Its floor was strewn with boulders, fantastically shaped, almost indistinguishable in the fast closing dark.
Twin monoliths bulwarked the passage end; the gigantic stones were leaning, crumbling.

Fissures radiated from the opening, like deep wrinkles in the rock, showing where earth warping, range pressure, had long been working to close this hewn way.
"Stop," Norhala's abrupt, golden note halted us; and again through the clear eyes I saw the white starshine flash.
"It may be well--" She spoke as though to herself.

"It may be well to close this way.

It is not needed--" Her voice rang out again, vibrant, strangely disquieting, harmonious.
Murmurous chanting it was at first, rhythmic and low; ripples and flutings, tones and progressions utterly unknown to me; unfamiliar, abrupt, and alien themes that kept returning, droppings of crystal-clear jewels of sound, golden tollings--and all ordered, mathematical, GEOMETRIC, even as had been the gestures of the shapes; Lilliputians of the ruins, Brobdignagian of the haunted hollow.
What was it?
I had it--IT WAS THOSE GESTURES TRANSFORMED INTO SOUND! There was a movement down by the tunnel mouth.

It grew more rapid, seemed to vibrate with her song.