beside him.

"It is in the wind," said Sanderson, speaking for the first time, very
quietly. The expression on his face was not visible in the gloom, but
his voice was soft and unafraid. At the sound of it, Mrs. Bittacy
started violently again. Bittacy drew his chair a little forward to
obstruct her view of him. He felt bewildered himself, a little, hardly
knowing quite what to say or do. It was all so very curious and sudden.

But Mrs. Bittacy was badly frightened. It seemed to her that what she
saw came from the enveloping forest just beyond their little garden. It
emerged in a sort of secret way, moving towards them as with a purpose,
stealthily, difficultly. Then something stopped it. It could not advance
beyond the cedar. The cedar--this impression remained with her
afterwards too--prevented, kept it back. Like a rising sea the Forest
had surged a moment in their direction through the covering darkness,
and this visible movement was its first wave. Thus to her mind it
seemed... like that mysterious turn of the tide that used to frighten
and mystify her in childhood on the sands. The outward surge of some
enormous Power was what she felt... something to which every instinct in
her being rose in opposition because it threatened her and hers. In that
moment she realized the Personality of the Forest... menacing.

In the stumbling movement that she made away from the window and towards
the bell she barely caught the sentence Sanderson--or was it her
husband?--murmured to himself: "It came because we talked of it; our
thinking made it aware of us and brought it out. But the cedar stops it.
It cannot cross the lawn, you see...."

All three were standing now, and her husband's voice broke in with
authority while his wife's fingers touched the bell.

"My dear, I should _not_ say anything to Thompson." The anxiety he felt
was manifest in his voice, but his outward composure had returned. "The
gardener can go...."

Then Sanderson cut him short. "Allow me," he said quickly. "I'll see if
anything's wrong." And before either of them could answer or object, he
was gone, leaping out by the open window. They saw his figure vanish
with a run across the lawn into the darkness.

A moment later the maid entered, in answer to the bell, and with her
came the loud barking of the terrier from the hall.

"The lamps," said her master shortly, and as she softly closed the door
behind her, they heard the wind pass with a mournful sou