Heyst pointed up a precipitous, rugged path clinging to the
side of the hill. It ended in a barricade of felled trees, a primitively
conceived obstacle which must have cost much labour to erect at just
that spot.
"This," Heyst, explained in his urbane tone, "is a barrier against the
march of civilization. The poor folk over there did not like it, as it
appeared to them in the shape of my company--a great step forward, as
some people used to call it with mistaken confidence. The advanced foot
has been drawn back, but the barricade remains."
They went on climbing slowly. The cloud had driven over, leaving an
added brightness on the face of the world.
"It's a very ridiculous thing," Heyst went on; "but then it is the
product of honest fear--fear of the unknown, of the incomprehensible.
It's pathetic, too, in a way. And I heartily wish, Lena, that we were on
the other side of it."
"Oh, stop, stop!" she cried, seizing his arm.
The face of the barricade they were approaching had been piled up with a
lot of fresh-cut branches. The leaves were still green. A gentle breeze,
sweeping over the top, stirred them a little; but what had startled the
girl was the discovery of several spear-blades protruding from the mass
of foliage. She had made them out suddenly. They did not gleam, but she
saw them with extreme distinctness, very still, very vicious to look at.
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