Even the gardener and his two stout boys struck sadly away with mattock and spade as if digging graves.

No chirp of bird, no baying of a friendly dog, no burst of childish merriment broke the droning silence.

And this was the home to which a father had doomed his only child.
When the frightened maid tapped at the door to summon her mistress, her feeble rapping sounded like a hammer falling sadly on the hollow coffin lid.

The girl stammered, "The master would like to see you both in the library." And with a sinking heart Nadine Fraser Johnstone descended the stair.
She had only cast a frightened glimpse at the yellowed, bony face, the cavernous eye sockets, the bushy eyebrows, beneath which a cold intellectual gleam still feebly flickered.

Andrew Fraser had bent his tall form over her, and peering down at her had whispered after their few words of greeting: "Did ye gain aught in knowledge of Thibet in your Indian life?
My life work lies there, and Hugh has sorely disappointed me.