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Updated: May 20, 2025
Hereupon Caroline presented her hand, which was accordingly taken and shaken. "We are compatriots," said she. "Yes," agreed Shirley, with a grave nod. "And that," asked Miss Keeldar, pointing to the forest "that is Nunnwood?" "It is." "Were you ever there?" "Many a time." "In the heart of it?" "Yes." "What is it like?" "It is like an encampment of forest sons of Anak. The trees are huge and old.
On Nunnwood the sole remnant of antique British forest in a region whose lowlands were once all sylvan chase, as its highlands were breast-deep heather slept the shadow of a cloud; the distant hills were dappled, the horizon was shaded and tinted like mother-of-pearl; silvery blues, soft purples, evanescent greens and rose-shades, all melting into fleeces of white cloud, pure as azury snow, allured the eye with a remote glimpse of heaven's foundations.
To penetrate into Nunnwood, Miss Keeldar, is to go far back into the dim days of old. Can you see a break in the forest, about the centre?" "Yes, distinctly." "That break is a dell a deep hollow cup, lined with turf as green and short as the sod of this Common: the very oldest of the trees, gnarled mighty oaks, crowd about the brink of this dell; in the bottom lie the ruins of a nunnery.
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