The snow had begun to lighten; and in a few minutes ceased to fall. He saw trees on either hand. Stephanie was walking very close to him and as he turned to her she halted.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’m afraid,” she said in a very small voice, “we’ve come the wrong way.”

She sounded so worried that he hadn’t the heart to give vent to a fraction of what he was feeling.

“We shouldn’t come into the woods at all,” she went on. “The proper lane would cut them off on the left.”

“Well then, that’s not so bad,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “We missed the right lane and took a later one which goes through instead of skirting the woods. I expect it’ll join the main road in the end.”

“But there isn’t another between the one we should have taken and the road. Nothing goes through the woods.”

“Well—where are we? You know this region.”

“But I don’t, not all that well. We only come here for Christmas, or sometimes a weekend. And then not really here but Pettinge.”

He wished she had said so before offering to take them by a short cut. “Shine the torch down,” he said, “I’ll look at the map.”

He glanced at the sides of the lane, which had narrowed to little more than a path. The trees, bounded by neither bank nor fence, grew right to the edges, which were as straight as if they had been ruled.

“I think this is a private road,” he murmured, feeling his pockets for the map, “or a ride cut through a plantation. That means there should be a fairly large house nearby. All to the good.”

His search for the map ceased to be casual.

“Have you lost it?” asked Stephanie.

“I suppose so,” he muttered, after ferreting fruitlessly for a few moments longer. “I must have dropped it right back at the car, slipped it past my pocket instead of into it. Well, it doesn’t much matter. We can’t be lost in a county like Kent. We’re bound to come to a house of some sort fairly soon. We’ll go on.”

They plodded forward.

“I’m going to switch off the torch,” he said. “Shut your eyes for a second or two, and you should be able to see well enough when you open them.”

“All right. But why? So’s not to waste the battery?”

“Partly.” He switched off. “You find it light enough?” he asked after a few moments.

“Oh yes. But it doesn’t ever seem quite right, does it, in the snow? Everything seems closer, or further, you can’t tell which. Somehow not in its right place, and settled.”

“It’s because the natural direction of light is reversed. The earth shines, and the sky is dark. So there are no shadows. I suppose they’re cast upwards and absorbed into the night.”

She shivered. “Let’s hurry. I don’t like these trees.”

“Quem fugis—”

“What’s that?”