The sequestered boskage of the trees had gradually thinned, finally dwarfing into a green drift of fern and birchen foliage which rose no higher than Black Darnaway's chest, and through which his rider's laced boots brushed till the Spanish leather of their gold-embossed frontlets was all jetted with gouts of dew.
Before him swept horizonwards a great upward drift of solemn pine trees, the like of which for size he had never seen in all his domain.
Or so, at least, it seemed in that hour of mystery and glamour.

For behind them the evening sky had dulled to a deep and solemn wash of blood red, across which lay one lonely bar of black cloud, solid as spilled ink on a monkish page.

But under the trees themselves, blazing with lamps and breathing odours of all grace and daintiness, stood a lighted pavilion of rose-coloured silk, anchored to the ground with ropes of sendal of the richest crimson hue.
"Let your horse go free, or tether him to a pine; in either case he will not wander far," said the girl.

"I fear my fellows have gone off to lay in provisions.

We have taken a day or two more on the way than we had counted on, so that to-night's feast makes an end of our store.
But still there is enough for two.