Careless of weather, and one with the elements, she sang her way through the wood—youth at its peak.

 

Her sight was excellent, so that she could distinguish the lane of single trees, where the plantation thinned towards its end. But her imagination was more blunted than Helen’s, so that she did notice that one Of the trees was apparently rootless, for it shifted behind the trunks of its fellows.

Had she remarked it, she would have distrusted the evi dence of her eyes. Common sense told her that trees did not move from their stations. So she hurried on, and sang yet louder.

“I only pray that life may bring Love’s sweet story to you.”

When she reached the last tree, it suddenly changed intoa man. Its branches were clutching arms… . But still she did not believe.

For she knew that. these things do not happen.

CHAPTER IV

ANCIENT LIGHTS

 

The tree moved,” declared Helen, finishing her story, in the safety of the kitchen. “And-to my horror-I saw that it was a man. He was waiting there, like a tiger ready to spring on his prey.”

“Go on.” Mrs. Oates was openly derisive. “I’ve seen that tree, myself. Often seen him, I have, waiting for Ceridwen, when she used to work here. And was never the same tree twice.”

“Cerwiden?” repeated Helen.

“Yes. She lives in a cottage halfway up-the hill. A pretty girl, but she would mix her cloths. Old Lady Warren couldn’t abide her. She said as how her feet smelt, and when she dusted under her bed, her ladyship used to wait for her, with her stick, until she crawled out, so as to fetch her a clout on the head.”

Helen burst out laughing. Life might ignore her, but she remained acutely conscious and appreciative of the eternal comedy.

“The old darling gets better and better,” she declared. “I wish you’d give me the job of dusting under her bed. She’d find me a bit too quick for her.”

“So was Cerwiden. She used to bait the old girl shooting out when she wasn’t expecting her… . But she got her, in the end. She fetched her such a crack that her father came and took her away.”

“She certainly makes–-What’s that?”

Helen broke off to listen. Once again the sound was repeated-an insistent tapping on a window-pane. Although she could not locate it, it seemed to be not far away.

“Is someone knocking?” she asked.

Mrs. Oates listened also..

“It must be the passage window,” Mrs. Oates said. “The catch’ is loose. Oates did talk of mending it.”

“That doesn’t sound too safe,” objected Helen.

“Now, miss, don’t worry. The shutter’s put up.