THE COMING OF NIGHT It was not yet full dusk, for the shadows were still swinging out from the mountains and a ghost of colour lingered in the west, but midnight lay in the open eyes of Jerry Strann.

There had been no struggle, no outcry, no lifting of head or hand.

One instant his eyes were closed, and then, indeed, he looked like death; the next instant the eyes open, he smiled, the wind stirred in his bright hair.

He had never seemed so happily alive as in the moment of his death.

Fatty Matthews held the mirror close to the faintly parted lips, examined it, and then drew slowly back towards the door, his eyes steady upon Mac Strann.
"Mac," he said, "it's come.