The stillness was broken by Miles, the butler, who dropped
and broke one of the plates he carried. He stood looking
after his master with his long, angular chin thrust out,
looking yellower where it caught the yellow light of the lamp below.
His face was thus sharply in shadow, but Paynter fancied for
a moment it was convulsed by some passion passing surprise.
But the face was quite as usual when it turned, and Paynter
realized that a night of fancies had begun, like the cross
purposes of the "Midsummer Night's Dream."

The wood of the strange trees, toward which the Squire was walking,
lay so far forward on the headland, which ultimately almost
overhung the sea, that it could be approached by only one path,
which shone clearly like a silver ribbon in the twilight.
The ribbon ran along the edge of the cliff, where the single
row of deformed trees ran beside it all the way, and eventually
plunged into the closer mass of trees by one natural gateway,
a mere gap in the wood, looking dark, like a lion's mouth.
What became of the path inside could not be seen, but it
doubtless led round the hidden roots of the great central trees.
The Squire was already within a yard or two of this dark entry
when his daughter rose from the table and took a step or two
after him as if to call him back.

Treherne had also risen, and stood as if dazed at the effect of his
idle defiance. When Barbara moved he seemed to recover himself,
and stepping after her, said something which Paynter did not hear.
He said it casually and even distantly enough, but it clearly suggested
something to her mind; for, after a moment's thought, she nodded and
walked back, not toward the table, but apparently toward the house.