He strolled indolently about
the crest of the hill, whistling to the breeze, his eyes hunting the
wood beneath like the eyes of a young setter at heel. But when at last
he was out of sight he slipped his leash and was off, running
recklessly, headlong. The hill rose up behind him and sent him down
its hillocky slopes as though before the horns of an avalanche. The
wind blew the scent of trees and flowers and young grass against his
burning face. It was like draughts of a cold, clear wine. It was like
running full-tilt down Acacia Grove leaping and whooping.
It was frightening, too--a hand fumbling at the heart--this fierce
coming to life of something dormant, this breaking free----
The wood had swallowed her. He drew up panting in the cool twilight.
Beyond the faint breathing of the leaves overhead and the secret
movement of hidden things, there was no sound. He walked on quickly.
At first it was only suspense, childish, thrilling. Then it was more
than that. His heart began to beat quickly. He tried to call her, but
the quiet daunted him. The wood was a still, green pool into which she
had dropped and vanished. It was an enchanted wood. There was
enchantment all about her. They had seemed so near to one another--and
then in a moment she had slipped away from him into a life of her own
where he could not follow.
He had to find her and hold her fast. Nothing else mattered--neither
his work, nor his career, nor Christine.
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