'Tilda Jane shuddered. She was not a nervous child, yet the knowledge that she was alone in a forest pressed and bore down upon her. However, she was out of the increasing storm. She had got her guilty feet off that angel's trailing robe, and the little letters from heaven were not dashing in her face, nor was there any danger now that one of the groaning trees bending to lament over her would fall and crush her shrinking form.