“The fir-trees are like presences on the darkness: each one only a presence.”
She was afraid, and said nothing.
“A sort of hush: the whole night wondering and asleep: I suppose that’s what we do in death — sleep in wonder.”
She had been afraid before of the brute in him: now of the mystic. She trod beside him in silence. The rain fell with a heavy “Hush!” on the trees. At last they gained the cartshed.
“Let us stay here awhile,” he said.
There was a sound of rain everywhere, smothering everything.
