The tense muscles of my hand relaxed. It lay passive under the pressure of his. I waited, quiescent. I realized that the Past had been roused from its lair. I must wait until it should seek covert again of its own accord, before speaking one word. "I want to answer you--and answer as you alone should be answered: Yes, I have felt old--centuries old--" He caught the bridle rein under the thumb of his right hand as it lay over mine. The left he thrust into his pocket; drew out a match-safe, a wax-taper. I, meanwhile, was wondering what it all meant; dreading developments, yet longing to know. He reached for an overhanging branch of birch and broke off a small twig of tender young green. To do so, he removed his hand from mine which I kept on the pommel. I saw that the Past was still prowling, and it behooved me not to irritate, not to enrage by any show of distrust; nor did I feel any. He struck the taper. "This is against forest rules," he said, "but for this once I shall break them." He held the fresh green of the tiny birch twig in the flame. The young life dried within leaf and leaf-bud. The living green hung limp, blackened. "Such was my life when I was young," he said, calmly enough; but, suddenly, a dull red flush showed beneath the clear brown of his cheeks. It mounted to temples, forehead, even to the roots of his hair where a fine sweat broke out. And, seeing that, I dared--I could bear the sight no longer:--I took my hand from the pommel and laid it over the poor blackened twig, crushing it in my palm; hiding it from his sight, from mine. I believe he understood the entire significance of my action; for he turned his hand instantly, palm upwards, and caught mine in it. The limp bit of foliage lay between the two palms. He looked at me steadily; not a flickering of the eye, not a twitch of the eyelid. "I lost the woman I loved--how I lost her I need not say. That's all. But I have answered you." "Yes--but--" "What? Speak out--you must," he said hastily, with the first outward sign of nervous irritation. "Is--is she dead?" I felt my whole future was at stake when I put that question. "Yes!"--a pause,--"are you answered fully now?" "Fully.--Let me have the twig." He released my hand. I looked at the bit of birch closely, scrutinizingly. I found what I was hoping to find: a tiny sign of life, a wee nub of green; something ready, unseared, for another year. "I think I 'll take it home," I said, as if interested only in botany; "I find there is life left in it--a tiny bud that may be a shoot in time. I 'll see what I can do with it; the experiment is worth trying." He smiled for answer. He understood. The beast of the Past was again in its lair. I regained my usual good spirits and proposed that we see Mrs. Boucher's flower gardens before we turned homewards. "I like to hear you use that word--it is a new one for me."