IT　was　like　a　May　morning；　so　mild　was　the　air；　so　gay　the　sunshine；　when　the　mist　had　risen。　Wild　flowers　were　blooming；　and　here　and　there　unfolding　leaves　made　a　delicate　fretwork　against　a　deep　blue　sky。　The　wind　did　not　blow；　everywhere　were　stillness　soft　and　sweet；　dewy　freshness；　careless　peace。
  Hour　after　hour　I　walked　slowly　through　the　woodland；　pausing　now　and　then　to　look　from　side　to　side。　It　was　idle　going；　wandering　in　a　desert　with　no　guiding　star。　The　place　where　I　would　be　might　lie　to　the　east；　to　the　west。　In　the　wide　enshrouding　forest　I　might　have　passed　it　by。　I　believed　not　that　I　had　done　so。　Surely；　surely　I　should　have　known；　surely　the　voice　that　lived　only　in　my　heart　would　have　called　to　me　to　stay。
  Beside　a　newly　felled　tree；　in　a　glade　starred　with　small　white　flowers；　I　came　upon　the　bodies　of　a　man　and　a　boy；　so　hacked；　so　hewn；　so　robbed　of　all　comeliness；　that　at　the　sight　the　heart　stood　still　and　the　brain　grew　sick。　Farther　on　was　a　clearing；　and　in　its　midst　the　charred　and　blackened　walls　of　what　had　been　a　home。　I　crossed　the　freshly　turned　earth；　and　looked　in　at　the　cabin　door　with　the　stillness　and　the　sunshine。　A　woman　lay　dead　upon　the　floor；　her　outstretched　hand　clenched　upon　the　foot　of　a　cradle。　I　entered　the　room；　and；　looking　within　the　cradle；　　found　that　the　babe　had　not　been　spared。　Taking　up　the　little　waxen　body　with　the　blood　upon　its　innocent　breast；　I　laid　it　within　the　mother's　arms；　and　went　my　way　over　the　sunny　doorstep　and　the　earth　that　had　been　made　ready　for　planting。　A　white　butterfly　…　the　first　of　the　year　…　fluttered　before　me；　then　rose　through　a　mist　of　green　and　passed　from　my　sight。
  The　sun　climbed　higher　into　the　deep　blue　sky。　Save　where　grew　pines　or　cedars　there　were　no　shadowy　places　in　the　forest。　The　slight　green　of　uncurling　leaves；　the　airy　scarlet　of　the　maples；　the　bare　branches　of　the　tardier　trees；　opposed　no　barrier　to　the　sunlight。　It　streamed　into　the　world　below　the　treetops；　and　lay　warm　upon　the　dead　leaves　and　the　green　moss　and　the　fragile　wild　flowers。　There　was　a　noise　of　birds；　and　a　fox　barked。　All　was　lightness；　gayety；　and　warmth；　the　sap　was　running；　the　heyday　of　the　spring　at　hand。　Ah！　to　be　riding　with　her；　to　be　going　home　through　the　fairy　forest；　the　sunshine；　and　the　singing！　。　。　。　The　happy　miles　to　Weyanoke；　the　smell　of　the　sassafras　in　its　woods；　the　house　all　lit　and　trimmed。　The　fire　kindled；　the　wine　upon　the　table　。　。　。　Diccon's　welcoming　face；　and　his　hand　upon　Black　Lamoral's　bridle；　the　minister；　too；　maybe；　with　his　great　heart　and　his　kindly　eyes；　her　hand　in　mine；　her　head　upon　my　breast　…
  The　vision　faded。　Never；　never；　never　for　me　a　home…coming　such　as　that；　so　deep；　so　dear；　so　sweet。　The　men　who　were　my　friends；　the　woman　whom　I　loved；　had　gone　into　a　far　country。　This　world　was　not　their　home。　They　had　crossed　the　threshold　while　I　lagged　behind。　The　door　was　shut；　and　without　were　the　night　and　I。
