"We must get on as fast as possible," said Herrick, the knapsack again on his broad back. "Food, drink, rest; you need all three. Forward!"
For some time they walked on in silence. Robin was so small, Dr. Jim so large, that they looked like the giant and dwarf of the old fairy tale on their travels. But in this case it was the giant who did all the work. Joyce was a pampered, lazy, irresponsible child, in the direct line of descent from Harold Skimpole. If Jim Herrick must be likened to another hero of romance, Amyas Leigh was his prototype.
The shadows melted before them, and closed in behind, and still there was nothing but plain and mist. At the end of two miles a dark bulk like a thunder-cloud, loomed before them. It stretched directly across their path. "Bogey," laughed Robin.
"A wood," said the more prosaic Jim, "this moor is fringed with pine-woods: remember the forest we passed through this morning."
"In the cheerful sunshine," shuddered Joyce. "I don't like woodlands by night. The fairies are about and goblins of the worst. Ha! Yonder the lantern of Puck. Oberon holds revel in the wood."
"Puck must be putting a girdle round the earth then Robin," said Herrick and stared at the white starry light, which beamed above the trees.
"Hecate's torch," cried Joyce, "a meeting of witches," and he began to chant the gruesome rhymes of the sisterhood, as Macbeth heard them. "The scene is a blasted heath too," said he.
By this time the moon was rising, and silver shafts struck inward to the heart of the pines. The aerial light vanished behind the leafy screen, as the travellers came to a halt on the verge of the undergrowth.
"We must get through," said Dr. Jim, "or if you like Robin, we can skirt round. Saxham village is just beyond I fancy."
"Let us choose the bee-line," murmured Joyce. "I want a bed and a meal as soon as possible. This part of the world is unknown to me. You lead."
"I don't know it myself. However here's a path. We'll follow it to the light. That comes from a tower of sorts. Too high up for a house."
With Herrick as pioneer, they plunged into the wood, following a winding path. In the gloom, their heads came into contact with boughs and tree-trunks but occasionally the moon made radiant the secret recesses, and revealed unexpected openings. The path sometimes passed across a glade, on the sward of which Joyce declared he saw the fairies dancing: and anon plunged into a cimmerian gloom suggestive of the underworld. No wind swung the heavy pine-boughs; the wild creatures of the wood gave no sign, made no stir: yet the explorers heard a low persistent swish-swurr-swish, like the murmur of a dying breeze. It came from no particular direction, but droned on all sides without pause, without change of note. Herrick heard Robin's hysterical sob, as the insistent sound bored into his brain. He would have made some remark; but at the moment they emerged into a open space of considerable size. Here, ringed by pines, loomed a vast grey house, with a slim tower. In that tower burned the steady light outshining even the moon's lustre. But what was more remarkable still, was the illumination of the mansion. Every window radiated white fire.