and did not know what he feared. He was afraid of what lay behind, and
on all sides, and he was yet more afraid of what lay before him, but he
knew that he could not stay nor turn. He went swiftly, he thought, and
with no sound, towards some appointed place, and the twilight darkened
as he went; when he looked up there was no star nor moon to be seen, and
what had been branches when he set out seemed now to be a roof, so thick
they were. There was no bray of stag, nor rustle of breeze, nor cry of
night-bird. He tried to pray, but he could remember no prayer, and not
even the healthful name of _Jesu_ came to his mind. He could do nought
but look outwards with his straining eyes, and inwards at his soul; and
the one was now as dark as the other. He thought of me then, my
children, and longed to have me there, but he knew that I was asleep in
my bed and far away. He thought of his mother whom he had loved so much,
but he knew that she was gone to God and had left him alone. And still,
through all, his feet bore him on swiftly without sound or fatigue,
though the terror and the darkness were now black as ink. He felt his
hair rising upon his head, and his skin prickle, and the warmth was
altogether gone from his heart, but he could not stay.

And at the last his feet ceased to move, and he stood still, knowing
that he was come to the place.

Now, I do not understand what he said to me of that place. He told me
that he could see nothing; it was as if his eyes were put out, yet he
knew what it was like.

It was a little round place in the forest, with trees standing about it,
and it was trampled hard with the footsteps of those who had come there
before him. But that was no comfort to him now; for he did not know how
these persons had fared, nor where were their souls.