"Perhaps we shall find her there," said Geoffrey with a laugh.

"Your woman? No! That would be rather creepy! To think we had a spy on us
all the time! I should hate that!"

She spoke with animation; and a sudden question shot across French's
mind. She and Buntingford had been alone there under the darkness of the
yews. If a listener had been lurking in that old hiding-place, what would
he--or she--have heard? Then he shook the thought from him, and rowed
vigorously for the creek.

He tied the boat to a willow-stump, and helped Helena to land.

"I warn you--" he said, laughing. "You'll tear your dress, and wet
your shoes."

But with her skirts gathered tight round her she was already
halfway through the branches, and Geoffrey heard her voice from the
further side--

"Oh I--such a wonderful place!"

He followed her quickly, and was no less astonished than she. They stood
in a kind of natural hall, like that "pillared shade" under the yews of
Borrowdale, which Wordsworth has made immortal:

beneath whose sable roof
Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked
With unrejoicing berries, Ghostly shapes
May meet at noon-tide; Fear and trembling Hope,