  With　the　fading　of　the　vision　came　a　sudden　　　consciousness　of　a　presence　in　the　forest　other　than　my　own。　I　turned　sharply；　and　saw　an　Indian　walking　with　me；　step　for　step；　but　with　a　space　between　us　of　earth　and　brown　tree　trunks　and　drooping　branches。　For　a　moment　I　thought　that　he　was　a　shadow；　not　substance；　then　I　stood　still；　waiting　for　him　to　speak　or　to　draw　nearer。　At　the　first　glimpse　of　the　bronze　figure　I　had　touched　my　sword；　but　when　I　saw　who　it　was　I　let　my　hand　fall。　He　too　paused；　but　he　did　not　offer　to　speak。　With　his　hand　upon　a　great　bow；　he　waited；　motionless　in　the　sunlight。　A　minute　or　more　thus；　then　I　walked　on　with　my　eyes　upon　him。
  At　once　he　addressed　himself　to　motion；　not　speaking　or　making　any　sign　or　lessening　the　distance　between　us；　but　moving　as　I　moved　through　the　light　and　shade；　the　warmth　and　stillness；　of　the　forest。　For　a　time　I　kept　my　eyes　upon　him；　but　soon　I　was　back　with　my　dreams　again。　It　seemed　not　worth　while　to　wonder　why　he　walked　with　me；　who　was　now　the　mortal　foe　of　the　people　to　whom　he　had　returned。
  From　the　river　bank；　the　sycamore；　and　the　boat　that　I　had　fastened　there；　I　had　gone　northward　toward　the　Pamunkey；　from　the　clearing　and　the　ruined　cabin　with　the　dead　within　it；　I　had　turned　to　the　eastward。　Now；　in　that　hopeless　wandering；　I　would　have　faced　the　north　again。　But　the　Indian　who　had　made　himself　my　traveling　companion　stopped　short；　and　pointed　to　the　east。　I　looked　at　him；　and　thought　that　he　knew；　maybe；　of　some　war　party　between　us　and　the　Pamunkey；　and　would　save　me　from　it。　A　listlessness　had　come　upon　me；　and　I　obeyed　the　pointing　finger。
  So；　estranged　and　silent；　with　two　spears'　length　of　earth　between　us；　we　went　on　until　we　came　to　a　quiet　　stream　flowing　between　low；　dark　banks。　Again　I　would　have　turned　to　the　northward；　but　the　son　of　Powhatan；　gliding　before　me；　set　his　face　down　the　stream；　toward　the　river　I　had　left。　A　minute　in　which　I　tried　to　think　and　could　not；　because　in　my　ears　was　the　singing　of　the　birds　at　Weyanoke；　then　I　followed　him。
  How　long　I　walked　in　a　dream；　hand　in　hand　with　the　sweetness　of　the　past；　I　do　not　know；　but　when　the　present　and　its　anguish　weighed　again　upon　my　heart　it　was　darker；　colder；　stiller；　in　the　forest。　The　soundless　stream　was　bright　no　longer；　the　golden　sunshine　that　had　lain　upon　the　earth　was　all　gathered　up；　the　earth　was　dark　and　smooth　and　bare；　with　not　a　flower；　the　tree　trunks　were　many　and　straight　and　tall。　Above　were　no　longer　brown　branch　and　blue　sky；　but　a　deep　and　sombre　green；　thick　woven；　keeping　out　the　sunlight　like　a　pall。　I　stood　still　and　gazed　around　me；　and　knew　the　place。
  To　me；　whose　heart　was　haunted；　the　dismal　wood；　the　charmed　silence；　the　withdrawal　of　the　light；　were　less　than　nothing。　All　day　I　had　looked　for　one　sight　of　horror；　yea；　had　longed　to　come　at　last　upon　it；　to　fall　beside　it；　to　embrace　it　with　my　arms。　There；　there；　though　it　should　be　some　fair　and　sunny　spot；　there　would　be　my　haunted　wood。　As　for　this　place　of　gloom　and　stillness；　it　fell　in　with　my　mood。　More　welcome　than　the　mocking　sunshine　were　this　cold　and　solemn　light；　this　deathlike　silence；　these　ranged　pines。　It　was　a　place　in　which　to　think　of　life　as　a　slight　thing　and　scarcely　worth　the　while；　given　without　the　asking；　spent　in　turmoil；　strife；　suffering；　and　longings　all　in　vain。　Easily　laid　down；　too；　…　so　easily　laid　down　that　the　wonder　was　…
