indeed,” answered Chloe, and both felt a thrill of fear, though they only ran the faster.

The cries, though now they grew rarer, becoming indeed mingled with groans, still served to guide them. Soon they were in the midst of the trees, making their way more by a sort of instinct, for it was almost dark. Suddenly a ray of moonlight glimmered through the firs, and a few paces in front of them they saw lying on the ground a small dark object writhing and groaning.

Just here the trees were not so thick. It was like a little clearing. The girls stepped onwards cautiously, catching hold of each other.

“It is—” whispered Arminel—“Oh, Chloe, it is one of the dwarfs.”

“Courage,” murmured Chloe in return, though her own heart was beating very fast. “He seems in no state to hurt us now, if only it be not a trick.”

The groans had ceased, and when they got close to the strange figure on the ground it seemed quite motionless. The moonlight had grown stronger. They stooped down and examined the dwarf. His eyes were closed; his face was wrinkled and brown; he was brown all over. He wore a furry coat, much the same colour as his own skin.

Arminel lifted one of his queer clawlike hands; it fell down again by his side.

“I believe he is dead,” she said. “I didn’t know the dwarfs ever could die. What shall we do, Chloe? We cannot leave him here, in case he should be still living.”

“We must carry him home, I’m afraid,” said Chloe. “Yes, I’m afraid we must, for see, Arminel, he’s opening his eyes,” as two bright black beads suddenly glanced up at them.

“Nimbo, Hugo,” said a weak, hoarse little voice. “Are you there? No,” and the dwarf opened his eyes more widely, and tried to sit up. “No,” he went on, “it is not my comrades! Who are you?” and he shuddered as if with fear.