As they moved their torch and lanterns, so the light and shadow constantly moved about them; trunks and boughs, bush and brake, would suddenly appear and as quickly vanish as the yellow rays swung here and there. The breeze rustled unceasingly among the leaves, and the air was pleasant with forest odours. Millicent's fancy peopled the shades with sleeping giants, goblins, witches, dragons, and all the creatures of the old tales of fairies and knights errant. She thought a similar terror must have come upon the others; her companion hesitated so when he strove to pierce the shadows with wide-open eyes; and Cutting Tom kept so close to her; while one of the men had stepped up to the other side of Holyday and tightly grasped his arm.
"'Tis a weary journey, mistress," complained the poet.
"Nay, I find it pleasant sport," said she, feeling that one of the two must show a light heart. Holyday's manner all evening had been so at variance with his readiness to fight a dangerous man some hours earlier, that she made no attempt to understand the alteration; she merely attended to the need of keeping up his spirits, though her own heart faltered. But she could not help adding: "Is there much more of this wood to go through?"
"More than I wish there were," replied Holyday.
They went some distance farther in silence. Then the slim fellow with a lantern suddenly gave two coughs. Instantly Cutting Tom gripped Millicent's arm, stood still, and said to Holyday:
"A plague on your eyes, sir! you are leading us the wrong way."
Holyday, stopping perforce with all the rest, replied, in amazement: "'Tis the right way; I have come by this path to fish in the Thames a hundred times."
"Poh! fish me no fish, sir!" cried Cutting Tom, while the slim lantern-bearer strode around to the front. "Am I to be led astray, and this maid here, for your designs? You have dragged us too long through this cursed wood--and that's the hell of it!"
"'Tis the right way, I tell you," said Holyday; "and how can you say otherwise, when you know not whither we are bound?"
"But I do know whither we are bound--and that's the hell of it!"
"I begin to think you are an impudent fellow," quoth Holyday, momentarily reckless through loss of patience; "and _that's_ the hell of it, in your Bedlam gibberish!"