Arrange the pillows for his little head.”

But below him the wings of the Pursuer were mounting closer and closer.  He could almost feel the mighty wind from their feathers, and hear the rush of the great body between them.  It was impossible to slacken his speed even had he wished; no strength on earth could have resisted that terrible power drawing upwards towards the moon.  Instinctively, however, he realised that he would rather have gone forwards than backwards.  He never could have faced capture by that dreadful creature behind.  All the efforts of the past weeks to escape from Fright, the owner of the Empty House, now acted upon him with a cumulative effect, and added to the suction of the moon-life.  He shot forward at a pace that increased with every second.

At the back of his mind, too, lay some kind of faint perception that the governess would, after all, be there to help him.  She had always turned up before when he was in danger, and she would not fail him now.  But this was a mere ghost of a thought that brought little comfort, and merely added its quota of force to the speed that whipped him on, ever faster, into the huge white moon-world in front.

For this, then, he had escaped from the horror of the Empty House!  To be sucked up into the moon, the “relentless, misty moon” ­to be drawn into its cruel, silver web, and destroyed.  The Song to the Misty Moon outside the window came back in snatches and added to his terror; only it seemed now weeks ago since he had heard it.  Something of its real meaning, too, filtered down into his heart, and he trembled anew to think that the moon could be a great, vast, moving Being, alive and with a purpose....

But why, oh, why did they keep shouting these horrid snatches of the song through the sky?  Trapped!  Trapped!  The word haunted him through the night: 

  Thy songs are nightly driven,
  From sky to sky,
  Eternally,
  O’er the old, grey hills of heaven!

Caught! Caught at last!  The moon’s prisoner, a captive in her airless caves; alone on her dead white plains; searching for ever in vain for the governess; wandering alone and terrified.

  By the awful grace
  Of thy weird white face.

The thought crazed him, and he struggled like a bird caught in a net.  But he might as well have struggled to push the worlds out of their courses.  The power against him was the power of the universe in which he was nothing but a little, lost, whirling atom.  It was all of no avail, and the moon did not even smile at his feeble efforts.  He was too light to revolve round her, too impalpable to create his own orbit; he had not even the consistency of a comet; he had reached the point of stagnation, as it were ­the dead level ­the neutral zone where the attractions of the earth and moon meet and counterbalance one another ­where bodies have no weight and existence no meaning.

Now the moon was close upon him; he could see nothing else.  There lay the vast, shining sea of light in front of him.  Behind, the roar of the following creature grew fainter and fainter, as he outdistanced it in the awful swiftness of the huge drop down upon the moon mountains.

Already he was close enough to its surface to hear nothing of its great singing but a deep, confused murmur.  And, as the distance increased, he realised that the change in his own condition increased.  He felt as if he were flying off into a million tiny particles ­breaking up under the effects of the deadly speed and the action of the new moon-forces.  Immense, invisible arms, half-silver and half-shadow, grew out of the white disc and drew him downwards upon her surface.  He was being merged into the life of the moon.

There was a pause.  For a moment his wings stopped dead.  Their vain fluttering was all but over....

Hark!  Was that a voice borne on the wings of some lost wind?  Why should his heart beat so tumultuously all at once?

He turned and stared into the ocean of black air overhead till it turned him dizzy.  A violent trembling ran through his tired being from head to foot.  He had heard a voice ­a voice that he knew and loved ­a voice of help and deliverance.  It rang in shrill syllables up the empty spaces, and it reached new centres of force within him that touched his last store of courage and strength.

“Jimbo, hold on!” it cried, like a faint, thin, pricking current of sound almost unable to reach him through the seas of distance.  “I’m coming; hold on a little longer!”

It was the governess.  She was true to the end.  Jimbo felt his heart swell within him.  She was mounting, mounting behind him with incredible swiftness.  The sound of his own name in these terrible regions recalled to him some degree of concentration, and he strove hard to fight against the drawing power that was seeking his destruction.

