It was a path that Gordon often chose when he wanted to be alone.

The way was steep and rocky, and was so little used that often he never met any one from the time he plunged into the woods until he emerged from them on the other side of the Ridge.

In some places the pines were so thick that it was always twilight among them; in others they rose high and stately in the full majesty of primeval growth, keeping at a distance from each other, as though, like another growth, the higher they got the more distant they wished to hold all others.

Trees have so much in common with men, it is no wonder that the ancients, who lived closer to both than we do nowadays, fabled that minds of men sometimes inhabited their trunks.
Gordon Keith was in a particularly gloomy frame of mind on this day.

He had been trying to inspire in his pupils some conception of the poetry contained in history.