e gloomy--an
altogether unprecedented phase for her. This was the case on the morning
after the incident in the Trink-halle. Not to intrude on her, Charlotte
walked about the landings of the sunny white hotel in which they had
taken up their quarters, went down into the court, and petted the
tortoises that were creeping about there among the flowers and plants;
till at last, on going to her friend, she caught her reading some old
letters of Somerset's.

Paula made no secret of them, and Miss De Stancy could see that more
than half were written on blue paper, with diagrams amid the writing:
they were, in fact, simply those sheets of his letters which related to
the rebuilding. Nevertheless, Charlotte fancied she had caught Paula in
a sentimental mood; and doubtless could Somerset have walked in at
this moment instead of Charlotte it might have fared well with him,
so insidiously do tender memories reassert themselves in the face of
outward mishaps.

They took a drive down the Lichtenthal road and then into the forest, De
Stancy and Abner Power riding on horseback alongside. The sun streamed
yellow behind their backs as they wound up the long inclines, lighting
the red trunks, and even the blue-black foliage itself. The summer had
already made impression upon that mass of uniform colour by tipping
every twig with a tiny sprout of virescent yellow; while the minute
sounds which issued from the forest revealed that the apparently still
place was becoming a perfect reservoir of insect life.

Abner Power was quite sentimental that day. 'In such places as these,'
he said, as he rode alongside Mrs. Goodman, 'nature's powers in the
multiplication of one type strike me as much as the grandeur of the
mass.'

Mrs. Goodman agreed with him, and Paula said, 'The foliage forms the
roof of an interminable green crypt, the pillars being the trunks, and
the vault the interlacing boughs.'

'It is a fine place in a thunderstorm,' said De Stancy. 'I am not an
enthusiast, but to see the lightning spring hither and thither,
like lazy-tongs, bristling, and striking, and vanishing, is rather
impressive.'

'It must be indeed,' said Paula.

'And in the winter winds these pines sigh like ten thousand spirits in
trouble.'

'Indeed they must,' said Paula.

'At the same time I know a little fir-plantation about a mile square
not far from Markton,' said De Stancy, 'which is precisely like this
in miniature,--stems, colours, slopes, winds,