WITHIN a certain forest was a Castle, hidden tolerably deep within it. It lay not many miles from the Castle of Belisle, which stood upon an eminence. Though hidden from it by the surrounding trees the dwellers at Belisle knew of its existence. It was named, so I have heard, Castle Syrtes. It had a somewhat unwholesome reputation; it has also been termed magical in an evil manner.

You came upon it by tortuous paths through the forest, the outskirts of which were slushy and boggy to the feet. Having passed the outskirts you could find paths in plenty. Despite their tortuous winding they led eventually to the Castle. Outwardly pleasing to the eye, built of a reddish stone brought from no man knew where, the interior pleased the senses no less. Here were marble halls, shaded bowers, silken curtains, pictures very subtly painted, rare curios brought from home and lands beyond the seas. Flowers within and without, many-coloured and full-perfumed, lent a sweet and somewhat heavy scent to the atmosphere. It was never wind-lifted. The winds, which at times blew freely on the outskirts of the forest, brought no cleansing breath to the interior. Perchance the trees grew too thickly to allow of it passing between their branches; perchance there was some deeper reason. For that you may make what judgment you choose. My part is to set forth facts as I know them.

Within the Castle dwelt a woman named ThaÏs. To my thinking she had been better named Venus or Aphrodite. Failing either of those names ThaÏs suits her not ill-well. She did not dwell alone; solitude would have been by no means to her liking. Guests she had in plenty, and they fared very luxuriously at her hands. The days were passed in feasting and pleasure; song, music, and wine lent good aid thereto. In brief the existence was one of exceeding soft luxury.

At times a guest wearied of the pastimes, found them over sweet to his taste. Such a one was known now and again to leave the Castle; but I have heard it given as fact, which fact may be noteworthy, that he found the return through the forest more wearisome than the approach. Thorns and brambles, which stood aside to let him pass on entrance, hedged his path sadly on departure. Perchance herein lay its reputation for evil-magic. Certain it is the forest was strange, very dark, and full of a sweet sickly odour. No fresh-scented flowers grew there, such as one may find in open meadows and cool breeze-swept woods, but curious orchids, spotted and twisted, reptile-like in colour and form. Also no song-birds penetrated to its depths, misliking the darkness.

What brought Peregrine thither I know not, seeing he had at the first wandered many a day’s march from Belisle. Possibly he circled thereto unheeding his route, knowing not he was returning on his own traces.

Be that as it may, one evening at sundown he saw the forest facing him. It lay a dark patch on the horizon, backed by torn clouds through which the sunset sky showed red and lurid. Around him was the pathless earth, rough and very desolate. No sign of human habitation was in sight. Rocky boulders flung up here and there among the coarse-grassed earth loomed with uncouth shapes in the waning light. To his thinking they seemed cast there by some mighty spirit in grim play; one, who, wearying of the game, had withdrawn to some distant region, the loneliness now emphasized by his one-time presence there.

Behind the forest the torn clouds began piecing together in a heaped ominous mass, the red light obliterated. The heavy air, exceeding sultry, bespoke storm. Far off, to the right, he saw a white road climbing a hillside. A bare tree, set where the top of the hill touched the sky, flung a couple of branches wide-spread from its trunk. Cross-like it crowned the summit; leafless, dead, yet symbol of the Tree of Life.

Peregrine looked towards the road. Doubtless it led some whither. But where? There was the question. Also it was far off and very steep. A storm was brewing. Already he could hear the low muttering of thunder. To gain yonder road and seek some distant shelter along it would entail a very thorough drenching before any goal had been attained. The forest was but a quarter the distance from him. He might well seek harbourage there.

Yet, despite the thought, his eyes turned again towards the distant road. An’ he were sure of shelter beyond the summit of the climb he might risk the storm which very certainly would break upon him. For the space of some moments he hesitated. Then common sense won the day. The white road might lead him but on some fool’s errand. Before him lay obvious cover from the oncoming deluge. He stepped out across the coarse grass, now hastening his steps somewhat. Nearing the forest the grass became shorter and smoother, but here the bog began to show itself.

