the laurels and the fountain beds. The fountain
was playing now and was encircled by beds of
brilliant autumn flowers. He crossed the lawn
and turned into the Long Walk by the ivied walls.
He did not walk quickly, but slowly, and his eyes
were on the path. He felt as if he were being
drawn back to the place he had so long forsaken,
and he did not know why. As he drew near to
it his step became still more slow. He knew
where the door was even though the ivy hung thick
over it -- but he did not know exactly where it
lay -- that buried key.

So he stopped and stood still, looking about him,
and almost the moment after he had paused he
started and listened -- asking himself if he were
walking in a dream.

The ivy hung thick over the door, the key was
buried under the shrubs, no human being had
passed that portal for ten lonely years -- and yet
inside the garden there were sounds. They were
the sounds of running scuffling feet seeming to
chase round and round under the trees, they were
strange sounds of lowered suppressed voices --
exclamations and smothered joyous cries. It
seemed actually like the laughter of young things,
the uncontrollable laughter of children who were
trying not to be heard but who in a moment or so
-- as their excitement mounted -- would burst

[[369]]

p368 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p369w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p370

v?