The sawyers' trestles, rearing their meagre framework in a corner, seemed to form gallows, or the uprights of a guillotine.

And there was no living soul there excepting three gipsies who showed their frightened faces at the door of their van--an old man and woman, and a big girl with woolly hair, whose eyes gleamed like those of a wolf.
Before reaching the secluded path, Silvere looked round him.

He bethought himself of a far away Sunday when he had crossed the wood-yard in the bright moonlight.

How calm and soft it had been!--how slowly had the pale rays passed over the beams! Supreme silence had fallen from the frozen sky.

And amidst this silence, the woolly-haired gipsy girl had sung in a low key and an unknown tongue.