“I bargained not for this,” said Peregrine, as his feet sank into the slush. Even as he spoke heavy drops began to fall; thunder muttered very ominously. A third time he glanced towards the distant road.

“Bah!” he said, “’tis too far off. A sharp transit, and shelter will be gained.” He made quick strides forward. The atmosphere, which had been windless, was suddenly rent by a heavy blast. “Now it comes,” said Peregrine, as the storm beat upon him, and the rain sluiced down on the sodden earth.

“A very miry way,” muttered Peregrine breathless as he gained the margin of the forest, looked ruefully down at his feet. Turning, he looked behind him. Where had been spongey earth were now wide pools, stung by falling rain, whipped by slashing wind. The further landscape was blotted out by mist and quick-gathering dusk.

“A most villainous storm,” said Peregrine, “and it is well I have found cover from it. Here I must bide for a while at least. There is no re-crossing that morass.”

Now he must think what to do. To sit quiet where he was, and watch the rain were dull and dismal work. For all that the forest was very dark it might be well to explore somewhat further. He turned down a winding path. In spite of the first sense of darkness he was now aware of a curious light glimmering through the place. This came, he saw, from some strange fungus on the trunks of the trees, which gave forth an uncanny illumination. It was faint truly, but sufficed to show the path before him.

As he walked, the odour of the forest struck upon his nostrils, heavy, sickly-sweet. Passing to his brain it dulled his senses somewhat, like the odour of a powerful drug. He found himself pursuing his way after the manner of a man half-dreaming, heedless now of where his path might lead. Half drowsed though he was he noted now and again the orchids that grew among the trees, saw their spotted hue, their twisted reptile-like form. Despite his drowsiness he felt some slight repulsion at the sight of them, thought momentarily on sun-kissed flowers in open meadows. By contrast the orchids fared ill in his mind. But sleep clutching at his eyelids made thought an effort.

He stumbled onward very heavily. How long he walked he knew not. It might have been an hour, two hours; yet, time perchance being as leaden-footed as he, it might have been a bare ten minutes.

Suddenly, with no volition on his own part, his brain swung from dulness, roused itself to action; and strange action truly. It awakened, it would seem, from stupor to fantastic delirium. He felt himself vividly alive, and utterly alone. Alone he was verily in that forest devoid of living creatures. Yet the loneliness was of spirit rather than of body. In that moment his spirit was caught up into space. Knowing the earth beneath him, solid, material, around and above him were vast distances, deep silences. In the furthest distance, in the deepest silence, at so great an altitude that his brain seeing it reeled, gleamed a great star. Now here was the fuller fantasy. Within the depth of his own soul he was conscious of a like spot of light, a glowing star, yet very tiny. And he knew that between the star within him and the star above him was a strange attraction.

In space then his spirit hung, poised on nothingness, so it seemed. And here he was aware that he himself held his soul thus poised. By will he could clutch at the earth beneath him, draw himself down to it; by relinquishment of will he could be drawn, by virtue of the star within him, into the distance to the other star, infinitely remote. Deep silence lay around him, a hush as of expectation and waiting. To him like a breath of wind from far-off places came the words, “Excelsus super omnes gentes Dominus, et super cÆlus gloria ejus.” He knew now what it meant; saw in a lightning flash where the choice lay. Yet the vastness above him filled him with terror. A strange cowardice seized upon him; a frantic desire for the material, the solid. Madly his will clutched at the earth beneath him....

He found himself walking in the forest, the stupor and the delirium alike passed. And now he was very sure he had been dreaming. Once more his brain was clear and steady. He half mocked at himself for his brief delusion.

Some half-dozen paces further on the trees thinned on a sudden. He came out upon a smooth grass sward beyond which stood a Castle, the light streaming from the windows.