love she had borne him all these years, like the love she bore her
anthropomorphic deity, was deep and real. She loved to suffer for them
both. Besides, the way her husband had put it to her was singular. It
did not take the form of a mere selfish predilection. Something higher
than two wills in conflict seeking compromise was in it from the
beginning.

"I feel, Sophia, it would be really more than I could manage," he said
slowly, gazing into the fire over the tops of his stretched-out muddy
boots. "My duty and my happiness lie here with the Forest and with you.
My life is deeply rooted in this place. Something I can't define
connects my inner being with these trees, and separation would make me
ill--might even kill me. My hold on life would weaken; here is my source
of supply. I cannot explain it better than that." He looked up steadily
into her face across the table so that she saw the gravity of his
expression and the shining of his steady eyes.

"David, you feel it as strongly as that!" she said, forgetting the tea
things altogether.

"Yes," he replied, "I do. And it's not of the body only, I feel it in my
soul."

The reality of what he hinted at crept into that shadow-covered room
like an actual Presence and stood beside them. It came not by the
windows or the door, but it filled the entire space between the walls
and ceiling. It took the heat from the fire before her face. She felt
suddenly cold, confused a little, frightened. She almost felt the rush
of foliage in the wind. It stood between them.