Anne opened her eyes, and looked around her. She was conscious of a soft, filmy light that was broken into queer little shafts and patches, while everywhere else there seemed to be an innumerable number of tall, black shadows, some of which moved and some of which stood very still. She moaned a little and lifted her head from the ground, and passed her hands feebly across her eyes. That was moonlight, wasn’t it?—and the black shadows were trees? But where was she? She could not seem to remember anything—but—but in the place of memory was an overpowering sense of dread, of terror—as of some dire thing that was impending and from which there was no escape—or else something that had already happened and whose horror, though it was nameless, still hung over her, and—
With a sudden cry of angu
