210 STALKS ABROAD 



passed into a tall gloomy forest whose twisted stems 

 and roots writhed in strange and tortured shapes. 

 Trailing mosses and dead hanging creepers swung 

 pendant and without life from the grey branches, 

 whilst through the network they formed the sunlight 

 fell in irregular specks and splashes on the mouldering 

 floor. Even the song of the birds seemed tentative 

 and hushed as though they feared some curse, fore- 

 ordained, would fall on any sound which dared to in- 

 trude on so awful a stillness. The wind, a mysterious 

 presence, stole overhead silently and almost unfelt. 

 The dark glossy leaves and sombre foliage seemed 

 unaware of its passing. Huge deserted shrubberies 

 flanked by tall grasses and giant forest trees awaited 

 our coming. The rank undergrowth seemed but the 

 forerunner and usher of unweeded lawns and rusted 

 gates. In the heart of the world just such a forest should 

 hold the castle of the Sleeping Princess. At every 

 turn I thought to see it standing tall and grey, its 

 battlemented turrets rising above the creepers which 

 hung lank and mocking on every hand. I could all 

 but see the untended yew hedges which had been set 

 to mark the boundaries of some forgotten pleasure- 

 garden, and strained my ears to catch the footstep of 

 one who came to meet me. And then the magic of 

 my mood passed and I knew I looked in vain. From 

 the gloomy wood we crossed into openings and dells, 

 hot with the African sun and scented with the 

 memories of breezes stirring about some long neglected 

 garden ; and so back into the world of realities. 



