For a time he resisted the impulse.

What if she should come by another path while he was gone?
He waited nervously in the edge of the forest, watching, and listening for footsteps.

Each minute seemed like an hour marked into seconds by the solemn steady tolling of the bell, and after a little he found himself unconsciously measuring time by counting the strokes.

Then he went out into the path.

He followed it, step by step, until he could no longer see the light in the cabin; his pulse beat a little faster; he stared ahead into the deep gloom between the walls of forest--and quickened his pace.