his language might be, however, and whatever subtle dangers lay
concealed behind them meanwhile, they certainly wove a kind of gentle
spell with the glimmering darkness that held all three delicately
enmeshed there by that open window. The odors of dewy lawn, flowers,
trees, and earth formed part of it.

"The moods," he continued, "that people waken in us are due to their
hidden life affecting our own. Deep calls to sleep. A person, for
instance, joins you in an empty room: you both instantly change. The new
arrival, though in silence, has caused a change of mood. May not the
moods of Nature touch and stir us in virtue of a similar prerogative?
The sea, the hills, the desert, wake passion, joy, terror, as the case
may be; for a few, perhaps," he glanced significantly at his host so
that Mrs. Bittacy again caught the turning of his eyes, "emotions of a
curious, flaming splendor that are quite nameless. Well ... whence come
these powers? Surely from nothing that is ... dead! Does not the
influence of a forest, its sway and strange ascendancy over certain
minds, betray a direct manifestation of life? It lies otherwise beyond
all explanation, this mysterious emanation of big woods. Some natures,
of course, deliberately invite it. The authority of a host of
trees,"--his voice grew almost solemn as he said the words--"is
something not to be denied. One feels it here, I think, particularly."

There was considerable tension in the air as he ceased speaking. Mr.
Bittacy had not intended that the talk should go so far. They had
drifted. He did not wish to see his wife unhappy or afraid, and he was
aware--acutely so--that her feelings were stirred to a point he did not
care about. Something in her, as he put it, was "working up" towards
explosion.