And again I thought of the fact that the
mist had seemed thinner when I came out on the marsh.
This double flow explained it, of course. There were
denser and less dense waves in it: like veils hung up
one behind the other. So long as I went in a direction
opposite to its flow, I had to look through sheet after
sheet of the denser waves. Later I could every now and
then look along a plane of lesser density...
It was Dan who found the turn off the grade into the
bushy glades. I could see distinctly how he pushed Peter
over. Here, where again the road was winding, and where
the light, therefore, once more frequently struck the
twigs and boughs, as they floated into my cone of
luminosity, to disappear again behind, a new impression
thrust itself upon me. I call it an impression, not an
observation. It is very hard to say, what was reality,
what fancy on a night like that. In spite of its air of
unreality, of improbability even, it has stayed with me
as one of my strongest visions. I nearly hesitate to put
it in writing.
These boughs and twigs were like fingers held into a
stream that carried loose algae, arresting them in their
gliding motion.
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