. The path led out of the trees. On the edge of
the wood he pulled up and stood watching. There in the spacious sunshine
of the valley soldiers were moving in a little swarm. Every now and then,
a man harrowing on a strip of fallow shouted to his oxen, at the turn.
The village and the white-towered church was small in the sunshine. And
he no longer belonged to it--he sat there, beyond, like a man outside
in the dark. He had gone out from everyday life into the unknown, and he
could not, he even did not want to go back.

Turning from the sun-blazing valley, he rode deep into the wood.
Tree-trunks, like people standing grey and still, took no notice as he
went. A doe, herself a moving bit of sunshine and shadow, went running
through the flecked shade. There were bright green rents in the foliage.
Then it was all pine wood, dark and cool. And he was sick with pain,
he had an intolerable great pulse in his head, and he was sick. He had
never been ill in his life, he felt lost, quite dazed with all this.

Trying to get down from the horse, he fell, astonished at the pain and
his lack of balance. The horse shifted uneasily. He jerked its bridle
and sent it cantering jerkily away. It was his last connection with the
rest of things.

But he only wanted to lie down and not be disturbed. Stumbling through
the trees, he came on a quiet place where beeches and pine trees grew
on a slope. Immediately he had lain down and closed his eyes, his
consciousness went racing on without him. A big pulse of sickness beat
in him as if it throbbed through the whole earth. He was burning with
dry heat. But he was too busy, too tearingly active in the incoherent
race of delirium to observe.

III

He came to with a start. His mouth was dry and hard, his heart beat
heavily, but he had not the energy to get up. His heart beat heavily.
Where was he?--the barracks--at home? There was something knocking.
And, making an effort, he looked round--trees, and litter of greenery,
and reddish, night, still pieces of sunshine on the floor. He did not
believe he was himself, he did not believe what he saw. Something was
knocking. He made a struggle towards consciousness, but relapsed.
Then he struggled again. And gradually his surroundings fell into
relationship with himself. He knew, and a great pang of fear went
through his heart. Somebody was knocking. He could see the heavy, black
rags of a fir tree overhead. Then everything went black. Yet he di