The brushed branches made a noise that drowned the sounds of cannon.

He walked on, going from obscurity into promises of a greater obscurity.
At length he reached a place where the high, arching boughs made a chapel.

He softly pushed the green doors aside and entered.

Pine needles were a gentle brown carpet.

There was a religious half light.
Near the threshold he stopped, horror-stricken at the sight of a thing.
He was being looked at by a dead man who was seated with his back against a columnlike tree.