“I followed the woman; and the wind howled louder and louder through those rustling leaves.
“How long I scrambled on I do not know. As soon as the moonlight left me, I fell into a kind of slumber—a delicious trance, broken only by the restless murmurings, the sighings and groanings of the wind. Sweeter music I never heard. Then came a terrible change. The charm of my thoughts was broken—I awoke from my reverie.
“A terrific roar broke on my ears, and a perfect hurricane of rain swept through the wood. I crept cold and shivering beneath the shelter of the trees. To my surprise a hand fell on my shoulder: it was a man, and, like myself, he shivered.
“‘Who are you?’ he whispered, in a strangely hoarse voice. ‘Who are you? Why are you here?’
“‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ I replied, shaking off the man’s grasp.
“‘Well,—tell me,’ he rejoined; ‘for God’s sake tell me.’ He was frightened—trembling with fright. Could it be the storm, or was it—was it those trees?
“I told him then and there why I had trespassed. I was fascinated—the wind—and the trees—had led me thither.
“‘So am I,’ he whispered; ‘I am fascinated. It is a long word, but it describes my sentiments. What did the wind sound like?’
“I told him. He was a poor, common man, and had no poetical ideas. The wildly romantic had never interested him—he was but an ignorant labouring man.