mfool trees,"
he said. "I'll do it for twopence or two thousand pounds, if anyone will
take the bet."

Without waiting for reply, he snatched up his wide white hat and settled
it on with a fierce gesture, and had gone off in great leonine strides
across the lawn before anyone at the table could move.

The stillness was broken by Miles, the butler, who dropped and broke
one of the plates he carried. He stood looking after his master with
his long, angular chin thrust out, looking yellower where it caught the
yellow light of the lamp below. His face was thus sharply in shadow, but
Paynter fancied for a moment it was convulsed by some passion passing
surprise. But the face was quite as usual when it turned, and Paynter
realized that a night of fancies had begun, like the cross purposes of
the "Midsummer Night's Dream."

The wood of the strange trees, toward which the Squire was walking, lay
so far forward on the headland, which ultimately almost overhung the
sea, that it could be approached by only one path, which shone clearly
like a silver ribbon in the twilight. The ribbon ran along the edge of
the cliff, where the single row of deformed trees ran beside it all the
way, and eventually plunged into the closer mass of trees by one natural
gateway, a mere gap in the wood, looking dark, like a lion's mouth. What
became of the path inside could not be seen, but it doubtless led round
the hidden roots of the great central trees. The Squire was already
within a yard or two of this dark entry when his daughter rose from the
table and took a step or two after him as if to call him back.

Treherne had also risen, and stood as if dazed at the effect of his idle
defiance. When Barbara moved he seemed to recover himself, and stepping
after her, said something which Paynter did not hear. He said it
casually and even distantly enough, but it clearly suggested something
to her mind; for, after a moment's thought, she nodded and walked back,
not toward the table, but apparently toward the house. Paynter looked
after her with a momentary curiosity, and when he turned again the
Squire had vanished into the hole in the wood.

"He's gone," said Treherne, with a clang of finality in his tones, like
the slamming of a door.

"Well, suppose he has?" cried the lawyer, roused at the voice. "The
Squire can go into his own wood, I suppose! What the devil's all the
fuss about, Mr. Paynter? Don't tell me you think there's any harm in
that plan