unk whose bark glimmered faintly. She
felt it with her cheek, quite smooth--a birch tree; and, with her arms
round it, she stood perfectly still. Wonderfully, magically silent,
fresh and sweet-scented and dark! The little tree trembled suddenly
within her arms, and she heard the low distant rumble, to which she had
grown so accustomed--the guns, always at work, killing--killing men and
killing trees, little trees perhaps like this within her arms, little
trembling trees! Out there, in this dark night, there would not be a
single unscarred tree like this smooth quivering thing, no fields of
corn, not even a bush or a blade of grass, no leaves to rustle and smell
sweet, not a bird, no little soft-footed night beasts, except the rats;
and she shuddered, thinking of the Belgian soldier-painter. Holding the
tree tight, she squeezed its smooth body against her. A rush of the same
helpless, hopeless revolt and sorrow overtook her, which had wrung from
her that passionate little outburst to her father, the night before he
went away. Killed, torn, and bruised; burned, and killed, like Cyril!
All the young things, like this little tree.

Rumble! Rumble! Quiver! Quiver! And all else so still, so sweet and
still, and starry, up there through the leaves.... 'I can't bear it!'
she thought. 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 childi