Only along the edges of the wood the dry little paper immortelles spread long shrouds and wreaths in the shade.
Suddenly you feel lonely in the woods, which had seemed so companionable all Summer.

What is it--_Who_ is it--that has gone?
Though quite alone, there was some one with you all Summer, an invisible being filling the woods with his presence, and always at your side, or somewhere near by.
But to-day, through all the green halls and chambers of the wood, you seek him in vain.

You call, but there is no answer.

You wait, but he does not come.

He has gone.