“Ah!—­you see that black patch, Geoffrey?”

“Yes—­it was near there I saw my ghost—­or village woman—­or lady’s maid—­whatever you like to call it.”

“It was a lady’s maid, I think,” said Helena decidedly.  “They have a way of getting lost.  Do you mind going there?”—­she pointed—­“I want to explore it.”

He pulled a stroke which sent the boat towards the yews; while she repeated Buntingford’s story of the seat.

“Perhaps we shall find her there,” said Geoffrey with a laugh.

“Your woman?  No!  That would be rather creepy!  To think we had a spy on us all the time!  I should hate that!”

She spoke with animation; and a sudden question shot across French’s mind.  She and Buntingford had been alone there under the darkness of the yews.  If a listener had been lurking in that old hiding-place, what would he—­or she—­have heard?  Then he shook the thought from him, and rowed vigorously for the creek.

He tied the boat to a willow-stump, and helped Helena to land.

“I warn you—­” he said, laughing.  “You’ll tear your dress, and wet your shoes.”

But with her skirts gathered tight round her she was already halfway through the branches, and Geoffrey heard her voice from the further side—­

“Oh I—­such a wonderful place!”

He followed her quickly, and was no less astonished than she.  They stood in a kind of natural hall, like that “pillared shade” under the yews of Borrowdale, which Wordsworth has made immortal: 

beneath whose sable roof
Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked
With unrejoicing berries, Ghostly shapes
May meet at noon-tide; Fear and trembling Hope,
Silence and Foresight; Death the Skeleton
And Time the Shadow:—­

For three yew trees of great age had grown together, forming a domed tent of close, perennial leaf, beneath which all other vegetation had disappeared.  The floor, carpeted with “the pining members” of the yews, was dry and smooth; Helena’s light slippers scarcely sank in it.  They groped their way; and Helena’s hand had slipped unconsciously into Geoffrey’s.  In the velvety darkness, indeed, they would have seen nothing, but for the fact that the moon stood just above the wood, and through a small gap in the dome, where a rotten branch had fallen, a little light came down.

“I’ve found the seat!” said Helena joyously, disengaging herself from her companion.  And presently a dim ray from overhead showed her to him seated dryad-like in the very centre of the black interwoven trunks.  Or, rather, he saw the sparkle of some bright stones on her neck, and the whiteness of her brow; but for the rest, only a suggestion of lovely lines; as it were, a Spirit of the Wood, almost bodiless.

He stood before her, in an ecstasy of pleasure.

“Helena!—­you are a vision—­a dream:  Don’t fade away!  I wish we could stay here for ever.”