"It is the dawn coming," said the voice at my side that I
certainly recognised, but which seemed almost like a whispering
from the trees, "and we are now in the heart of the Wood of the
Dead."
We seated ourselves on a moss-covered boulder and waited the
coming of the sun. With marvellous swiftness, it seemed to me, the
light in the east passed into the radiance of early morning, and
when the wind awoke and began to whisper in the tree tops, the
first rays of the risen sun fell between the trunks and rested in a
circle of gold at our feet.
"Now, come with me," whispered my companion in the same deep
voice, "for time has no existence here, and that which I would show
you is already there!"
We trod gently and silently over the soft pine needles. Already
the sun was high over our
