their tread exactly as it had cushioned her own.

It seemed to her the trees were always in the house with him, and in
their very bedroom. He welcomed them, unaware that she also knew, and
trembled.

One night in their bedroom it caught her unawares. She woke out of deep
sleep and it came upon her before she could gather her forces for
control.

The day had been wildly boisterous, but now the wind had dropped, only
its rags went fluttering through the night. The rays of the full moon
fell in a shower between the branches. Overhead still raced the scud and
wrack, shaped like hurrying monsters; but below the earth was quiet.
Still and dripping stood the hosts of trees. Their trunks gleamed wet
and sparkling where the moon caught them. There was a strong smell of
mould and fallen leaves. The air was sharp--heavy with odor.

And she knew all this the instant that she woke; for it seemed to her
that she had been elsewhere--following her husband--as though she had
been _out_! There was no dream at all, merely the definite, haunting
certainty. It dived away, lost, buried in the night. She sat upright in
bed. She had come back.

The room shone pale in the moonlight reflected through the windows, for
the blinds were up, and she saw her husband's form beside her,
motionless in deep sleep. But what caught her unawares was the horrid
thing that by this fact of sudden, unexpected waking she had surprised
these other things in the room, beside the very bed, gathered close
about him while he slept. It was their dreadful boldness--herself of no