And what was it that rustled like that—like leaves in the wind? What were these black, still forms about her? Trees? No—they couldn’t be trees.
In a wild panic she moved forward. Her outstretched hand touched something, and she screamed. The scream seemed to run along through the dark, leaping and rolling over the ground like a terrified animal. She tried to run after it, stumbling and panting, until her shoulder struck violently against something, and she stopped.
And into her sick and shuddering mind her old sturdy courage began to return. She tried to breathe quietly. She struggled desperately against the awful weakness that urged her to sink down on the ground and cover her eyes.
“No!” she said aloud. “I won’t! I’m here! I’m alive! I will understand! I will see!”
She was able now to draw a deep breath, and the horrible fluttering of her heart grew less. She stood motionless, waiting. It was coming back to her, that immortal, unconquerable spirit of hers. The anguish and the strange fear were passing.
“I’m here,” she said. “I’m in a wood somewhere. These are trees. What I hear are only the leaves in the wind. I don’t know where it is, or how I got here; but I’m alive and well. I can walk. I can get out of it.”
She moved forward again, quietly and deliberately. Her eyes were more accustomed to the darkness now, and she made her way through the trees, looking always ahead, never once behind her.
“The wood must end somewhere,” she said. “The morning will have to come some time. All I have to do is to go on.”
Patter, patter, patter, like little feet running behind her.
“Only the leaves on the trees,” said Lexy. “All I have to do is to go on.”