There
seemed something stealthy in this uncanny stillness so that I grew
stealthy also and set myself to keep my spurs from jingling, for
unseen eyes seemed to be watching me. The deeper I penetrated this
dismal wood, the darker it grew, and I advanced, cautious and silent,
and with a vague sense of expectancy though of what I could not
determine. With the glad sunshine my joyousness had vanished, in its
stead came again doubt and foreboding with my devil that gibbered upon
my heels; demons and evil things seemed all about me.
But suddenly I came out upon a narrow track or rather footpath and
though the kindly sun contrived to send down a fugitive shaft ever and
anon, yet my depression was in no wise abated and I began to hurry my
steps, anxious to be out of these dismal shadows. All at once I
halted, for before me was a lofty wall and I saw that the path led to
a low-arched doorway or postern, a small door but of great apparent
strength, that seemed to scowl upon me between its deep buttresses.
And now as I gazed there grew within me an indefinable feeling, a
growing certainty of something very threatening and sinister about
this door, and turning, I hasted back along the path, turning neither
to right nor left, hurrying as from something beyond expression evil.
Nor did I stop or glance back until I was out in the pure sunshine and
the cosy inn of the "Soaring Lark" seemed to smile at me beyond broad
meadows, blinking its bright casements like so many bright eyes in
cheery welcome.
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