He struggled frantically with his wings.  But between him and the governess there was still the power of Fright to be overcome ­the very Power she had long ago invoked.  It was following him still, preventing his turning back, and driving him ever forward to his death.

Again the voice sounded in the night; and this time it was closer.  He could not quite distinguish the words.  They buzzed oddly in his ears ... other voices mingled with them ... the hideous children began to shriek somewhere underneath him ... wings with eyes among their burning feathers flashed past him.

His own wings folded close over his little body, drooping like dead things.  His eyes closed, and he turned on his side.  A huge face that was one-half the governess and the other half the head gardener at home, thrust itself close against his own, and blew upon his eyelids till he opened them.  Already he was falling, sinking, tumbling headlong through a space that offered no resistance.

“Jimbo!” shrieked a voice that instantly died away into a wail behind him.

He opened his eyes once more ­for it was that loved voice again ­but the glare from the moon so dazzled him that he could only fancy he saw the figure of the governess, not a hundred feet away, struggling and floundering in the clutch of a black creature that beat the air with enormous wings all round her.  He saw her hair streaming out into the night, and one wing seemed to hang broken and useless at her side.

He was turning over and over, like a piece of wood in the waves of the sea, and the governess, caught by Fright, the monster of her own creation, drifted away from his consciousness as a dream melts away in the light of the morning....  From the gleaming mountains and treeless plains below Jimbo thought there rose a hollow roar like the mocking laughter of an immense multitude of people, shaking with mirth.  The Moon had got him at last, and her laughter ran through the heavens like a wave.  Revolving upon his own little axis so swiftly that he neither saw nor heard anything more, he dropped straight down upon the great satellite.

The light of the moon flamed up into his eyes and dazzled him.

But what in the world was this?

How could the moon dwindle so suddenly to the size of a mere lamp flame?

How could the whole expanse of the heavens shrink in an instant to the limits of a little, cramped room?

In a single second, before he had time to realise that he felt surprise, the entire memory of his recent experiences vanished from his mind.  The past became an utter blank.  Like a wreath of smoke everything melted away as if it had never been at all.  The functions of the brain resumed their normal course.  The delirium of the past few hours was over.

Jimbo was lying at home on his bed in the night-nursery, and his mother was bending over him.  At the foot of the bed stood the doctor in black.  The nurse held a lamp, only half shaded by her hand, as she approached the bedside.

This lamp was the moon of his delirium ­only he had quite forgotten now that there had ever been any moon at all.

The little thermometer, thrust into his teeth among the stars, was still in his mouth.  A hot-water bottle made his feet glow and burn.  And from the walls of the sick-room came as it were the echoes of recently-uttered sentences:  “Take his temperature!  Give him the medicine the moment he wakes!  Put the hot bottle to his feet....  Fetch the ice-bag....  Quick!”

“Where am I, mother?” he asked in a whisper.

“You’re in bed, darling, and must keep quite quiet.  You’ll soon be all right again.  It was the old black cow that tossed you.  The gardener found you by the swinging gate and carried you in....  You’ve been unconscious!”

“How long have I been uncon ?” Jimbo could not manage the whole word.

“About three hours, darling.”

Then he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, and when he woke long after it was early morning, and there was no one in the room but the old family nurse, who sat watching beside the bed.  Something ­some dim memory ­that had stirred his brain in sleep, immediately rushed to his lips in the form of an inconsequent question.  But before he could even frame the sentence, the thought that prompted it had slipped back into the deeper consciousness he had just left behind with the trance of deep sleep.

But the old nurse, watching every movement, waiting upon the child’s very breath, had caught the question, and she answered soothingly in a whisper ­

“Oh, Miss Lake died a few days after she left here,” she said in a very low voice.  “But don’t think about her any more, dearie!  She’ll never frighten children again with her silly stories.”

“DIED!”

Jimbo sat up in bed and stared into the shadows behind her, as though his eyes saw something she could not see.  But his voice seemed almost to belong to some one else.

“She was really dead all the time, then,” he said below his breath.

Then the child fell back without another word, and dropped off into the sleep which was the first step to final recovery.