In his sleep it seemed to him that he was walking along a path beneath trees, as he had walked on his way to London; but it was twilight, and he could not see clearly.  There was none with him, and he was afraid, and did not know what he feared.  He was afraid of what lay behind, and on all sides, and he was yet more afraid of what lay before him, but he knew that he could not stay nor turn.  He went swiftly, he thought, and with no sound, towards some appointed place, and the twilight darkened as he went; when he looked up there was no star nor moon to be seen, and what had been branches when he set out seemed now to be a roof, so thick they were.  There was no bray of stag, nor rustle of breeze, nor cry of night-bird.  He tried to pray, but he could remember no prayer, and not even the healthful name of Jesu came to his mind.  He could do nought but look outwards with his straining eyes, and inwards at his soul; and the one was now as dark as the other.  He thought of me then, my children, and longed to have me there, but he knew that I was asleep in my bed and far away.  He thought of his mother whom he had loved so much, but he knew that she was gone to God and had left him alone.  And still, through all, his feet bore him on swiftly without sound or fatigue, though the terror and the darkness were now black as ink.  He felt his hair rising upon his head, and his skin prickle, and the warmth was altogether gone from his heart, but he could not stay.

And at the last his feet ceased to move, and he stood still, knowing that he was come to the place.

Now, I do not understand what he said to me of that place.  He told me that he could see nothing; it was as if his eyes were put out, yet he knew what it was like.

It was a little round place in the forest, with trees standing about it, and it was trampled hard with the footsteps of those who had come there before him.  But that was no comfort to him now; for he did not know how these persons had fared, nor where were their souls.

So he stood in the black darkness, knowing that he could not turn, with the horror on him so heavy that he sweated as he told me of it, and with the knowledge that something was approaching under the trees without sound of step or breathing—­he did not know whether it was man or beast or fiend, he only knew that it was approaching.  Yet he could not pray or cry out.

Then he was aware that it had entered the little space where he stood, and was even now within a hand’s grasp.  Yet he could not lift his hands to ward it off, or to pray to God, or to bless himself.