  I　looked　at　the　ghostly　wood；　and　at　the　dull　stream；　and　at　my　hand　upon　the　hilt　of　the　sword　that　I　had　drawn　halfway　from　the　scabbard。　The　life　within　that　hand　I　had　not　asked　for。　Why　should　I　stand　like　a　soldier　left　to　guard　a　thing　not　worth　the　guarding；　seeing　his　comrades　march　homeward；　hearing　a　cry　to　him　from　his　distant　hearthstone？
  I　drew　my　sword　well…nigh　from　its　sheath；　and　then　of　a　sudden　I　saw　the　matter　in　a　truer　light；　knew　that　I　was　indeed　the　soldier；　and　willed　to　be　neither　coward　nor　deserter。　The　blade　dropped　back　into　the　scabbard　with　a　clang；　and；　straightening　myself；　I　walked　on　beside　the　sluggish　stream　deep　into　the　haunted　wood。
  Presently　it　occurred　to　me　to　glance　aside　at　the　Indian　who　had　kept　pace　with　me　through　the　forest。　He　was　not　there；　he　walked　with　me　no　longer；　save　for　myself　there　seemed　no　breathing　creature　in　the　dim　wood。　I　looked　to　right　and　left；　and　saw　only　the　tall；　straight　pines　and　the　needle…strewn　ground。　How　long　he　had　been　gone　I　could　not　tell。　He　might　have　left　me　when　first　we　came　to　the　pines；　for　my　dreams　had　held　me；　and　I　had　not　looked　his　way。
  There　was　that　in　the　twilight　place；　or　in　the　strangeness；　the　horror；　and　the　yearning　that　had　kept　company　with　me　that　day；　or　in　the　dull　weariness　of　a　mind　and　body　overwrought　of　late；　which　made　thought　impossible。　I　went　on　down　the　stream　toward　the　river；　because　it　chanced　that　my　face　was　set　in　that　direction。
  How　dark　was　the　shadow　of　the　pines；　how　lifeless　the　earth　beneath；　how　faint　and　far　away　the　blue　that　showed　here　and　there　through　rifts　in　the　heavy　　roof　of　foliage！　The　stream　bending　to　one　side　I　turned　with　it；　and　there　before　me　stood　the　minister！
  I　do　not　know　what　strangled　cry　burst　from　me。　The　earth　was　rocking；　all　the　wood　a　glare　of　light。　As　for　him；　at　the　sight　of　me　and　the　sound　of　my　voice　he　had　staggered　back　against　a　tree；　but　now；　recovering　himself；　he　ran　to　me　and　put　his　great　arms　about　me。　〃From　the　power　of　the　dog；　from　the　lion's　mouth；〃　he　cried　brokenly。　〃And　they　slew　thee　not；　Ralph；　the　heathen　who　took　thee　away！　Yesternight　I　learned　that　you　lived；　but　I　looked　not　for　you　here。〃
  I　scarce　heard　or　marked　what　he　was　saying；　and　found　no　time　in　which　to　wonder　at　his　knowledge　that　I　had　not　perished。　I　only　saw　that　he　was　alone；　and　that　in　the　evening　wood　there　was　no　sign　of　other　living　creature。
  〃Yea；　they　slew　me　not；　Jeremy；〃　I　said。　〃I　would　that　they　had　done　so。　And　you　are　alone？　I　am　glad　that　you　died　not；　my　friend；　yes；　faith；　I　am　very　glad　that　one　escaped。　Tell　me　about　it；　and　I　will　sit　here　upon　the　bank　and　listen。　Was　it　done　in　this　wood？　A　gloomy　deathbed；　friend；　for　one　so　young　and　fair。　She　should　have　died　to　soft　music；　in　the　su