Despite the darkness, Simmy's intense stare convinced him that it was George Tresslyn who stood over there and gazed from beneath lowered brows at the bright doorway.

He experienced a chill that was not due to the raw west wind.

There was something sinister about that big, motionless figure, something portentous of disaster.

He knew that George had been going down the hill with startling rapidity.

On more than one occasion he had tried to stay this downward rush, but without avail.