s upon the hillock behind the lodge, pulling at their
chains and keeping up a vociferous chorus. Thus heralded, the riders
passed into the mysteriously whispering quiet of the great woods.

The heavy, summer foliage remained as yet untouched by the hectic of
autumn. Diversity was observable in form rather than in tint, and from
this resulted a remarkable effect of unity, a singleness of intention,
and of far-reaching secrecy. The multitudinous leaves and the
all-pervading green gloom of them around, above, seemed to engulf
horses and riders. It was as though they rode across the floor of
ocean, the green tides sweeping overhead. Yet the trees of the wood
asserted their intelligent presence now and again. Audibly they talked
together, bent themselves a little to listen and to look, as though
curious of the aspect and purposes of these wandering mortals. And all
this, the unity and secrecy of the place, affected both Richard and
Honoria strangely, circling them about with something of earth-magic,
removing them far from ordinary conditions of social intercourse, and
thus rendering it possible, inevitable even, that they should think
such thoughts and say such words as part company with subterfuge and
concealment, go naked, and speak uttermost truth. For, with only the
trees of the wood to listen, with that sibilant whisper of the green
tide overhead, with strong emotion compelling them--in the one case
towards death of self, in the other towards giving of self--in the one
towards austere passivity, in the other towards activity taxing all
capital of pride, of delicacy, and of tact--developments became
imminent, and those of the most vital sort.

The conversation had been broken, desultory; but now, by tacit consent,
the pace became quiet again, the horses were permitted to walk. To have
gone other than softly through the living heart of the greenwood must
have savoured of desecration. Yet Richard was not insensible to a
certain danger. He tried, rousing himself to conversation, to rouse
himself also to the practical and commonplace.

"I am glad you liked my house," he said. "But I hear the aristocracy of
the Row laments. It shies at the idea of being invaded by more or less
frightful creatures. But I remain deaf. I really can't bother about
that. It is so immeasurably more unpleasant to be frightful than to see
that which is so, that I'm afraid my sympathies remain rather
pig-headedly one-sided. I propose to educate the