'By Jove, Sanderson—!' This put into plain language actual sensations he had felt, yet had never dared to phrase in words before. 'They get into touch with me, as it were?' he ventured, laughing at his own sentence, yet laughing only with his lips.
'Exactly,' was the quick, emphatic reply. 'They seek to blend with something they feel instinctively to be good for them, helpful to their essential beings, encouraging to their best expression—their life.'
'Good Lord, Sir!' Bittacy heard himself saying, 'but you're putting my own thoughts into words. D'you know, I've felt something like that for years. As though—' he looked round to make sure his wife was not there, then finished the sentence—'as though the trees were after me!'
'"Amalgamate" seems the best word, perhaps,' said Sanderson slowly. 'They would draw you to themselves. Good forces, you see, always seek to merge; evil to separate; that's why Good in the end must always win the day—everywhere. The accumulation in the long run becomes overwhelming. Evil tends to separation, dissolution, death. The comradeship of trees, their instinct to run together, is a vital symbol. Trees in a mass are good; alone, you may take it generally, are—well, dangerous. Look at a monkey-puzzler, or better still, a holly. Look at it, watch it, understand it. Did you ever see more plainly an evil thought made visible? They're wicked. Beautiful too, oh yes! There's a strange, miscalculated beauty often in evil——'
'That cedar, then——?'
'Not evil, no; but alien, rather. Cedars grow in forests all together. The poor thing has drifted, that is all.'
They were getting rather deep. Sanderson, talking
