'All moonlit nonsense!' thought the young man, for the night had
disturbed his heart.

But Thyme did not come back. He called to her, and in the death-like
silence following his shouts he could hear his own heart beat. He passed
in through the gate. She was nowhere to be seen. Why was she playing him
this trick?

He turned up from the water among the trees, where the incense of the
may-flowers hung heavy in the air.

'Never look for a thing!' he thought, and stopped to listen. It was so
breathless that the leaves of a low bough against his cheek did not stir
while he stood there. Presently he heard faint sounds, and stole towards
them. Under a beech-tree he almost stumbled over Thyme, lying with her
face pressed to the ground. The young doctor's heart gave a sickening
leap; he quickly knelt down beside her. The girl's body, pressed close
to the dry beech-mat, was being shaken by long sobs. From head to foot
it quivered; her hat had been torn off, and the fragrance of her hair
mingled with the fragrance of the night. In Martin's heart something
seemed to turn over and over, as when a boy he had watched a rabbit
caught in a snare. He touched her. She sat up, and, dashing her hand
across her eyes, cried: "Go away! Oh, go away!"

He put his arm round her and waited. Five minutes passed. The air was
trembling with a sort of pale vibration, for the moonlight had found
a hole in the dark foliage and flooded on to the ground beside them,
whitening the black beech-husks. Some tiny bird, disturbed by these
unwonted visitors, began chirruping and fluttering, but was soon still