slimy weeds entangled. Her sails were housed and snug, the
men in the bows lay under the flapping corner of the jib and played at
cards, though the noise of the raindrops on their canvas roof might well
disturb them. Gilian made no pause; he ran up at the tale's conclusion,
at a bound he was on the shore, staggering upon the rocks and slipping
upon the greasy weeds till he came to the salt bent grass, and with
firmer footing ran like a young deer for the shelter of the wood. The
rain battered after him, the wind rose. In front, the wood, so still an
hour before, in its winter slumber, with no birds now to mar its dreams,
had of a sudden roused to the rumour of the storm. As by an instinct,
the young trees on the edge seemed to shudder before the winds came to
them. Their slim tips could not surely be bowing, even so little, to the
gale that was yet behind Gilian. But he passed them and plunged under
the tall firs, and he felt secure only when the ruddy needles of other
years were a soft carpet underfoot It was true he found shelter here
from the rain that slanted terrifically, but it was not for sanctuary
from the elements he sought the rude aisles, though now he appreciated
the peace of them. It was for escape from himself, from his sense of
hopeless, inexplicable longing, from some tremendous convulsion of his
mind created by Black Duncan's fable.

The wood was all a wood of fir, not old nor very young, but at that mid
age when it has to all of country blood an invitation to odorous dusks
and pathless wanderings below laced branches. The sun never could reach
the heart of it, except at the hour of setting, when it flamed bloody
through the pillars. The rain never seemed to penetrate, for the
fir-needles underfoot grew more dusty year by year. But when the rain
beat as it did now, through the whole of it went a sound of gobbling
and drumming, and the wind, striking upon the trunks as if they were the
strings of Ossian, harped a great and tremendous tune, wanting start or
ending. And by-and-by there came company for Gilian as he sheltered
in the wood. Birds of all kinds beat hurriedly through the trees and
settled upon the boughs with a shudder of the quill, pleased to be out
of the inclement open and cosily mantled in.

The boy went into the very inmost part of the wood without knowing
the reason why thus he should fly from the ship that so recently had
enchanted him, from the tales he loved. But in the soothing presen