And then upon Helena, just why she could not tell, began to steal an
uneasiness that frightened her a little. It had grown suddenly,
intensely dark--quicker than the slow, creeping change of dusk blending
softly into night. Sort of eerie, it seemed--and a wind springing up and
rustling through the branches made strange noises all about. They seemed
to be shut in by a wall of blackness on every hand, except ahead where,
like great streaming eyes of fire, the powerful lamps shot out their
rays making weird color effects in the forest--huge tree-trunks loomed a
dead drab, like mute sentinels, grim and ominous, that barred their way;
now, in the full glare, the foliage took on the softest fairy shade of
green; now, tapering off, heavier in color, it merged into impenetrable
black; and, with the jouncing of the car, the light rays jiggling up and
down gave an unnatural semblance as of moving, animate things before
them, a myriad of them, ever retreating, but ever marshalling their
forces again as though threatening attack, as though to oppose the car's
advance.

What was there to be afraid of? She tried to laugh at herself--it was
perfectly ridiculous. A little bit of rough road--the forest that she
loved around her--even if it was very dark. They would come out
eventually somewhere on the trunk-road to Barton's Mills--that was all
there was to it. Meanwhile, it was quite an experience, and she had
every confidence in Thornton. She glanced at him now. It was too dark to
get more than an indistinct outline of the clean-cut profile, but there
was something inspiriting in the alert, self-possessed, competent poise
of his body as he crouched well forward over the wheel, his eyes never
lifting from the road ahead.

They appeared to be going a little faster now, too--undoubtedly the road