He turned to the Captain, and said, good-humoredly: "You see the compass was right." Captain Stanwick, answered, sharply: "There are more ways than one out of an English wood; you talk as if we were in one of your American forests." Mr.Varleigh seemed to be at a loss to understand his rudeness; there was a pause.

The two men looked at each other, standing face to face on the brown earth of the clearing--the Englishman's ruddy countenance, light auburn hair and whiskers, and well-opened bold blue eyes, contrasting with the pale complexion, the keenly-observant look, the dark closely-cut hair, and the delicately-lined face of the American.
It was only for a moment: I had barely time to feel uneasy before they controlled themselves and led us back to the carriage, talking as pleasantly as if nothing had happened.

For days afterward, nevertheless, that scene in the clearing--the faces and figures of the two men, the dark line of trees hemming them in on all sides, the brown circular patch of ground on which they stood--haunted my memory, and got in the way of my brighter and happier thoughts.

When my aunt inquired if I had enjoyed the day, I surprised her by saying No.

And when she asked why, I could only answer: "It was all spoiled by Herne Wood." III.
THREE weeks passed.
The terror of those dreadful days creeps over me again when I think of them.