It seemed to Dick merely the palpable result of an inheritance that had gone into the blood.

His famous great-grandfather, Paul Cotter, and his famous friend, Henry Ware, had lived so much and so long among dangers that the very air indicated to them when they were at hand.
Dick looked down the long piazza, so long that the men at either end of it were hidden by darkness.

The tall trees in the grounds were nodding before the wind, and the lightning flashed incessantly in the southwest.
The thunder was not loud, but it kept up a continuous muttering and rumbling.

The rain was coming in fitful gusts, but he knew that it would soon drive hard and for a long time.
Everybody within Dick's area of vision was sound asleep, except himself.
Colonel Winchester lay with his head on his arm and his slumber was so deep that he was like one dead.

Warner had not stirred a particle in the last half-hour.