Chapter 3

           

           Nextmorning,havingtakenleaveofnoonebutthecount,andnotwaitingfortheladiestoappear,PrinceAndrewsetoffforhome.

           ItwasalreadythebeginningofJunewhenonhisreturnjourneyhedroveintothebirchforestwherethegnarledoldoakhadmadesostrangeandmemorableanimpressiononhim.Intheforesttheharnessbellssoundedyetmoremuffledthantheyhaddonesixweeksbefore,fornowallwasthick,shady,anddense,andtheyoungfirsdottedaboutintheforestdidnotjaronthegeneralbeautybut,lendingthemselvestothemoodaround,weredelicatelygreenwithfluffyyoungshoots.

           Thewholedayhadbeenhot.Somewhereastormwasgathering,butonlyasmallcloudhadscatteredsomeraindropslightly,sprinklingtheroadandthesappyleaves.Theleftsideoftheforestwasdarkintheshade,therightsideglitteredinthesunlight,wetandshinyandscarcelyswayedbythebreeze.Everythingwasinblossom,thenightingalestrilled,andtheirvoicesreverberatednownear,nowfaraway.

           “Yes,hereinthisforestwasthatoakwithwhichIagreed,”thoughtPrinceAndrew.“Butwhereisit?”heagainwondered,gazingattheleftsideoftheroad,andwithoutrecognizingithelookedwithadmirationattheveryoakhesought.Theoldoak,quitetransfigured,spreadingoutacanopyofsappydark-greenfoliage,stoodraptandslightlytremblingintheraysoftheeveningsun.Neithergnarledfingersnoroldscarsnorolddoubtsandsorrowswereanyoftheminevidencenow.

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