o. It was like a maze sprung suddenly into movement. The whirling of
the intricate lines bewildered him. They went so fast, leaving but half
an explanation of their goal. He followed first one, then another, but a
new one always dashed across to intercept before he could get anywhere.

"But India," he said, presently in a lower voice, "India is so far
away--from this little English forest. The trees, too, are utterly
different for one thing?"

The rustle of skirts warned of Mrs. Bittacy's approach. This was a
sentence he could turn round another way in case she came up and pressed
for explanation.

"There is communion among trees all the world over," was the strange
quick reply. "They always know."

"They always know! You think then--?"

"The winds, you see--the great, swift carriers! They have their ancient
rights of way about the world. An easterly wind, for instance, carrying
on stage by stage as it were--linking dropped messages and meanings from
land to land like the birds--an easterly wind--"

Mrs. Bittacy swept in upon them with the tumbler--

"There, David," she said, "that will ward off any beginnings of attack.
Just a spoonful, dear. Oh, oh! not _all_ !" for he had swallowed half
the contents at a single gulp as usual; "another dose before you go to
bed, and the balance in the morning, first thing when you wake."

She turned to her guest, who put the tumbler down for her upon a table
at his elbow. She had heard them speak of the east wind. She emphasized
the warning she had misinterpreted. The private part of the conversation
came to an abrupt end.

"It is the one thing that upsets him more than any other--an east wind,"
she said, "and I am glad, Mr. Sanderson, to hear you think so too."

~III~

A deep hush followed, in the middle of which an owl was heard calling
its muffled note in the forest. A big moth whirred with a soft collision
against one of the windows. Mrs. Bittacy started slightly, but no one
spoke. Above the trees the stars were faintly visible. From the distance
came the barking of a dog.

Bittacy, relighting his cigar, broke the little spell of silence that
had caught all three.

"It's rather a comforting thought," he said, throwing the match out of
the window, "that life is about us everywhere, and that there is really
no dividing line between what we call organic and inorganic."

"The universe, yes," said Sanderson, "is all one, really. We're puzzled
by the gaps we cannot