She saw that they were running among trees--great old trees with dying
bracken undergrowth. The palish, gnarled trunks showed ghostly, and
like old priests in the hovering distance, the fern rose magical and
mysterious. It was a night all darkness, with low cloud. The motor-car
advanced slowly.
'Where are we?' she whispered.
'In Sherwood Forest.'
It was evident he knew the place. He drove softly, watching. Then they
came to a green road between the trees. They turned cautiously round,
and were advancing between the oaks of the forest, down a green lane.
The green lane widened into a little circle of grass, where there was a
small trickle of water at the bottom of a sloping bank. The car
stopped.
'We will stay here,' he said, 'and put out the lights.'
He extinguished the lamps at once, and it was pure night, with shadows
of trees like realities of other, nightly being. He threw a rug on to
the bracken, and they sat in stillness and mindless silence. There were
faint sounds from the wood, but no disturbance, no possible
disturbance, the world was under a strange ban, a new mystery had
supervened.
Pages:
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666