Запретный лес
II. The Road to Calidon
There’snaethingwrongwi’theroad.Butit’saneeriebitwhenthesun’snoshinin’.Butgangyourways,sir,foramano’Godisnolikecommonfolk.Ye’llgetamunetolichtyeback."
Davidrodeoutofthekirkton,andpastthesaughsandelderswhichmarkedthefarmofCrossbasket,tillthepathdippedintotheglenoftheWoodileeburnandthetreesbegan.Beforeheknewhewasamongthem,oldgnarledfirsstandingsparselyamongbracken.Theywerethinalongtheroadside,butonthehilltohisrightanddownintheburn’shollowtheymadeacloudofdarkness.TheAugustnightstillhadafaintreflectedlight,andthetrack,muchribbedbytreeroots,showedwhitebeforehim.Theburn,smallwiththesummerdrought,madeafar-awaytinkling,thesweetscentsofpineandfernwereabouthim,thedenseboskagewhereitmettheskyhadinthedarkasharpmarmorealoutline.Theworldwasfragrantandquiet;ifthisbetheBlackWood,thoughtDavid,Ihavebeeninlesshappyplaces.
Butsuddenlyataturnofthehillthetreesclosedin.Itwasalmostasifhehadstrippedanddivedintoastagnantpool.Theroadnowseemedtohavenopurposeofitsown,butranonsufferance,slinkingfurtivelyastheWoodgaveitleave,withmanymeaninglesstwists,asifunseenhandshadwardeditoff.Hishorse,whichhadgoneeasilyenoughsofar,nowneededhisheelinitssideandmanyanapplicationofhisstaff.Itshiedatnothingvisible,jibbed,reared,breathingallthewhileasifitswindweretouched.
