She pressed her lips, which the sun had warmed all day,
against the satiny smooth bark. But the little tree stood within her
arms insentient, quivering only to the long rumbles. With each of those
dull mutterings, life and love were going out, like the flames of candles
on a Christmas-tree, blown, one by one. To her eyes, accustomed by now
to the darkness in there, the wood seemed slowly to be gathering a sort
of life, as though it were a great thing watching her; a great thing with
hundreds of limbs and eyes, and the power of breathing. The little tree,
which had seemed so individual and friendly, ceased to be a comfort and
became a part of the whole living wood, absorbed in itself, and coldly
watching her, this intruder of the mischievous breed, the fatal breed
which loosed those rumblings on the earth. Noel unlocked her arms, and
recoiled. A bough scraped her neck, some leaves flew against her eyes;
she stepped aside, tripped over a root, and fell. A bough had hit her
too, and she lay a little dazed, quivering at such dark unfriendliness.
She held her hands up to her face for the mere pleasure of seeing
something a little less dark; it was childish, and absurd, but she was
frightened. The wood seemed to have so many eyes, so many arms, and all
unfriendly; it seemed waiting to give her other blows, other falls, and
to guard her within its darkness until--! She got up, moved a few steps,
and stood still, she had forgotten from where she had come in. And
afraid of moving deeper into the unfriendly wood, she turned slowly
round, trying to tell which way to go. It was all just one dark watching
thing, of limbs on the ground and in the air. 'Any way,' she thought;
'any way of course will take me out!' And she groped forward, keeping her
hands up to guard her face. It was silly, but she could not help the
sinking, scattered feeling which comes to one bushed, or lost in a fog.
If the wood had not been so dark, so,--alive! And for a second she had
the senseless, terrifying thought of a child: 'What if I never get out!'
Then she laughed at it, and stood still again, listening. There was no
sound to guide her, no sound at all except that faint dull rumble, which
seemed to come from every side, now. And the trees watched her. 'Ugh!'
she thought; 'I hate this wood!' She saw it now, its snaky branches, its
darkness, and great forms, as an abode of giants and witches. She groped
and scrambled on again, tripped once mor