he thick-flowered bushes begun to straiten our way, that this Mr.
Superstition who had desired to accompany us was of a very different
courage from that his manner at the inn seemed to profess.

He walked with almost as much caution and ungainliness as Mistrust,
his deep and shining eyes busily searching the gloom to left and right
of him. Indeed, those same dark eyes of his reminded me not a little
of Mrs. Nature's, they were so full of what they could not tell.

He was on foot; my new friend Reverie, like myself, led his horse, a
pale, lovely creature with delicate nostrils and deep-smouldering
eyes.

"You must think me very bold to force my company on you," said
Superstition awkwardly, turning to Reverie, "but my house is never so
mute with horror as in these moody summer nights when thunder is in
the air. See there!" he cried.

As if the distant sky had opened, the large, bright, harmless
lightning quivered and was gone, revealing on the opposing hills
forest above forest unutterably dark and still.

"Surely," I said, "that is not the way Christian took?"

"They say," Reverie answered, "the Valley of the Shadow of Death lies
between those hills."

"But Atheist," I said, "_that_ acid little man, did he indeed walk
there alone?"

"I have heard," muttered Superstition, putting out his hand, "'tis
fear only that maketh afraid. Atheist has no fear."

"But what of Cruelty," I said, "and Liveloose?"

"Why," answered Superstition, "Cruelty works cunningest when he is
afraid; and Liveloose never talks about himself. None the less there's
not a tree but casts a shadow. I met once an earnest yet very popular
young gentleman of the name of Science, who explained almost
everything on earth to me so clearly, and patiently, and fatherly, I
thought I should evermore sleep in peace. But we met at noon. Believe
me, sir, I would have followed Christian and his friend Hopeful very
willingly long since; for as for Cruelty and Obstinate and all that
clumsy rabble, I heed them not. Indeed my cousin Mistrust _did_ go,
and as you see returned with a caution; and a poor young school-fellow
of mine, Jack Ignorance, came to an awful end. But it is because I owe
partly to Christian and not all to myself this horrible solitude in
which I walk that I dare not risk a deeper. It would be, I feel sure.
And so I very willingly beheld Faithful burned; it restored my
confidence. And here, sir," he added, almost with gaiety, "lives my
frien