He
wished he had read them more carefully at the time, for they
doubtless contained much information and many hints which would
have come in handy just now. He seemed, for example, to recall
characters in them who had the knack of going through forests
without letting a single twig crack beneath their feet. Probably
the author had told how this was done. In his unenlightened state
it was beyond Mr Pickering. The wood seemed carpeted with twigs.
Whenever he stepped he trod on one, and whenever he trod on one it
cracked beneath his feet. There were moments when he felt gloomily
that he might just as well be firing a machine-gun.
Bill, meanwhile, Elizabeth following close behind him, was
ploughing his way onward. From time to time he would turn to
administer some encouraging remark, for it had come home to him by
now that encouraging remarks were what she needed very much in the
present crisis of her affairs. She was showing him a new and
hitherto unsuspected side of her character. The Elizabeth whom he
had known--the valiant, self-reliant Elizabeth--had gone, leaving
in her stead someone softer, more appealing, more approachable. It
was this that was filling him with strange emotions as he led the
way to their destination.
He was becoming more and more conscious of a sense of being drawn
very near to Elizabeth, of a desire to soothe, comfort, and protect
her.
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