They drifted nearer to the bank, and Helena perceived, at the end of a little creek, a magnificent group of yew trees, of which the lower branches were almost in the water.

Behind them, and to the side of them, through a gap in the wood, the moonlight found its way, but they themselves stood against the faint light, superbly dark, and impenetrable, black water at their feet.

Buntingford pointed to them.
"They're fine, aren't they?
This lake of course is artificial, and the park was only made out of arable land a hundred years ago.

I always imagine these trees mark some dwelling-house, which has disappeared.

They used to be my chief haunt when I was a boy.