He knew those trees, that smell, that heavy overhanging sky.

Then he remembered, as I had remembered, his dream.

But whereas that dream had been to me only a reflected story, with him it had lasted throughout his life.

He knew every step of that first advance into the forest, the look back to the long dim white house with shadowy figures still about it, the avenue with many trees, the horses and dogs down the first grey path, then the sudden loneliness, the quiet broken only by the dripping of the trees.
Always that had caught him by the throat with terror, and now to-day he was caught once again.

He was watched: he fancied that he could see the eyes behind the thicket and hear the rustling movement of somebody.