der；　and；　when　I　disclose　my　secret　to　him；　you　shall　share　the　confidence。

I　sought　the　orchard；　driven　to　its　shelter　by　the　wind；　which　all　day　had　blown　strong　and　full　from　the　south；　without；　however；　bringing　a　speck　of　rain。　Instead　of　subsiding　as　night　drew　on；　it　seemed　to　augment　its　rush　and　deepen　its　roar：　the　trees　blew　steadfastly　one　way；　never　writhing　round；　and　scarcely　tossing　back　their　boughs　once　in　an　hour；　so　continuous　was　the　strain　bending　their　branchy　heads　northward—the　clouds　drifted　from　pole　to　pole；　fast　following；　mass　on　mass：　no　glimpse　of　blue　sky　had　been　visible　that　July　day。

It　was　not　without　a　certain　wild　pleasure　I　ran　before　the　wind；　delivering　my　trouble　of　mind　to　the　measureless　air…torrent　thundering　through　space。　Descending　the　laurel　walk；　I　faced　the　wreck　of　the　chestnut…tree；　it　stood　up　black　and　riven：　the　trunk；　split　down　the　centre；　gasped　ghastly。　The　cloven　halves　were　not　broken　from　each　other；　for　the　firm　base　and　strong　roots　kept　them　unsundered　below；　though　munity　of　vitality　was　destroyed—the　sap　could　flow　no　more：　their　great　boughs　on　each　side　were　dead；　and　next　winter’s　tempests　would　be　sure　to　fell　one　or　both　to　earth：　as　yet；　however；　they　might　be　said　to　form　one　tree—a　ruin；　but　an　entire　ruin。

“You　did　right　to　hold　fast　to　each　other；”　I　said：　as　if　the　monster…splinters　were　living　things；　and　could　hear　me。　“I　think；　scathed　as　you　look；　and　charred　and　scorched；　there　must　be　a　little　sense　of　life　in　you　yet；　rising　out　of　that　adhesion　at　the　faithful；　honest　roots：　you　will　never　have　green　leaves　more—　never　more　see　birds　making　nests　and　singing　idyls　in　your　boughs；　the　time　of　pleasure　and　love　is　over　with　you：　but　you　are　not　desolate：　each　of　yo