My great-grandfather's back was to the west, where a few bars of red across the sky, as it was to be seen through the Scotch firs, were all that remained of the sunset.

That strange light was on everything, of which modern pre-Raphaelite painters are so fond.

I was tired with my long journey and previous excitement; and when I suddenly remembered that Mr.Vandaleur was said to have in some measure lost his reason, a shudder came over me.

In a moment more he saw me.

I think my crimson cloak caught his eye, but his welcome was hardly less alarming than his abstraction.